Date: Tue, 26 May 2015 19:27:49 +0000 (UTC) From: kevin Donovan Subject: "The Business of Pleasure," Chapter 1, Gay Male, Incest The following is a work of gay erotic fiction. Any resemblance to any real person or situation would be entirely coincidental and wildly improbable. In fact, the author has no clue in real life of what he is writing about. The story does involve, it is to be hoped, vivid descriptions of sex acts among adult males, including male relatives, who are unlikely to produce deformed offspring as a result. All characters are above the age for legal consent to sexual activity, and all are eager participants. Do not read this if you are underage in your locality or if downloading homoerotic material would be illegal. This is masturbatory fantasy material, guys, not to be attempted at home. In real life, be faithfully monogamous, or wrap it up! Keep your mitts off of kids! And slide me an email to let me know someone is out there! letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com My business is writing stories for your masturbatory pleasure. Your business is seeing to it that this site is able to be maintained, by sendin in your generous and regular contributions. How much would you pay for a subscription to a porn site? THE BUSINESS OF PLEASURE By Kevin Donovan CHAPTER ONE "DITTO" From his vantage point outside the half-open bedroom door, the teen could see little, but hear just about everything. The headboard tapped lightly against the far wall of the chamber; the voices of the two lovers murmured occasionally, mostly one moaning and the other giving positioning instruction and soft encouragement, and the regular slap-slap-slap of sweaty hips on buttocks and thighs coincided with the tapping. His parents were fucking. Not that this was a remarkable occurrence: The young man was well aware, had been for years, that they did this for hours at a time, at every opportunity when both were in town. He'd seen them all-but-fucking many times, when they made out on the sofa or by the pool or out on the river, or almost anyplace for that matter. It was no shock to him, rather a blessed relief, when he got his first real erection—he'd been seeing them all his life, and knew very well what they were for. The parental bodies were well known to him, too, right down to body hair (moderate, but carefully trimmed), perfect, all-over tans, tattoos (several each), and genitalia (cut and horse-hung), because no one around there ever wore clothing, and no one was the least bit physically modest. One must acknowledge, no one had anything to hide, either, in the physical endowment department. Yes, Ditto, along with his three younger brothers, had two dads, had them for a decade, since before it was fashionable or even talked about. In less than a month, Ditto would turn eighteen. The twins, Peyton and Parker, were less than a year younger. After them came Alexander, almost sixteen, and universally known as Pooch. The boys' biological father was "Deuce"—Jonathan Randolph Mansfield II, after his grandfather. That made Ditto the third of that name. He actually had some memories of his biological mother, a pretty, sweet and saucy red-headed gal with amazing tits named Margie, though she had departed when he was still five. Dit remembered the noises she and Deuce made fucking, too, as they had all shared the large open attic of the house back then, where the twins now ran rampant. The "mom" who mainly raised them, though, was Emmitt, a wrinkly, wise, and wonderful black man, far more than a friend of the family. Emmitt came to live with them right after their mom ran off to California, but Emmitt died just last year, surrounded by a loving family, after a long, sad battle with lung cancer, in his bedroom just yards from where Ditto stood and his dads fucked. Emmitt had run the household and managed the boys. The "consort" half of the wife position had been filled by Benji, Deuce's own youngest brother, his sons' uncle. As Emmitt sickened, Benjie took up more of the household management duties, too, so that now, he was the complete housewife and mother, with balls. Big, oval, low-hanging balls. Benji was just almost ten when Ditto was born, six years younger than Deuce, and therefore the dads were twenty-seven and thirty-three as their oldest perved at them through their doorway. Their backs were to him, but he held back out of the dim crack of light that emerged from the doorway nonetheless. In the low light of the bedroom, he could see Deuce's large, well-formed and masculine feet pointed toes down and sort of grappling with the sheets. He also saw Benji's left foot, pretty much just like Deuce's, toes up and drawing up toward Deuce's knees as the two copulated. As a matter of fact, the predictability of all this