Danny (Ch. 01-03)


by DannyR

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved


Acknowledgment: As I said in the Introduction (your loss if you didn't read all the fascinating bits) this story and the others almost done wouldn't exist without Damian, the Brit with the wicked sense of humor and wicked mind, who, come to think of it, maybe really is the son of Satan, what with all the perverted ideas he put in my head that made the words just sort of spurt again and again and again (ohbabyohbabyoh!) onto the computer screen. Hey, yeah, that's it. The Devil's kid made me do it! Instant absolution. No guilt. Bless-me-father-for-Damian-has-sinned. <snicker> It's probably his fault you're reading this, too. And doing whatever wicked, perverted things you do while you do.

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 local cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. Now that we're clear on what's what, and what's not, read on.


Chapter 1

I'm a fucking cuckoo!

No, I don't mean crazy or something. I mean like a cuckoo being left in somebody else's nest for other birds to raise. That's what dad yelled at mom during their last big fight before he stormed out of the house. Well, it's what he meant. I had to ask mom. I know she was feeling really bad, I mean she was crying real hard, and dad had called her some pretty bad names, too. But, well, he was just so hateful when he said that about me, I had to know.

Mom didn't want to tell me. She said she had to protect "her baby boy." C'mon. I'm fourteen, and I'm not a baby. And it wasn't like I'm big like dad and could threaten her or something, but I can be pretty determined, so finally she told me. "Dad" isn't my real dad. Yeah, yeah, I was born right at nine months after they were married, but "dad" wasn't the sperm donor. Shit, I should've figured it out, but I don't know anything about biology and genetics and stuff, I hate that crap in school. So, yeah, there've been a few people who sort of raised their eyebrows looking at the three of us. Dad, hell, I can't keep calling him that since he isn't and doesn't want to be, so, okay, Tom is tall, with real thick, wavy black hair, and these ice-blue eyes. Kinda dark-skinned, `n always in need of a shave. He's hairy everywhere, and he's got a really big dick, too. I mean, not that I go perving after him, but I've seen him in the locker room at the pool or the gym or something, and he really is damn hairy all over. It even looks kinda soft.

Well, anyway, then there's mom. She's on the short side, a natural blonde with bright blue eyes, kinda cornflower I heard somebody say once.

And then there's me. Danny. My hair is just like mom's. I like it long, so it's almost to my shoulders, and it's real curly. I'm 5' 4", 120 lbs if I'm carrying a couple of barbells. I swim a lot, including the school team, so I've got a pretty decent build if I do have to say so myself. Not all the big thick muscles like da...Tom, but well, maybe a four-pack? No hair on my chest, some curly blond hair in my pits, a little trail down to my pubes, which are kind of bright gold like the hair on my head. Not a lot, but okay. My eyes are blue, too, but a different blue than Tom or my mother. Darker. Then there's my dick. That should have been kind of a clue, even though there's all that crap about I've got a while to grow yet and stuff. Just after the fight, I measured it. I'm about two inches soft, and just barely five inches -- okay, one measurement said five and a half -- when I'm hard. Which is a lot. Hard a lot, I mean, not a lot of dick.

So there's the picture. I always thought I was different than my...damn it!...than Tom, just because I took after my mom. I sure did. And apparently after my real father as well. She says I'm the spitting image of him. Yeah, great, just fucking great. I'd like to spit on him, too. Small-dicked coward, and leaves me with a tiny dick, too. With the way my life has gone to fuck-all right now, I probably won't grow another freakin' inch, dick-wise or otherwise.

So Tom shouts he doesn't want to go on raising a cuckoo in his damn home, and mom screams back at him about cheatin' on her, which he swears to god he's never touched another woman since they were married. Yada, yada, yada.

Bottom friggin' line, they're getting divorced. And while we aren't Bill Gates rich or even close, there's a lot of money and stuff involved, and guess fucking what. I can't go live with Tom, even if I wanted to because he doesn't want me around. And mom says she's too stressed by all of this to take care of me properly. So they're sending me away. Yeah, that's right, sending me the fuck away.

Right before school starts. To my freakin' Uncle Max. I mean, I hardly knew I had an Uncle Max. Once mom mentioned him, I remembered, sort of, maybe meeting him when I was real young. I'm not too clear on it. I have this image of big hands, kinda callused, but gentle on my skin, and big arms holding me kinda close. And that's all. Right. Really good bonding experience for someone you're getting dumped on.

And yeah, it's freakin' weird, but my Uncle Max is that Max. Max Harris. The guy with more money than God, people say. He's my fucking not-father Tom's older brother, and they've been on the outs for years, but he's kept in contact with mom, quietly. I'm not sure why he bothered, since it's pretty damned clear he knows I'm no blood relation to him. Fuck, with all his money he probably had a DNA test done to be sure. But mom says I have a college fund I didn't know about just waiting for me. Enough to pay for wherever I want to go to school. And he's got this big estate in Florida, with all kinds of servants and staff and tutors and stuff, so I'm gonna live with him until mom and my son-of-a-bitch not-father get things sorted out. And I'm leaving tomorrow freaking morning.


Chapter 2

I don't know whether these are really chapters or not. `s not like I'm a regular writer or anything. But at least I've got my laptop. And I downloaded all my good stuff from my computer to the laptop, and then erased the regular computer. Re-fucking-formatted the hard drive. See, mom said I had to leave the computer and everything. Well, not quite everything. She did let me pick out some things that she was going to ship to me. But she said Uncle Max just wanted me to get to his place in a hurry. And I didn't need to bring any clothes or my computer or anything. He'd provide me with all new stuff.

Yeah, well, so how come nobody asked me if I freakin' wanted new stuff? There's lots of my stuff I want to keep. Besides the porn and things on my computer. Really. Only, well, I guess it was because I was leaving in such a hurry that I couldn't think of much. Oh, and yeah, there's that whole thing about most of my stuff being bought by my not-father, so I really don't want to keep any of that even if some of it is kind of cool. Whatever.

