Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2019 15:51:54 +0000 From: Simon Mohr Subject: David's Contribution: Ryan-Chapter 8 This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance of characters to real persons and reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. All rights reserved. David's Contribution: Ryan-Chapter 8 With that tentative quad structure, we expected to hear from somebody about something. No one said anything. Which, once again, indicated we were only the center of our own universe. We got together often, experimented with permutations... watching Will fuck Liam and John was life-changing. His natural bent (oops) his natural style, I mean, was to be a gracious receiver. He got the job done, don't get me wrong. His cock was in it; his heart and mind weren't. All in all, the love just oozed up and around; we were sure and happy as clams at high water, then safe from the depredations of humans. We had told ourselves to avoid politics in our group and to do that, we tried a schedule, which ensured that no one guy got more than their share of poontang. It worked pretty well. A typical Quad group master suite schedule for 8 pm going out each Friday (for the week beginning the Sunday afterward) looked like this: SUNDAY R--L, J--W MONDAY R--W, J--L TUESDAY Fruit Basket Upset WEDNESDAY Happy Quad THURS R--L, J--W FRIDAY R--W, J--L SATURDAY Happy Quad SUNDAY Whomever Shows Up Plus The initials spoke for themselves, as did 'Happy Quad'. The Plus on 'Whomever Shows Up' referred to an experiment where an itch to bring in another footman or two or three or Jayden could get scratched. The rule was that the Quad had to tell the others if they slept outside the group and get tested at the appropriate time and have negative results before resuming the schedule. The other rule was that when all were negative, nobody bothered with condoms. Three of us were on Prep anyway, just because. Another rule was that condoms had to be used if Plus came to play, just because. The Trust's medical group insisted that we all got tested for HPV and get the HPV vaccine. None of us wanted or needed cancers of the penis or scrotum, none of us wanted or needed esophageal, anal and/or rectal cancers, nasty ways to exit this world. Certain cousins in the HPV family of viruses causes these cancers and the cheap HPV vaccine prevents them. Period. We knew every gay guy should ask his doc why he hasn't received the vaccine yet. We were also tested for chlamydia and syphilis and gonorrhea often, easy to do, all treatable early on and common enough in guys having sex with other guys. Condoms have been known to break. We also got tested for hepatitis regularly and avoided tattoos other than the stick-on kind. Most artists were really careful about their needles and other injection devices...some were not. We all had up to date vaccines for hepatitis and yellow fever because we traveled, but still... Jayden didn't choose to have sex with anyone else but John and Giorgio sometimes. He said he was fine with the cake and the frosting and didn't need pie, whatever that meant. He bounced into my office when the babies were all at thirty weeks gestation. The ultrasound had confirmed that the twins were girls and the singletons were boys. He said John was ecstatic and I could tell he was over the moon as well. I hadn't known, should have known, that several mothers were involved in sheltering these kids for the 40 weeks, giving them a place to grow, but no genetic relation to them at all. The ultrasounds were otherwise normal, and growth was normal for each child, though the twins were slightly behind in size as twins often are, but not abnormally so. The hospital just down the street was prepared for the mothers... any or all at any time and they were thrilled to have these mothers and children without medical insurance, not the normal hospital attitude toward the insurance deprived. The hospital business office had a wire from the Trust for $500K USD toward the total bill and I assumed from the very beginning that they wouldn't hesitate to provide a lot of service for that amount. It should have paid for gloves made out of gold, but they told me they would treat our family 'just like they treated everyone' only just a bit better, which I believed devoutly. It was the right note to strike, that's for sure. The mother of the twins delivered two weeks before term. The babies came out vertex-vertex (head first, then head first) and were perfectly normal girls with a fair amount of dark hair and brown eyes, wrinkled like prunes from all that exposure to amniotic fluid over 38 weeks, nothing unusual. All three singleton mothers came into the hospital two weeks later, two one day and the third, the next day. The boys were normal,7# 6oz, 7# 5oz and the youngest at birth anyway, 8# even. All the Apgar scores were 9 and 10 at 1 and 5 minutes. All vertex. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, but that was going to change, we knew, all breast-fed and went home in two days. Insurance didn't require them to go home sooner. There wasn't any insurance. One would have assumed, watching the window at the nursery, that John and Jayden had carried and delivered the babies themselves. "My baby did this and my baby did that..." I didn't have a lot of experience with parturition and the normal fatherly attitudes, but this seemed excessive. The women had been paid long before and all left the hospital in great condition, leaving their uterine guests behind. I wondered how many of them or their families had already spent their $70K USD fee already. It didn't matter at that point. The Schuyler campus had a pretty fair chance of getting brainy replacements for John and Jayden. The Trust spent a good deal of money raising and educating those wonderful children. We were soon aware the twin girls at age 6 were their 'daddy's little girls' vis-a-vis memory. Lorrie and Karen picked up information like a vacuum cleaner picks up dust. They forgot nothing and loved numbers and math. The boys were naturally good-looking, energetic, athletic even, baseball players to a man, dated girls at age 12 and one never looked back. They were straighter than an arrow at first and although they became aware of the gay culture at the campus because they lived there and were awake and breathing fifteen hours a day, they didn't bend that way at first. They were not sexually active until, we guessed, about age 16 and when that happened, the footmen were began dragging girls out in the morning by their hair. Well, not quite, but we were worried for some time that we'd be sued by somebody for paternity before long, but it didn't happen. The suit, I mean. I think some money changed hands a couple of times without resorting to court. I signed the agreements twice, I should know. John and Jayden were good fathers and the talk they had with their boys must have done the trick. At age 18, however, something happened. I never learned every detail of the story. The footmen told us about a private party in the swimming pool. Two of the boys had their baseball team over and their liberated friends having possibly brought substances to drink, were playing grab-ass. Two of our boys, Ash and Robert, enjoyed it enough to invite the guys over a second time, this time to their suites. Without the booze. Those two boys stopped dating girls; instead they had special male friends over often for 'sleep-overs'. The housekeeping gossip was that the sheets could have kept a DNA lab busy. The Quad just giggled our way through the stories and said nothing. We figured it wasn't our place to interfere. The Quad was having a special Wednesday meeting when Ash and Robert burst into the master suite one evening. I had forgotten to lock the door and their reaction, intense surprise and a grin, was something to see, priceless. So were their cocks after they shed their threads and piled on. After fucking their dad's ass, they started in on the rest of us, including me, the other quintessential top of the group. They had limited staying power but intense energy and when expended, they still lay giggling and talking, the rest of us exhausted and panting, trying to sleep. Their huge cocks and swollen balls never did go down until John made them go back to their studies after giving them the requisite speeches. "See you next Wednesday, dad!" they called out. "It'll be a prize for good behavior if you do!" he called back. The third brother, Isaac, remained straight. Ash and Robert made Wednesdays interesting for many years. Lorrie and Karen Lodge-Miller. the twins, finished their business education with perfect grades; both graduated summa cum laude from a famous business school in the Midwest. Both received a B.S. in Business, then a M.A. with a concentration in Finance; Lorrie added a J.D. and an additional M.A. in Economics and Karen added a Ph.D. in Business with double theses in Finance and Investing. Neither had doubts that they would succeed their fathers at the Trust, taking over the trillions of dollars of investments very successfully. Lorrie took a two-year stint at the Federal Reserve, then another two-year stint at the Treasury Department. Karen went right to work at the Trust, managing the brokers who bought and sold the equities. She was as tough as nails, a worthy successor to Marcus Schuyler-Jones, Loren, Paolo and her fathers, John and Jayden. Lorrie was also the first Schuyler trust officer to be kidnapped. All kidnappings are a mistake, in one sense of the word. Her kidnapping really was a mistake. A group of Colombian 'gentlemen' had flown, one by one, posing as businessmen selling widgets supposedly made in Cartagena, meant for manufacturers in Brooklyn. They brought samples through customs to show their wares and customs couldn't tell the difference unfortunately. While there, they just happened to visit, as a group, a nightclub owned by the daughter of a Colombian political opposition leader with intent to frighten and if at all possible, extort, some bucks from her dad. She was pretty, dark complexioned, and vivacious. So was Lorrie. Lorrie happened to be on a date at the bar that night and the group's leader, having seen only a grainy picture of the intended victim, decided that Lorrie was her and like a flash, a hood was over her head, a drawstring drawn kind of tight around her neck and as she so elegantly put it later to us, "I thought I was fucked." Her second thought was 'where the hell is my security team?' That team was right there enjoying what they saw around them. Patrons, that is. When they looked back, their protectee had just received her new cap. One of them pushed a red button on his belt and the whole Schuyler security apparatus