fucking was part of Ditto's well-laid plan: He felt the need to talk privately with his dad. He had thought they might be finished as he slipped into their outer sitting room—but since they weren't, he craned his neck a little to see into the bed chamber if there might be more on display for his viewing pleasure while he waited. Parents or not, the men were hot, hot, hot. His oversize Mansfield-issue dick extended like a billy club from his crotch, throbbing with teen lust. Ditto was naked, too, of course, like always when at home. He was not forbidden to wear clothes, he just didn't want to, and his brothers likewise. They followed the practice of their elders, and they were perfectly comfortable that way. Ditto was consciously grateful, even at his age. He'd always known he would sprout tufts of hair in certain places, and that his genitals would grow and become engorged at times. Far from being traumatized, he was relieved when it happened, and the younger boys had his development as an example to note, too. Their progress was even a positive, non-judgmental topic of family conversation. He took a step sideways and leaned into the beam of light just a bit—enough to see Deuce's muscular, dark-haired legs extending to the strong, rounded globes of his buttocks, which rose and fell relentlessly on the juncture between Benji's wide-spread legs. Benji, also, had fabulous, long and muscular legs. The boy had heard Deuce returning from his business trip around 1:00 A. M., though Deuce tried to be quiet—their suite, after all, was right next to Ditto's, and the stairs were creaky in the old house. Ditto counted on two hours of passionate fucking. He spent the time himself doing some heavy jacking, reminiscing about his last sixty-nine session with his best buddy, Cooter. After that, he made his stealthy approach to his parents' lair, hoping he could catch Deuce in a good frame of mind to put up with some direct and pointed questions about the family business interests and history, and maybe get him to agree to some equally direct and candid answers to his eldest son. So close to his eighteenth birthday, it was time. Past time, really. Ditto's ignorance and naiveté had already gotten to be an embarrassment. He cringed in the dark, remembering the scene in the locker room just a couple of days ago, when Cooter, who besides being a suck-buddy for several years was also his most dependable pass receiver on the squad, hung back with him in the showers so that the two were the last ones to dress. Football season, of course, was long over, and the boys had nothing to prep for, being seniors, but they still had the last period of the day for physical education, and they used it for weight training, cardio work, and generally goofing around with their team-mates. They also helped the coaches work with the younger guys. Cooter, known to substitute teachers alone as Jeremy, was the second-best-looking guy in the school. At six feet two, he was a strapping physical specimen, with wide shoulders, a thirty-inch waist, and muscles everywhere developed beyond his years. His light brown hair was shorn to an even medium length and, except when in the shower, spiked fashionably. His chest was decorated with just a swath of light, short hair between the dime-sized tits. His pecs were a joy to behold, a delight to touch. His eight-pack abs were smooth, but for the enticing trail from navel to narrow, trimmed pubes and shaved sack. His cut, beefy dick, at five thick inches limp promising several more upon request, was the envy of many and the dream of many more, and the trim set it off to perfection. Far from ridiculing Cooter for the girly affectation of shaving the nether regions, the good old boys of the football team emulated him. Because the best-looking guy in the school did the same thing--and the best-looking guy was their quarterback and leader, their hero, Ditto Mansfield. Ditto's body was much like Cooter's and the same height. His hair and skin were a few shades darker. His teeth were a shade whiter, nose a nudge bolder, his eyes a smidgen wider and his lashes a fraction longer, his bed-head hair a tad more naturally, unpretentiously seductive. Ditto's cut dick was half an inch longer, and just as thick as Cooter's. His hairless testicles were fuller and hung even lower. His parts were in perfect balance and proportion. He was a work of art. Naked and dripping, Cooter grinned at his buddy and idol. Clearly, he was working up to saying something, but Ditto just had to wait him out. The final bell rang, and abandonment of the school grounds proceeded, but these seniors both drove their own cars and were in no hurry. Finally, at the changing bench, Cooter let it out. "So—you turn eighteen in a few weeks, Dit. You made any work plans