So Uncle Max has money and wants to buy me stuff? Well, let him. From the freakin' skin out, okay? So when we left this morning for the airport all I was wearing was a tee shirt, some really worn, really soft jeans with the knees out -- kinda like I'd worn `em out down on my knees sucking dick. Yeah, like I've ever had a chance of that. But I can dream. And damn, I sure do. Lots. Oh. And sandals. No underwear. I think mom knew about that, mom-radar or something, but she didn't say anything. And even though the jeans are tight, it isn't like I've got anything down there to make a bulge that anyone would notice. My laptop. Wallet. Mom gave me a couple of hundred for emergencies. No freakin' keys since I probably wasn't coming back to that house. (Mom doesn't know I heard her talking to some lawyer about selling it.) And my cell. Gotta have that. But since it was a gift from Tom on my birthday, well, soon as I get to Uncle Max's place, if it's on the ocean, or the Gulf, well, I'm going to go to the beach and throw it so hard that, well, it's either gonna hit Mexico or Europe, depending. And Uncle Max can just buy me a newer and better one.

Yeah. Sure. Like I'm really gonna tell my almost-brand-new uncle that I expect him to spend a shit-load of money on a nephew instead of one of his own kids. He's probably just doing this because he has to. All my grandparents are dead, mom's an only child, so that just leaves Uncle Max to have the kid dumped on. As for that "determined" crap up above, well, I'm sort of determined when I'm dealing with mom, since I know I can pretty much get her to do what I want. Rarely worked with Tom. Well, truthfully, I don't think I ever got him to do anything he didn't want to do, not after he said "no" the first time. But outside the house, well, hell, I'm still a virgin.

Not that I want to be. I know just what I want. I just don't have a clue how to get it. I mean, I'm smart, high IQ and all that, but it's all books and the Net. Nobody has written a how-to manual, or a "Queer Sex for Dummies" to let me know how I can get to have sex with other boys. Or, well, men. You know, adults. Men with big dicks and balls that I can suck on. Men who'll want to suck on me, even if I don't cum a lot, and maybe fuck me. Or fuck them. Oh, yeah. A lot of fantasies fueled by all the stories on the Net, but never anything in real life.

Of course, anybody who'd write a book on the other part of what I dream about would be arrested when he sent the manuscript in. How to sex boys. Not somebody say thirteen, or fourteen or fifteen. But younger. Lots younger. Six, seven eight. Or, well, hell, might as well be honest. Even younger than that.

No idea why I feel this way, but the thought of playing with tiny boy dicks, and hot tight little-boy assholes gets me harder than anything. Not that I've done anything there either. I've seen a couple of really young boys naked at the swim club, in the locker room. I tried real hard not to perv on them so nobody (like their dad) would notice and beat the shit outa me. But I had to hold a towel in front of me to hide my hard and as soon as they were gone I went to a stall and beat off.

I'm not stupid enough to go to some kiddie-porn site, even though I've got, or well, had, access to credit cards to pay for it. But I did find some nudist places, and some newsgroups where they have old black and white photographs of naked people. Most of it is women. Don't ask me why, unless it's because the straight men outnumber the queer teens by several orders of magnitude. (See, I told you I wasn't all that dumb. And I even know what it means.) But there are some pictures of naked men, a few of naked teen boys, and when I'm really lucky, some naked very young boys, including some who have to be really young. Like maybe two or something. And if you know what you're doing, you can crop those pics down to just what you want to keep. So that's part of what I made sure to put on my laptop. Password-protected, too.

All of which means that I'm too shy to be of interest to anyone. And too shy to try to get anyone interested in me.

I really don't want to do this, go to Florida, I mean. Really. If I can say one damned word to Uncle Max the first time I see him it'll be a miracle. I mean, sometimes I get so nervous around other people, I can't speak at all. And I don't want to leave my school. Okay, sure, it's not like I have any real friends. Who makes friends with a pretty-boy who looks like a queer and never meets anyone's eyes? And they've only put up with me on the swim team because I'm fast and I'm good and I win a lot. Just individual competitions, though. No team stuff. But still, leaving means I'm being deprived of my only real place to frequently see real naked flesh and not just the stuff in the porn pics or in my head from reading. Not that I stare, but I've learned to look quick and sorta remember for when I'm jacking off later.

And it sounds like I won't get much chance of even that with Uncle Max. All this stuff from mom about a big estate with tutors and stuff and an Olympic pool (or two or something) I can use, makes it sound like I'm not going to be going to a regular school. Which might be okay, but odds are I'm gonna see my cousins naked sometime and I don't think they'll think it's real great to have me getting a hardon from seeing nude little boys, or a teen boy, up close. Well, we're almost at the airport, so I'll have to shut this down.

Chapter 3

A private fucking jet.

I'm going to ride on my Uncle Max's private fucking jet. Oh sure, he has to have it up here for some fancy business reason, but still. Wow.

It's not like as big as Air Force One or something, but pretty freakin' unbelievably big for a boy who's never flown anywhere before. Okay, whoa, you don't know that yet.

Well, not that there's really a "you" to talk or write to, but it's kinda fun to pretend that I'm tellin' all this really private and personal shit to some guy I trust. Has to be a guy, though, not a little kid, `cause while the kid might understand gettin' fucked and suckin' my dick, I couldn't, y'know, talk to him. So "you" out there are probably some man that really, really likes me, and okay, maybe that's only because I give great head and you can like fuck me real hard `n stuff, but at least you care a little bit. The best "you" would be a boyfriend, but it's not freakin' likely anybody would want to be a boyfriend to a sicko perv like me.

So anyway, I was writing the last of the stuff up above while we were driving. Not like mom could see what I was doing, or cared. She was used to me typing on the computer.

So here's what happened. When we got to the airport my mom got a call on her cell just when she was pulling up in front of one of the drop-off doors. She handed me some papers which I thought were my tickets, since I'd checked the flight schedules last night and figured there'd be at least one layover, since the departure time was nowhere near one of the non-stop flights on any airline. She told me I was to go to Gate 47H, and then she looked at the number on her phone. "Fuck! It's your dad, I mean, Tom."

She never swore in front of me. Yeah, things had really changed. She listened to Tom, and listened and listened, until I was beginning to worry about Homeland Security types coming charging out to arrest the suicide car-bombers loitering in the drop-them-off-and-freakin'-move-on curbside lane. I could tell mom was fuming, and just when I was about to interrupt to ask what airline, since the papers weren't tickets and that meant I'd have to get one at a counter or a kiosk (I do research well), when she suddenly screamed at him, "Well, fuck you, and the fucking horse you rode in and off on! I don't give a shit what you think of your brother. He's been damned nice to me for years, ever since the one and only visit you'd allow. Oh? You didn't know we kept in contact. Well, boo hoo. Maybe that's because I didn't tell you. Your brother cares a hell of a lot more about Danny than you do, that's for sure.

