Ah, Sammy's now come closer to accepting that he's bi. But auto-eroticism has only whetted his appetite for the real thing, and there IS Cousin Henry -- if he's old enough.

This story is fiction; nothing in it is real except for the setting. The copyright is mine; the story may not appear anywhere else but Nifty without my express permission. If you're not a legal adult in your country, please don't read.

If you are enjoying this story, I have Global Entertainment appearing in Nifty's Incest folder (the incest in it is a little closer than 4^th cousins). If you want more hot vampire sex, you'll have to order in my new anthology from Starbooks LOVERS WHO STAY WITH YOU. Nifty has a link to several book stores and receives a commission for every book ordered. SOOO ... If you order my anthology through Nifty, you're helping Nifty.

Write me at vichowel@aol.com. Your comments, good and bad, help me when I rewrite.

Dave MacMillan

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CHAPTER FOUR

Henry's daddy Ralph had stood in his doorway last evening and not invited me into his house. This afternoon, however, he was the successful local inviting the new squire to his table -- with smiles and well wishes.

I wasn't sure how to take the change in the man's behavior and adopted a wait-and-see posture, giving him all the rope he wanted.

I checked Henry out a couple times. I knew he was looking me over as well.

If I invited him up to the house during the afternoon, I was pretty sure I knew what would happen. I just didn't know if I wanted it to happen.

I'd had one hell of a wet dream last night, involving me and the blond. I had never, not ever, thought of guy-sex before, but there I was dreaming of it in full technicolor and sensorama sound. Me getting porked and loving every inch of it.

And I'd gobbled my pecker down in the shower this morning. I was quickly getting hard at the thought of messing around with Henry. I just didn't know if I wanted to start playing the gay card -- especially with any of my clients.

I was ready to admit that I was bi. It was the only way I could explain sucking myself off and swallowing my cum. It also went a long way toward explaining the dream with the blond hunk doing the honors in my butt.

But there was no way that I was going to let a man or boy between my legs for real. That privilege was reserved exclusively for the blond -- because he was a dream. He wasn't real.

If Henry showed up at the log house, it was going to be me between his legs. I'd suck him off, but that'd just be part of the foreplay -- like chewing on a clit before I porked the girl. After this morning, the idea of sucking dick didn't faze me very much. It was just that I wasn't willing to find out if the blond had been really a dream or real by letting Henry score me.

But Henry was a kid. What if we got down to the nitty gritty and the boy screamed rape? Georgia's Supreme Court may have thrown out the old sodomy law last year, but Georgia still had its age of consent law and anything under eighteen was jailbait.

At the table, Henry sat next to a mousy girl who was his sister. Her name was Janet and she was a business major at Agnes Scott in Atlanta. She didn't wear make-up and her hair was pulled back in an old-fashioned bun.

Mousy wasn't the right word for her. She looked too driven to be a meek little mouse, her eyes bright and watching everything from behind too big glasses. Janet's features behind her Elton John glasses were severe.

Mama Taylor was a middle-aged woman -- and would have been attractive if she'd kept her figure. It was obvious that she sampled as much as she served at dinner, supper, and any other time she was in the kitchen.

"I'm real sorry about your Daddy, Sammy," Ralph said as mama started around the table spooning out huge lumps of mashed potatoes.

"Thank you, Cousin Ralph," I said politely, mentally steeling myself for whatever he was going to try to unload on me.

"I'm sure glad you're here," he continued as he forked a large chicken breast from the serving plate before him onto my plate. "We need new blood and the thinking that goes with it on the family council."

"We need to get out of the stone age, Sam," Janet said, breaking on her father. "For more than eighty years, we Taylors have been held to this mountain and the subsistence farming it allows."

I remembered how big and well-built their house was. I had images of dirt-floored shacks and those old grainy photos of 1940's sharecroppers when I thought of subsistence farming.

"It's always been the men who made the decisions -- your great-grandfather..." She looked over at me and tried to smile, it came across as a leer. "Our great-grandfather. Samuel Adams Taylor is the great-grandfather of everybody here on this piece of rock," she explained. "Him, then your grandfather, and finally your father and old man Euston -- they've kept us buried on the mountain and only allowed us to farm little patches of the available land. They've made it impossible for Taylor Mountain to develop because of the land covenants."