yet for the summer?" Cooter should know he had not. "Oh, not really. Benji pays me pretty good for what I have to do around the farm anyway. How come?" Cooter already knew his friend had turned down the football scholarship to the University, because he didn't really click with their coaching staff, and he confessed he didn't have the dedication to the sport it would take to excel there, anyway. A natural athlete, well blessed genetically with size, muscularity, speed, coordination, and smarts, Ditto somehow did not have the killer instinct of the top-level quarterback. He liked football, but it wasn't his life. Cooter also knew Deuce had offered to pay his son's way at the local college, if he lived at home and helped out there, but did not offer room and board for schooling away from home. And he knew Ditto liked living at home, and had no need to rebel or get away from parental authority, which he didn't feel oppressed by, anyway. Dit had a good thing going, and he knew it. Cooter's own scholarship hopes had been dashed by his arthroscopic knee surgery at the end of the season. His knee was fine now—but it could not be counted on to hold up to the punishment of college football. So he was destined for the local college and living at home, too. And with Ditto enrolling with him, that suited Cooter just fine. Truth be told, Cooter's situation may well have entered strongly into Ditto's decision about college ball. Cooter's vigorous toweling of himself caused his dick to flop around, and Ditto definitely noticed, silently, mouth almost watering. "But you'll be eighteen, Dude," Cooter persisted. "You can do more than work around the farm." "Like?" "Well, like work down at the `Tom Kat,' and the `Rosebud.' Damn, you're family, man. I'd have thought you'd be all lined up for it." Coot sounded seriously disappointed. This was the statement that rocked Ditto's world. It wasn't that he did not know about the Tom Kat/Kit Kat Club, just over the hill from his house and at the right of the entrance to his own driveway. Or the "Rosebud," a set of tourist cabins just to the left of that driveway. What he did not know was what they had to do with him, and "family." "What are you planning to do?" he asked, changing the subject and looking down at his half-socked foot. "Well...I don' know, then. Ricky will be still working at the Kat this summer. He worked there last year, put himself through the college and bought himself that car, and after this summer, he'll have all he needs to transfer to the University. I was kinda thinking-- well, he suggested I should—of doing that, too, if Deuce will take me on. I have my birthday a month after yours. But, man...I thought you'd be there, too. I thought maybe we could kind of do it together." Ricky was Cooter's older brother, surpassed now a couple of inches in height by Cooter, slimmer over-all and more delicate in features. Ditto had known him, too, all his life. But now, Ditto was seriously, embarrassingly in the dark about something Cooter knew all about, concerning his own family. Nothing to do but bluff. "Well, we'll see. Maybe Deuce has something planned, but he hasn't said anything yet. I'll check on it when he gets home in a few days. And I'll mention you, too, if you like." That was all it took to calm Cooter's concerns. He visibly relaxed and stepped into his boxer briefs, mercifully caging the beast that kept drawing Ditto's eye its way. But what was it Ditto was promising to ask Deuce about regarding the two businesses near his home? He knew that he and Cooter could not serve liquor before they were twenty-one. So what could they do there to earn more money than he got at home? What Ditto wanted to do at the moment was ask Cooter to come home with him so they could suck one another's cocks all afternoon, and have a good fuck in the evening. But what he did not want to do was have to confess to how little he knew about the Kat Klub, and his father's connection to it. Luckily, Cooter spared him the dilemma. "Remember, I have to go with my dad to visit my grandparents this weekend. We leave right after he gets off work, so I have to head home. I'll text you, though—maybe we can hang out Sunday night, huh?" "Sure, Sunday, count on it. I think we'll open the pool this weekend, it's getting really warm." Cooter bustled off happy. So Ditto had a reprieve of a few days, but soon, he knew, he'd better get up to speed on family lore, or he'd wind up learning about it from his best friend. The gasps and groans from the bed indicated that Deuce had spewed sperm in his lover's ass, probably for the third or fourth time. Ditto was poised to knock on the doorframe. But then, all Deuce did was flip his partner over and pull his hips up so he rested on his knees, and then Deuce entered his