"Yeah, right! Like you're gonna take Danny to stay with you while all this crap between us is going on? Didn't think so. Where else is he going to go except to Max? I know what kind of hell you're going to put me through, and I don't want him around while you're doing it. In the eyes of the law, he's your son, and if you didn't want it that way you could have had a paternity test done within two years of his birth.

"Damn right I had my lawyer check things out. You didn't bother, so right now you're shit outa luck claiming he's not yours and you don't have to support him. And I'm going to get every single dime, nickel, penny, condo, stock and bank account I'm entitled to. You think I've been a bitch recently. Honey lamb, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

I could hardly see her through the tears in my eyes. I was even stammering when I managed to interrupt her and ask what airline. She didn't even look at me. My own mom. All she did was tell Tom to wait a fucking minute, shut her eyes and tilt her head towards the roof of the car, with this "Why me, God? Give me patience!" look on her face. "Honey, just go inside and show them the papers and tell them it's Gate 47H. Now, scoot."

The "honey" to me wasn't quite like the one to Tom, but to my ears right then it sounded awfully fucking close. I got out and slammed the door really hard. Okay, childish, but I'm fourteen and sometimes I get to act like I'm five and having a temper tantrum. She didn't even notice. Just put the car in gear and drove off, narrowly missing somebody and obviously still listening/yelling, listening/yelling on her cell. Naturally there wasn't anyone in sight when I walked in. I was there plenty early, but I still wanted to know where I was supposed to go.

I walked around a little and finally found a security guard. I had a vision for just a second of telling him about this madwoman endangering hundreds on the highway while she was screaming into her cell, but I kept my mouth shut about that and just asked him where to find Gate 47H. He didn't look too pleased to be interrupted from his really alert, taking-a-nap-standing-up, I-must-protect-my-country-from-terrorists-with-a-barely-above-minimum-wage job, but all that changed when he read the papers. He suddenly had a friendly smile on his face, pointed back in the direction I came from, told me that 47H was Mr. Harris' gate, and told me how to get there.

My Uncle Max has a gate? His very own freaking gate at a big airport where planes fly in and out from all over the world? What the fuck?

It took me a few minutes to get there. But first I had to go through a security checkpoint. Now I've seen all the stuff on the news about airport security and I've read stories about them, and seen pictures of what they do. Curiosity one day a while back, urgent need to know last night. These guys didn't look anything like what I was expecting.

Two of them. Both big men. Imagine twin Arnold Schwarzeneggers, you know, that kind of build and muscle, only younger, really hot looking, and without that weird one-of-my-close-friends-is-a-"former"-Nazi accent. Crisp, black uniforms that looked more military than Homeland Security even though they were wearing suits. A badge that said "Harris Security Services." A very visible, very large gun. And both of them had really big dicks. I checked. Well, hell, who wouldn't? It's not like you could have missed them, since they bulged out so much from their tight pants. I think one of them might have caught me staring, but hopefully I looked away quick enough.

There wasn't any metal on me. And I put the cell and my wallet and the laptop (the carrying case had a couple of paperbacks for me to read, but I'd been planning on getting something more at the first layover, since there'd be plenty of time) in the tray. I mean, it's not like there was anything dangerous or explosive in there. Not even a pair of cuticle scissors, or a paper clip that might be opened into a weapon. So according to my research I should have just walked through the metal detector, beepless, picked up my stuff after it all went through the x-ray, and then headed on down to the gate, which was only about a hundred feet away and visible.

Wrong. Major wrong.

They turned my cell back on and made a call on it, and checked it with some other gadget. They checked every pocket, slot, crack and crevice in my laptop bag and flipped through my paperbacks. They took out every scrap of everything in my wallet and made sure they saw me put it all back where it belonged, including all of the money. They turned the computer on and didn't settle for that but did something while it was on. Thank God for passwords. Then it was my turn for a closer look. Even though I had indeed been beepless in going through.

A much closer look. You might say kind of an intimate close look. They had me stand with my legs spread, arms out (me playing naked Michelangelo guy except I wasn't naked), and then they went over every damned inch of me with a gadget that didn't look anything like the detectors I'd seen pics of. Just a silver wand about like a nightstick on one of the cop shows, with a ribbed hand-grip, and nothing I could see on the rest of it to "detect" anything. When there were no beeps, grunts, moans, screams or noises I figured I was good to go.

Nope. Not yet. Hunk 1 puts his hand on my shoulder after allowing me to put my arms down and stand up straight. It made me shiver. I pretended I was just dizzy a little from standing that way, but I was lying. His hand was so big and so warm it just spread through me. "Come with me, young sir," he said, and guided me off to the side where there was one of those portable screens.

"I need you to strip for me, young sir."

I tried to tell myself he was kidding. Just a weird joke at the expense of Uncle Max's young nephew, and I had to figure they knew who I was. But one really good look at his face and I knew he wasn't. Joking, I mean. He really meant for me to take off the only three items of clothing I had on, okay, four if you count each sandal separately, and stand there stark frigging naked in an airport terminal where anybody could come walking down and in a couple of steps see the naked teen with the fire engine red skin color. So I did. Maybe someone else would have argued or questioned, I just did what I was told.

I pulled the tee over my head and handed it to Hunk 1, who handed it to Hunk 2, who began examining it as if there was a pipe bomb between the threads. The sandals followed and Hunks 1 and 2 did the same thing. Which left me standing there topless and barefoot, wiping out the air conditioning for five gates in either direction with my body heat, nervously holding onto the button of my raggedy 501's.

Hunk 1 somehow managed a softer tone, even though his expression (last-action-hero-on-earth tough) didn't change. "All the way, young sir. Mr. Harris is quite serious about security, and especially so with his loved ones. And even more so with family."

I popped the button and started on the next one, and then it hit me. I know my voice was kind of soft and weak, probably disgusting to a stud like him, when I asked, "Y-y-you mean if I fly with Uncle Max I have to do this every time?"

This time the left corner of his mouth gave the tiniest twitch. I guess that was a smile for him. "Not always, young sir." I really couldn't tell again whether he was joking. "If you are leaving from the estate, there's no question of your being secure. But you are going to the estate for the first time, so Mr. Harris requires us to be very careful. Now, please, the rest of the way."