swung into action. The Colombians never had a chance. The security desk on the campus was manned, of course. The officer on duty there pushed the button indicating 'Abduction in Progress' and a computerized map of the bar's location and its surrounding area came up. The duty officer touched the screen at both ends of that block with an electronic pen, a red dot appeared, and at the same instant NYPD screens showed the same information. With the pen, he circled the bar on the screen and printed a capital 'A' beside it. At the same instant, a red circle with the words 'Attempted Schuyler abduction' and an address appeared on NYPD screens both at headquarters and in a thousand cop cars. One of New York's finest was alerted by radio to block one end of that street. He called for kidnap backup, sending a few dozen cars his way. Thirty seconds later the traffic light at both ends of the block turned red and stayed red, a gift from NYPD. A little white-haired old lady in a paisley dress and dark glasses sat 6 seats down the bar from Lorrie nursing a Pepsi, oddly enough. She glanced down the bar, set the Pepsi down slowly, got off her bar stool, and limped over to pay her bill, pretending not to understand the shouted orders to get down. Then she pointed toward the ceiling and a loud bang with a really bright flash stunned everyone in the room except for herself, the deaf little old lady in dark glasses. She began to inconspicuously operate a device that resembled a gun, had the kidnappers noticed it. The device, pointed toward the floor, emitted something strange. The kidnappers were still standing in the room at that point and none of them were wearing dark glasses, their loss. It wasn't a taser. It wasn't a bullet exactly; however, it was a projectile with a tiny chip in it that guided it relatively slowly to the eye of the receiver where it then forcefully entered the eye and exploded with just enough energy to shatter the eyeball. A capacitor then discharged enough high-voltage electricity to fry part of the brain, including the optic nerve on that side, a non-repairable injury. Lorrie's security team, all wearing dark glasses to avoid collateral eye and brain trouble, all very aware of the little old lady's capabilities and her weapon, sat and rubbed their ears. One took another drink of his beer and laughed. Then he walked over having removed his jacket to reveal the orange vest under it, and quickly removed the hood from Lorrie's head. Lorrie and all of her team quickly left along with her date, who had wetted his pants and now was wearing the blanket provided by the security team from the Suburban parked out in front. About ten guys lay on the bar floor, their limbs jerking with seizure-like motions, bleeding, screaming in pain, and yelling for their mothers. NYPD walked in a few minutes later to find the bartender and other guests out in front, the Schuyler crowd far away by then, and the Colombians now very quiet on the floor, some still alive, but not for long. The opposition leader in Colombia was grateful. He later became President of his country and demonstrated his gratitude in unique ways. He found out years later we were looking for moorage for an enormous yacht the size of a small battleship. We found what we needed in Cartagena, of all places. At a discount, of all things. With shore facilities rivalling those in the US, by design. The NYPD wasn't surprised when a very large amount of cash was wired to the Police Benevolent Association from the Schuyler Trust. They had earned every penny of it and then some. I don't remember just when Isaac demonstrated his interest in art, but I jumped on the idea behind the scenes and made sure he was offered time at the Louvre, a college education in the history of art, a good knowledge of the Schuyler art holdings and the Trust's culture, introduced him to curators, museum directors and supported his decision to also get a J.D., and a Bachelor's degree in business. I made certain he had a great mentor (me) and provided hours of Schuyler campus instruction to him. There was a lot to know. I was stunned when he began to date Valentine over at Alain Industries and blown away when he proposed marriage to her after a year of dating and proud to tears at their wedding at Manhattan's Riverside Church in Morningside Heights and choked a little as Peach left for South Africa for a working honeymoon, followed by the Boeing 737 with gifts of water and food for needs in Johannesburg. Our security staff flew in Raspberry just behind. Their honeymoon was widely publicized globally, a departure from 'stay out of the papers and social media' policy and an entrance into the future. Valentine gave South Africa a nuclear fusion reactor, a fabulous boost to their economy. It provided most of South Africa's power needs for many years, arriving a month or so after they left. I changed the Trust to allow them to be the next beneficiaries after Liam and I retired or died. They weren't to inherit for another 34 years. The beneficiary move created a concentration of wealth which broke new records, fortunately in good hands, fortunately with benign motives for the planet. Isaac loved his sisters who ran the investment wing of the Trust and worked well with them. Valentine brought the reigns of the Alain Industries with her to the mix. The two fortunes blended nicely.