anus again and started hunching like a dog. Ditto sighed. At least they were both facing away for sure. He stood at the entryway and watched unabashedly. Deuce's smooth, muscular ass tightened and loosened as he pushed in and out of Benji's rectum. He had those delicious-looking little indentations at the top and sides of his hip bones. Damn, the man had stamina, thought Ditto. Damn, both men did. Ditto admired the dangle of Deuce's balls as he thrust, though he realized his own would put on just as good a show from the rear. Deuce had an incredibly hot body. So did Benji. Hell, the whole family did. Ditto thought of the first time he'd fucked Cooter, late the previous summer. They were down at the river camp, where they spent most of their free time in warmer weather. That day, the others were off playing baseball or something, and the two boys had the place to themselves. They'd been sucking one another at every opportunity for quite a while by then, and they were thoroughly comfortable with one another's nude bodies, since Cooter hung out so much with the naked Mansfield men. (His dad knew the family dress code and had no problem with it. Cooter's mom had died a couple of years earlier, breast cancer.) Despite living in a basically gay household, Ditto knew virtually nothing about fucking ass beyond how badly he wanted to do it. He and Cooter had been shagging cheerleaders, sometimes together, for a year or so. But guy-sex was a new twist on the thing, one that Ditto had been secretly longing for. He probably hurt Cooter more than necessary in his eagerness to enter his ass, but Coot did not complain. He took his friend's big dick like a champ. Once in, Ditto proved himself to be a natural born ass-fucker, and both boys loved it. What each one knew, but would not say out loud, was that a big part of it had to do with the fact that they were fucking each other—the bond between them was that strong. Yet even as pure sex, it was something special that neither would ever forget. After a few moments recoup time following a major, earth-shaking ejaculation, Ditto let Cooter flip him and fuck him, too. It was only fair, he thought. Friends take turn about with these things. Cooter's entrance was a bit rougher than it might be, too, but in a way, Ditto appreciated it. When you get fucked in the ass, he thought, especially for the first time, it ought to hurt some. But once Cooter got his big dick settled inside Ditto's ass and started to hump him, pressing hard into his virgin prostate at every thrust, something like a conversion event took place in Ditto's psyche, something he had not the least expected. `Damn,' he thought with wonder. `I think I'm a bottom-boy!' The sensation of having a big dick reaming his ass was unlike anything he had ever experienced or imagined. It was unique, and he wanted it repeated. That made something else he needed to talk to the `rents about. Maybe also the fact that he was getting off big time on watching them rut. There was a big dose of the voyeur in number one son. He wrenched forcefully at his swollen organ as he watched the scene. In due course, Deuce came again. It had to be the fifth time, at least, with all the fucking they'd done. It was almost four thirty a. m. Spent at last, Deuce swiveled and flopped onto his pillow, and Benjie collapsed beside him. They kissed. Ditto rapped on the woodwork. "How long you been there, Dit?" Deuce asked without looking up. "Oh, two cums, it sounded like." No use in dissembling, his dad always seemed to know the answer to any question he asked anyway. " I'm sorry to intrude, really. I need to talk to you, though, in private. Without the others. This is the only place I know I can find you, and just about the only time." Deuce and Benjie both laughed and Deuce invited his son in. Ditto crawled into the big bed between the two men and laid his situation on the line: the looming birthday, Cooter's inquisition, his embarrassing ignorance. Benji's eyebrows gave Deuce an "I told you" look, and Deuce did look a bit chagrined. "You're right, Stud, I've cut it a little close this time. Too much on my mind and too much travel. I'm sorry about that. Actually, I was planning a little talk with you this week, because your birthday IS coming on fast. But right now, I'm about to crash, I mean, I'm totally fucked out. Let's get some shut-eye, all three of us, and tomorrow, you and I can have a little gab-fest, OK?" Ditto agreed cheerfully. He was tired, himself. The three men curled up together and slept through until mid-morning. The other boys, being teens, and it being Sunday, slept in, too, so Benji made a nice Sunday pancake breakfast for all of them when he rose. After that, Deuce and Ditto adjourned to the master suite for a long-overdue father-son talk.