No more stalling. I unbuttoned the rest of the way, tugged them down over my hips, well, not too hard a job since I don't have much in the way of hips. I got them past my knees and then bounced on one leg and then the other to get them all the way off. Still blushing, I didn't look up at either of them as I just held out the jeans. One of them took them out of my hands. I also made sure I didn't look at the bulge in Hunk 1's crotch. I sure as hell....

Oh well, too fucking late. My humiliation was complete. Out in public, naked in front of two strange men, oh fuck, three, there's another one in a uniform coming out of a door near the counter, walking straight for us with a clear view of naked little me, and I've got a full, glorious (not!) hardon. Hunk 1 had me do the spread-`em thing again, and then the wand moved over my body about a micron above my flesh. He brushed my left nipple with it, just barely, and I thought I'd been hit with an electric shock. Sure, I know a guy's tits are supposed to be sexual and all that, but I've tried it and all I've done was hurt myself. This time I could actually feel my dick getting harder. He was finally done with the wand bit--I mean, what the hell was it going to detect, a bomb in my bowels?--and I was thinking that the way things were going for me a cavity search was next.

Yep. Well, almost. It might have been kind of exciting. One of the hunks having a rubber-gloved finger up my hole. But the one possible moment of pleasure was denied me. Hunk 1 had me put my arms down, spread my legs a little wider yet, and then bend over with my hands braced on my knees. I kind of teetered a bit, and the new guy stepped in front of me and held my shoulders to balance me. Hunk 1 came behind me, dropped down on his knees, and used his callused palms to spread my butt cheeks. He must have had really bad eyesight or something for a guy in security, `cause he was so close I could feel his warm breath on my pucker. I moaned. Just a little. And only to myself. I'm sure they didn't hear me.

Hunk 1 breathed on my hole again and said, "I don't think anything has been up here, do you?"

I guess he shifted to one side, because I could tell it was another pair of hands spreading my cheeks, only this time a thumb was right over my asshole. I know from all my, well, research, that if I'd been fucked by a man it'd be my cunt or my pussy, but I was still a damned virgin. So all it was was an asshole. And that thumb felt, well, like, if I'd had enough balance, or more importantly, enough courage, I could have thrust my hips back and his thumb would've gone up my ass. More warm breath on my hole, and then Hunk 2 said, "Yeah, you're right."

One of them patted my ass, although in my imagination I made it a little fondling, and Hunk 1 told me everything was fine and I could get dressed. They handed me my stuff. For a second I couldn't decide which was worse, having them all look at me and my stiff little dick while I got dressed, or watching my definitely cute (hey, that's what my mirror says) but on the scrawny side butt. I opted for the ass view of life. When I was put together, and I'd run my fingers through my hair to sort of get it in place again, I turned around. The hardon was still there, and where I wouldn't be noticeable soft, the tent effect was still visible. I resolutely didn't look at any of them while I picked up my cell, put my wallet in my back pocket, and then hooked the laptop bag over my shoulder.

I had to look at the third man, though, when he asked, "You need to use the toilet before we go?"

I remembered what toilets were supposed to be like on planes and how cramped they were, so I decided I'd better piss now. And then maybe get a quick jack off in a stall before I had to go find the other passengers and get on board. Third man offered to show me the way. While we were walking he introduced himself. He was Captain Morgan, no relation to the rum guy, and "my" pilot. Weird. He made me feel really kind of grown up. You know, expecting me to know about the Captain Morgan/rum thing even though I'm just a kid of fourteen. And being "my" pilot like I could tell him what to do or where to go.

When we got there I thought he'd wait outside but he followed me in. I'd been in public johns before, you know, malls, theatres, stuff, but there was something more, well, expensive about the place. I couldn't put my finger on it. Probably because I was wanting to put my fingers elsewhere. So there were several sinks and individual mirrors on one wall, and then a divider wall with a door in it. Captain Morgan was tall enough to reach over my head, push the door open and let me go in first.

On the right were four urinals with a bit of space between them, sort of European looking and kind of low, though not as low as those little-boy urinals a lot of places have now. On the opposite side were four toilet stalls that looked wider than the usual public ones. I went to the last urinal, set my bag down, unzipped and pulled my little dick out, trying to think all sorts of disgusting, sick-making thoughts so I could get soft enough to piss. The pilot took the urinal next to me!

Weird. But for a minute I concentrated on trying to piss, and then I couldn't take it any more. Checking out the dick next to you was just a guy thing, right? A quick peek wouldn't hurt. He wouldn't even notice, since he'd be concentrating on pissing himself. Except I hadn't heard any piss. I took a look and no way could I stop myself from gasping. His cock and balls were out of his trousers. All, what, 6, 7, 8, 37 inches of it? I'd never seen a man's cock hard before in real life, and it was huge. Or at least it was to me. And he wasn't just standing there, like he was waiting for it to get soft to piss. He was slowly jacking himself with his right hand and his left arm was definitely out of the way so I'd have a clear view.

Damn. I was with the first man in my life who was hard and I guess wanted sex with me, and we were in a public toilet and he had to drive the fucking plane across the fucking country in a very little while. Shit, shit, shit. Not that I said anything. I just looked up at him -- and realized he wasn't looking at my face really, but at my dick, which he couldn't really see `cause I was holding it with my right hand. "I think you need to take care of that, son." And he nodded at my little stiffie.

Compared to him I might as well have the dick of a ten-year-old or something, even with hairs and all. And he called me "son," which kind of made me short of breath.

"How about dropping those jeans again, son? Let daddy see that nice prick and balls."

"But...but what if...."

"Don't worry, boy. Everything's fine."

I didn't know how he could know that. And I sure the hell didn't want airport security or my uncle's security people arresting him for molesting a teen boy. Even though I really, really, really wanted him to molest me right then. But he sounded so sure, I just popped the buttons real quick, and shoved them right down to my ankles. When I straightened up he asked me to pull my shirt up so that the bottom was around the back of my neck, and that way he could see all of me. I did what he said.

My dick was aching. He had me turn toward him and he did the same. He told me to play with myself, and he kind of sighed when he told me what a beautiful dick I had. He oozed some clear precum out of his piss slit, and he used it to slick up his knob end.

He kept staring down at my cock, and my moving hand, while his dick got even darker-colored. He kept his voice soft, almost like he was hypnotizing me, and I was just off somewhere and so fucking horned I thought I'd explode. "You sucked on a man's cock before, son? Had a man suck you?"

I closed my eyes and imagined all that and said "no" just as soft as him.

"How about your cunt, son?"

God I was loving his dirty talk.

"Any man shoved his big cock up your pussy and filled it full of cum?"

Exactly what I wanted, but had never had. I had to tell him the truth. I opened my eyes and looked at him and told him I was a virgin. There was a flicker of -- something -- across his face, so fast, I wasn't really sure I saw it. But I thought I did and I thought I knew why. He wasn't interested in a virgin for a quick one in a public toilet. He wanted one of those experienced boy sluts I'd read about and dreamt of being. My eyes started to tear up and he must've noticed. He stopped jacking and with his right hand reached up, cupped my cheek, and used his thumb to wipe off one little tear that got away.

"Hey, son, don't worry. Being a virgin is a good thing. You get to pick some nice man and let him have the privilege of fucking you blind."

I whimpered. I put my left hand behind me and kind of fingered my hole.

"Yeah, son, play with that virgin cunt. And beat off for me. Let me watch you cum, and you do the same."

I just nodded my head as I did what he told me. We were staring in each other's eyes, and then looking at our jacking hands, and then eyes again. He crouched a little and moved closer to me so his fat cock head was resting on my tummy. "Son, let daddy rest his dick on you, and cum all over your teen boy belly. And then you can cum in daddy's hand. Would you do that for daddy?"

So I wasn't gonna suck or get sucked, or fuck or get fucked. I was still in seventh heaven and I don't mean the TV show. My "yes" was more whimper than anything else. We both started jacking harder and faster.

"C'mon, son, work that cock. Watch daddy jerking his meat, pay attention boy, `cause I'm just about to...." And with that his piss slit just opened wide and he started shooting out freakin' cannonballs of hot slimy cum, spattering my tits, my navel and my pubes and every freakin' point of the compass in between.

He was panting real hard, but no harder than me and the feel of my first man cum on my skin sent me over the edge in no time at all. I barely got my left hand up in time to catch my sperms in my palm. And just like that I was all -- so to speak -- fucked out.

The captain stroked his cock so that the last of his cum oozed out on me and then dropped to his knees. He held me by my butt cheeks and then proceeded to very rapidly lick every bit of cum off of me. That was a turn on and I really wanted to get hard again, but I couldn't. Then he very gently took my left hand, turned it palm up, had me open my fingers and licked up all of my cum, too. I shivered and sighed loudly.

He dropped back on his haunches and looked at me. There was, what, something nervous in his face? Well, shit, yeah. We'd just had a quick jack-off session in a public toilet and someone could walk in any second and fuck us both over big time. "Please," he said, "don't tell anyone about this."

I just said "hell, no," as I bent forward to get my tee-shirt back in place. Still bent over I went all the way, grabbed my jeans and started pulling them back up. He stood up, too, tucked his still impressive prick back in his trousers and zipped up. He went through the door, over to a sink and washed his hands. I did the same, and we walked out together. Two cool guys. All fine. If you didn't notice how flushed my skin was, and it wasn't the embarrassment blush. It was the I just had sex with my first man flush.

He guided me back to the gate, introduced me to a younger man, maybe in his twenties, who was going to be "my" flight attendant. I was still puzzling that one over when "my" flight attendant led me down the walkway, through the door and into the plane.

Only it wasn't a plane. It was someone's home. A rich someone. Very rich. There was this huge living room like space with big soft leather chairs that looked like they could swivel, and all of them with seatbelts. A big flat screen TV. A computer. All sorts of other stuff. Even a bar. I just stopped and stared until the attendant nudged me forward.

"Once we are airborne, you may use all of the facilities, young sir." He gestured toward the obvious ones I could see. "Further back you will find a toilet, and a shower if you need one, although it can't be a long one. And there is a bedroom, if you would care to nap while we're in the air. And now, young sir, if you will take this chair -- " he pointed toward a large grey leather one off to one side, "and fasten your seatbelt, we'll be taking off very shortly."

I walked over, sat down, and started to buckle up as I asked, "But what about the other passengers?"

"Oh, there are none, sir. Mr. Harris sent the plane for you."

Holy fucking shit. Uncle Max did send a freakin' private jet just for me. Damn, my first airplane flight and I'm not traveling first class, I'm traveling first class freakin' squared, cubed, to the nth degree. Holy shit! I laughed out loud which just made the attendant look at me from his equally comfortable chair and smile.

Once we were in the air, the attendant went...uh...forward, yeah, forward toward the cockpit and a couple of minutes later came back with four nine-by-twelve envelopes, each one hand-numbered. "Young sir, these are from your uncle. He asks that you read them as he has numbered them. Once you are finished, you can proceed to...move about the cabin, as they say. Any questions about whatever is in the envelopes, and I have no idea what that may be, will have to wait for Mr. Harris. All right?"

I nodded and he handed them to me. I opened the first one. It had a single sheet of paper, really thick, expensive stuff. The handwriting was in black ink. Very bold looking, almost calligraphy in a way. Really easy to read. Even without focusing on the actual words I somehow knew that Uncle Max had written this himself.

"My dear Danny,

"I have waited a long time to see you again, and it won't be all that many hours now, before I do. As I write this, I don't know how many envelopes were given to you. The number of envelopes depends on various things, and Captain Morgan has given you certain envelopes according to my instructions to him. There should be no more than four envelopes.

"If this is the only envelope you have, you must not feel bad. You haven't done anything wrong. All it means is that events didn't develop the way I expected them to. On the other hand, I really don't think I'm wrong -- I rarely am about people, well, other than my brother -- so I fully expect to hear from you that you had four envelopes.

"As you open them and examine the contents, please remember that unlike God, who can't or won't act directly to accomplish anything, with money, all things are possible. I know your mother has told you I have more money than God, which is entirely possible, but we haven't exchanged financial data to determine whether that's true or not. I think what you will see in the other envelopes will surprise you, indeed, I know it will, but I think you will also be pleased and even, I expect, excited, too.

"Regardless of whether you open any more envelopes or not, please believe me when I say that you are coming to me because I wanted you to do so, very much. I believe you are going to enjoy living with all of us, and will fit right in.

"I look forward to welcoming you soon.

"Your loving uncle."

And then there was this big signature of "Max."

Double, triple, wow!

I didn't waste any time opening the first envelope. Another hand written letter.

"Dear Danny,

"Of course you remember what you just read a moment ago (or at least I think you have since I do expect you to be reading this) about money.

"If you have no money, you can't do a thing unless someone else provides you money, by gift or by earning it. Personally, I prefer earning it. If you have some money, you can live a decent life. More money, and a better life. A vast amount more than that and an extraordinary life, and with that extraordinary life comes the ability to do things `ordinary' people, those with less money and therefore less power than you, can't do. Beyond that, there is a realm of wealth where little if anything could be denied you if you really wanted it. The latter is the kind of wealth I have, although there are comparatively few who really know or understand that.

"My family does. Not Tom, he left all this years ago. But my boys certainly do, or are growing into that knowledge. Now you will have that knowledge as well. And as they say, knowledge is power. And I know a lot about you, Danny.

"For example, I know that you want to turn your tight little asshole into an easily-fucked boy cunt, and have a man open you up. I know you want to turn your mouth into a cum dump able to deep throat just about every dick that's shoved down it. I know you want a man to suck you -- frequently. I know you want to know what it feels like to plow a man's ass, too. In other words, I know that you're a faggot slut at heart, even if you're not one yet in reality."

My hands were shaking so hard, I had to shut my eyes and get control of myself. How? But nobody could. But. I forced my hands to still and loosen their grip on the now slightly crumpled pages. I forced myself to read.

"I know about all the stories you've downloaded from Nifty and Perverts `R Us and other places. I'd already read most of them myself, and enjoyed reading the ones that intrigued you that were new to me. I know about your pics, and the ones with all the men, white, black, Latin, Asian, big cocked. I know about your computer diary and how much you want to become a slut, and how afraid you are, and how shy when you're out in the world.

"Sluts aren't shy, Danny. And if you really want to achieve that goal, you'll have to overcome that shyness. Of course, I'll be there to help you.

"You're probably wondering how I know all this. Money, Danny. I had someone hack into your computer and I suspect there are very few things now on your laptop that I don't already have a copy of. Invasion of privacy? Certainly. But I needed to know who you really were, and are, before inviting you to come live with me. I had to be reasonably certain that you would like what I have to offer, and since I am confident you are reading this second letter, then I was proven right.

"Are you hard right now, Danny? Does the unknown make you wonder and feel sexy, when it's coupled with the knowledge that if you work hard, you'll get what you really want?

"Here's your first lesson in being a slut, Danny. If you truly want to be one, you'll unbuckle your seatbelt if you haven't already, get out of the chair, open your pants, and get out your stiff cock and balls so that Eddie (that's your flight attendant's name) can see them. Then ask him, very politely, if you can jack him off. All Eddie knows is that you may or may not ask him to do something. If you do ask, I've told him to agree to whatever you request.

"It's up to you. Eddie has also been told, and I know you're aware he's watching you, that if you don't ask him to do something before you start to open the next envelope, he's to take the other envelope(s) away and give them back to the captain. One more thing, if you go ahead, you are to jack Eddie off so that he cums all over whatever you are wearing. I selected Eddie because he cums more than just about any man I know, except perhaps me, and eventually, your oldest cousin. When he's done, tell him to leave his cock and balls hanging out and to go sit down again. You are not to clean yourself up and neither is he. And you are to leave your own prick out in the open when you sit down again to continue reading.

"Well, Danny, what's it to be? One small step for a boy, one large step for slut-kind?"

I inhaled sharply. I thought the sex in the toilet was a turn on. I sure didn't know what being sexed up was. And all I've been doing so far was hand jobs. If actual sex, sucking and fucking kind of sex, was any more intense I'm gonna make medical history. First fuckin' fourteen-year-old to have a freakin' coronary during sex.

I put the second letter and the envelopes on the table beside the chair. I unbuckled, stood up, popped my buttons yet again and hauled out all five or so inches of my achingly hard cock. I was beginning to think that maybe my size wasn't so bad after all. Eddie gave me a huge smile, and a wink, and then said "Nice meat, guy."

Fucking Christ. Two adults who liked my dick. Okay. Next step. "I'm gonna jack you off." Oops. Not a request, more of a, well it actually was, an order. I opened my mouth to make it a question but Eddie forestalled me.

"Hell, yes," the attendant said and immediately unzipped and tugged his cock and balls out into the air. Nice meat. Seven inches, I guess, but what the fuck do I know about cock sizes on men? Or teens. Or little boys. Thicker than me, for damn sure, but not some huge thing no one could ever take up the ass or down into my mouth. I guess.

I gestured him to move closer and then tried to figure out how to do this. Well, I've never jacked off anyone else, much less a man, but I know the damn mechanics, and Uncle Max wants me all cummed up. I played with Eddie's dick and balls for a minute, getting the feel of them, the heat, the hard/soft feeling of his cock. Then I sat down and told Eddie to straddle my legs, bend at the knees to brace them on the chair, and then drop back a little so that his cock was basically thrust out above mine.

"You cum a lot?" I asked, rather than repeat what Uncle Max told me.

"Oh, yeah, kid. A whole fucking lot."

Great. Apparently I stop being "young sir" when I'm jacking someone off. What kind of names am I gonna be called when/if my pussy is all opened up and I'm getting fucked? I smiled and reached my hand out and started stroking. It was a little bit awkward, but I told Eddie -- this "telling" thing was kind of fun -- to tell me what worked, what didn't, since I'd never done this before and I wanted Eddie to like it. The idea of a virgin jacking him off obviously made Eddie hornier than ever considering the sudden spurt of precum.

Okay, I was nervous, I was awkward, my strokes were uncertain, but stroke by stroke, paying attention to what Eddie liked, I adjusted what I was doing until Eddie was moaning, and reaching up to twist his own tits through his shirt, and starting to gasp for air and then he shouted out he was cumming -- and did just that. Keeping a just-right hold on the spewing cock, and still continuing to stroke, I made sure my tee and jeans were thoroughly spattered. And when Eddie finally touched my hand and said, "Wow, thanks, kid. But enough. Please," I let loose.

Eddie stood up on wobbly knees. I looked down at myself. Cum, cum, everywhere and not a drop of cum to taste. Hell, there was even a glob on the end of my dick. Then I looked at my hand, which had several thick blobs on it. What was I supposed to do with that? Uncle Max hadn't said what to do if I got cum on myself.

Well, hell. What would a boy slut do? Wipe it off on his tee or his jeans and add it to the other stains, or lick it up and see what a man's cum tastes like? I just had to see if it was finger-lickin' good.

It was. Thick, slimy, only slightly warm, faintly bleachy, but still kind of sweet. Oh, yeah, I definitely loved my first taste of cum other than my own. After licking up every last drop, I told Eddie to leave his cock and balls out and to go sit down again. I picked up the letter, and continued to read.

"Well done, Danny. I'm sure you did what I said. And I'm equally sure that if you got any of Eddie's cum on your hand, you sucked it off, rather than wipe it on your clothes. Just what a good slut would do.

"Now, you have one last thing to do in this letter. If you're reading this it's because you had sex of some sort with Captain Morgan in the airport toilet. I think you're a virgin, but it wasn't always possible to have you watched 24/7/365, so perhaps you did slip out and have your asshole opened or your mouth fucked. If you have, then Captain Morgan had permission to do whatever had already been done to you. So before you got on the plane, you may have been swallowing his cum -- it tastes quite good -- or having his meat shoved up your hole and letting him fill you that way. But if you were/are a virgin, he was to find out if you would jack off into the urinal while watching him do the same thing.

"So, tell Eddie now what you did, if anything, with Captain Morgan in that toilet."

Another great big shit fuck damn hell. It sounded like Captain Morgan and I were just supposed to jack off into the urinals, side by side, watching each other. But fuck, we did more than that. So that's what the nervous look was for. Captain Morgan did more than what he was supposed to. That's why he asked me not to say anything. Now what the fuck was I supposed to do? This was Uncle Max, and I didn't want to screw up by lying to him, well, hell, all boys lie to adults, but I wanted to have my own reason for doing so, sometime down the line, not right at first. But still, I'd promised the captain. Shit fuck shit!

Okay. How about this. "Eddie, when Captain Morgan and I were in the toilet at the airport we jacked off. Not each other, just doing ourselves, until we both came."

Eddie just nodded, but his hand squeezed his dick, which twitched and plumped up a little.

I looked back at the envelope. That last line told me to open the third envelope if I had been given one. Another bold signature.

As I did so, I noticed Eddie was kind of jacking lightly again, and was just putting down an empty bottle of water. Which reminded me that I was thirsty, but then, I was supposed to have something to eat or drink after I was done with the envelopes.

Another letter. No greeting this time. Just words that hit me like a punch in the gut.

"How does it feel to be a pedophile, Danny?

"How does it feel to be a disgusting pervert who wants to sex little boys? Not boys your own age, but younger. What? Five, six, seven? Would you go lower than that? According to those pics, you've been fantasizing about much younger than that, in fact, a great deal younger. How old is that naked little baby boy in that old black and white picture, sitting on his daddy's knees picture with his tiny plump legs spread wide? Is he two? One? How many times did you look at that pic on your screen and jack off in the almost dark, like you figured you'd get caught if there was a light on, even though your door was locked? At last count, you've jacked off more than a hundred times with that pic on the screen as the last one you looked at when you were cumming."

At last count? Uncle Max knew how many times I jacked off in front of my computer? And what I was looking at? Oh, Christ. And he thinks I'm disgusting. I started to sob, but realized I couldn't let myself go. By taking the envelopes I pretty much agreed to look at whatever was inside, and obviously I'd been doing what Uncle Max wanted so far. So I had to finish this letter, no matter how much it hurt. And oh Jesus did it ever hurt.

"I won't even get into the stories you jacked off to. Though `Three Men and a Baby' seems to have been a recent favorite. Were you imagining that the baby girl in that story was a baby boy, and you were one of the men sexing her?

"I told you money made things happen. So I know that unless you've had sex with a little boy unknown to me, you're a damned pedo wannabe. You can't just be content to be a cocksucking, fuck-my-ass boy slut for teens and men, you have to perv on little kids and want to do the same things to them that you want men to do to you.

"Is that really what you are, Danny? A fucking pedo just waiting for a chance to fuck some tight, hot, tiny little boy ass, shove your teen dick down his young throat? If that's what you are, then you have to tell Eddie just what you are. He knows that when you're through with this letter, if you don't tell him something about yourself, you don't get the last envelope.

"Tell Eddie, Danny, tell Eddie what you really are. Or don't. What happens is up to you."

And another signature, but somehow this one seemed darker, wider, blacker.

I couldn't help my tears. I just couldn't. I thought maybe things were going to work out for me after all, but it was pretty clear that while Uncle Max would probably have been okay with me having sex with other teens and men, wanting what I wanted with little boys was really disgusting. So he was probably gonna turn around and send me right back to mom, and let her deal with me.

I sniffed back some tears and looked at Eddie. "Uh-uh-uncle Max told me to tell you what I am. I, uh, oh Jesus, I'm a pedophile, Eddie. I don't want to just learn to have sex with men like you or other boys my age. I want to have sex with little boys. Very young boys. Maybe even babies. I want to fuck their tiny asses and their tiny mouths, and get as much of my dick inside as I can before I cum. I even thought how hot it would be to have teens and men watch me, and maybe fuck me while I was doing a kid, or make me suck them off, or cum on me, or whatever. So, so now you know."

I wasn't really seeing Eddie until I stopped talking, and then my mouth dropped open. Eddie was hard again, and he was jacking his cock furiously and twisting his left tit really, really hard. He looked right at me. "Max said it was okay to jack off if you told me something that turned me on. Christ, did that ever fucking turn me on. Oh yeah, kid, I want to be one of the guys watching you sex a little boy, fuck his hot little ass, fuck your hot hole while you're doin' it, fill you with, oh shit, oh Christ, I'm fuckin' cumming!" And with that he spewed another load of cum every-fucking-where. His face, his clothes, the floor, his hand. When he finally stopped pumping spooge, he slumped back in his chair.

"Damn, kid, but you're gonna be good."

He must have seen the confusion on my face because he just gestured at the last envelope.

I was so nervous I partly ripped the letter that was inside. There was also a smaller sealed envelope.

"My dear Danny,

"If you're reading this, you just told Eddie, as he will later tell me, in somewhat graphic detail that even though you're still a virgin, you're a pedo and a fag. You want sex and lots of it with men, teens and very young little boys.

"Welcome to the family.

"Your Uncle Max is a pedo, too. So is your grandfather Jonathan. Yes, I know my brother always told you he was dead, and told your mother, too. Another of his lies, and Dad and I just decided to leave it that way until the time was right. Like now.

"So there are just two more things for you to do. First, look at the pictures in the envelope, and then start the next page of this letter."

I opened the envelope. A bunch of color five-by-sevens came out. Jesus fucking Christ. They were pictures of a young boy wearing a loose shirt, and shorts and tennis shoes and socks. The face was blurry, but he couldn't be more than four or five. It was a series of photos, and as the photos progressed a man's hand became visible removing each item of clothing until the boy was naked. And obviously enjoying himself, since his tiny little dick was hard. Barely visible, but still definitely hard.

Then a man's face appeared. I couldn't tell who it was, but it was clear from the sequence that he was sucking on the boy's little dick and balls. Then a couple shots of this huge cock in the boy's face, and the boy held onto it with both hands and was slurping on the knob end. And then it was just the little boy, with a man's hand fondling him, and holy fucking Christ, the man's finger was up inside the boy's hole. And the boy was still enjoying it. There were a couple more shots of the boy with the man's forefinger in various in and out positions inside the kid's ass. The last shot was of the boy sort of sitting up, most likely with that finger in his hole, and spewing little boy piss in the man's face. That was the last one. Shaking, I set them down, and picked up the letter again.

"Do you remember when I came to see you when you were almost five, Danny? We had a really good visit, and you really enjoyed the time we spent together. That's you in the pictures. And me. Father Paul, your cousins' tutor, took the photos. Good, isn't he?

"So now the last thing for me. You may not remember pissing on me, but I do. And since I'm sure you're thirsty by now, and since I can't be there, Eddie is going to substitute for me. Go into the bathroom, sit on the toilet fully dressed, with your dick out of your pants, jacking off. Eddie is going to piss on you, Danny, and give you your first taste of man piss. And I want you to cum for me while he does. You can even put your lips around his dick and be his own private urinal if you want.

"And when you're done, come back to the main cabin. Don't clean up. I want you just the way you are when you get off the plane. You can relax, eat, have something to drink for the rest of the trip, but a slut doesn't clean up until he's told it's okay. And that is what you want to be, isn't it, Danny? A pedo fag slut?"

No signature.

I looked through the pictures again, wishing like hell I could actually remember it happening. I stood up, with my dick sticking out still. I told Eddie I needed him to piss on me and to lead me to the toilet. He had a huge grin on his face.

Eddie added some stuff to doing it in the toilet, though. It woulda been nice if he did it because he was really hot for me, and `cause he wanted to, but I know he was just doin' what Uncle Max told him to do. But fuck me it was hot.

Before we left the, well, what the hell, the living room, he asked if he could look at the pics. Uncle Max didn't say anything about keepin' them a secret, well, at least not on his own freakin' plane, it's not like I'm gonna run through the airport wavin' the damn things and yellin' for people to come look at my uncle finger-fucking me when I was five, and suckin' on me, and drinkin' down my boy-piss.

Naturally I was watchin' Eddie's dick when he started lookin' at the pics. Damn but he got hard fast. Which made me wonder how he was gonna piss through a stiffy. I never could but maybe that's an adult thing. Anyway, y'know how when you're horny you get this, this feeling in your crotch and you kinda pull your hips back and you reach down and grope yourself if no one's lookin'? That's what Eddie did. Then he just put the pics down without a word and took me to the bathroom.

He had me stand in front of the toilet and he leaned over me and played hard with my tits. Had me moanin' and groanin' right away. And he kept talkin' to me, hell, all the way through it.

He told me how fuckin' turned on he was by the pics of a young boy getting' sexed. How he liked boy sex. Especially when the little boy was gettin' sexed by a relative, like a daddy, or a grandpa, or like here, an uncle. How Max had told him once about having "good" pics of his nephew, so he had to figure that the pics in the envelope were me and Uncle Max. How fuckin' hot that made him to be doin' tit work on a teen version of the boy in the pics.

He took my tits I guess past the pain to where it was just turnin' me on like fuckin' crazy. `n then he stopped and almost shoved me down on the seat.

He told me to start jacking and then shut his eyes, I guess so he could think of somethin' to help him piss. Must've worked `cause it wasn't very long before a little bit of piss spurted out on my chest. He told me to look up at him. And then he started pissing on me. Talking, too.

I guess he hadn't pissed in like a year or something.

"You're a fuckin' pedo slut wanna be, aren't you, boy. Fuck, you admitted it to me, real proud of it, too. Probably been finding porn pics on the Net of little boys and jacking off to `em. You got that laptop of yours filled with hot kid porn?

"Oh yeah, boy, I know you've been jackin' off to that pedo filth. Imagining you putting that boy cock into the mouth of some six or seven year old, letting him, making him suck you off. Turning him on his belly and ramming your teen cock up his tight tiny hole. Turning him over again so you can watch his face while you fuck him hard and he gets all those dry cums in a row until you fill his ass with teen boy slime."

Jesus. He soaked my clothes, my hair, my face, my cock and balls, all the while I was frantically beating my own meat and listening to him spew all that nastiness at me.

Then he stopped pissing, just held his half-hard dick.

"I need a urinal, kid. A teen toilet. Lean forward and put your fucking pouty slut lips on my cock. Oh, yeah, kid, feels fucking good. Now swallow every fucking drop down."

He started pissing again. Hard. It was bitter. I'd tried tasting my own piss before but it wasn't like this. The smell and taste made me want to puke, sort of, but I still wanted it. Wanted to be his toilet. I was in this haze when he kept on talking, sucking down piss, balancing myself with my left hand on his thigh, jacking my little cock really hard and fast. "Drink my fucking piss, you pedo slut. Filthy teen whore. You'd probably stoop to suckin' off a little baby, wouldn't you, if anybody gave you half a chance."

I had my eyes open and I guess he saw that kind of "fuckin' Christ yes" look in them. "Yeah, pedo boy, thought so. Now cum, you fuckin' slut."

I did. My first time to be a toilet for a hot stud man and I just started cumming. Lots. I mean a fucking lot. It was almost like I hadn't already cum however the fuck many times it was since the jack off in the airport.

When I was done cumming and he was done pissing, I kept my mouth open like a good toilet while he shook off the last few drops onto my tongue. At least there wasn't any cleaning up to do. Stinking of piss and cum, stained everywhere, and very, very happy, the empty part all bright, I went back to the main cabin. Eddie pulled out a cover for the leather chair so I didn't mess it up. And suddenly I was "young sir" again, as if all this hadn't happened.

A little while later, as I took the first bite of this humongous steak and onion sandwich, I thought, "How long this time?"