"They've got a ski resort over on Sky Mountain," Ralph said around a mouthful of chicken. He shoveled a forkful of potatoes into his mouth on top of the chicken.

"Georgia's only ski resort!" Janet snorted. "We've got nothing. Nada."

I looked from Janet to Ralph chewing happily on another mouthful of chicken. "Some of you seem to be doing pretty well -- this house and Agnes Scott aren't exactly cheap."

She snorted again. "The Taylors have our dear family council and the Sam Taylor Foundation to thank for that. They're the last gasp of a feudal, patronymic system."

Oh, boy! They sure did teach the girls of Agnes Scott to use big words.

"What do you mean?" I asked, careful to keep all inflection out of my voice.

"The foundation pays for everybody's health insurance, Sammy," Ralph said and, surprisingly, he hadn't talked around food in his mouth. "It pays for every child's college education -- and, if the kid's really smart, it'll pay for private school from even the first grade."

I nodded. A hundred families would equal a couple hundred kids -- the foundation had more than enough money to send every kid on the mountain to Harvard.

"Old Mr. Sam and his oldest son, Junior, set it all up for us," he continued. "It's like a co-op. As long as you're a member of the family, live on the mountain, and raise your kids here, the council takes care of all of you through the foundation."

"What happens if somebody moves off the mountain?" I asked.

Janet jumped on me fast. "That's one of my points. If you move off the mountain, you get nothing."

"Oh."

"We are the Taylors of Taylor Mountain, Sammy Taylor," she said, waving her arm around to cover the whole mountain. "The money that the foundation has invested, that's our money. Only, it isn't. Because of people like old man Euston and the three Samuel Adams Taylors before you. They're the ones who haven't let individual families own their own homes, free and clear. They're the ones who've divided family members from each other. They're the ones who have kept the stronger farmers from buying out the weaker ones. And they're the ones who haven't let folks grow their farms or develop new kinds of employment opportunities on the mountain."

I'd started to think of Henry's sister as a latter-day Marxist, until she said that. The words had thrown her into pure capitalism. It made a lot of sense -- if her facts were accurate.

I figured right then, from the way they were hitting on me and me being the family financial advisor and a Sam Adams Taylor, that anything I said at this family council tonight was going to be listened to.

I smiled at Janet, then her father. "What are you guys trying to sell me?" I asked and bit into the chicken breast Ralph had just put on my plate in a very obvious move. "I might be interested," I added, getting the words out around what I had in my mouth. Janet and Henry dug into their dark meat portions, now that the preliminaries were over.

"Sammy," Ralph leaned across the table toward me. "Your Daddy was a good man. Can't nobody tell me any different. The foundation does good too. It's pulled us Taylors up by the bib coveralls we were wearing back in the forties and given us a good life."

He glanced over at his daughter, then pulled his attention back to me. "But there's no more land here on the mountain to be tilled the way things are now. The folks in the valley and down at Mountain Hollow -- they just barely tolerate us. Most of our kids go to the county schools because we pay our taxes and don't ask for any favors -- but the kids and us grown-ups too, we're just barely tolerated off this mountain. There ain't no place for our young'uns to go -- not on the mountain and not down in the county, either. Not when they're grown-ups working for a living."

"So, they move to Athens or Atlanta?" I asked.

"They can get jobs there. But it's not the same as having your kids at home like things are supposed to be." He glanced at his daughter again. "This girl's going to be managing some big, fine hotel there in Atlanta or, maybe, up in New York City where some turban-head can fly a plane into it and kill her. There's nothing for her here, except to get married and make more Taylors." He looked quickly at Mama Taylor. "Like the missus did before Janet."

"So, you're saying you'd like to see development here on the mountain?"

He nodded. "That and making more land available for our boys too. Henry won't have more than the twenty-five acres that I farm if he stays on the mountain -- and that's only after I die."

"There's only so much land on any mountain, Ralph," I started, consciously dropping the "cousin". He was selling now and hoping I was buying. That did away with age differences and family ties in my book.

"That ain't exactly true now, Sammy. Sure, there's only so many acres but eighty percent of Taylor Mountain is woods -- hardwood, mind you. It ain't been cut since old Mr. Sam bought the mountain and planted all those trees back in the 1920s."

"You'd cut the forest?"

"Maybe fifty percent. There'd still be plenty of trees around to look at. The foundation stands to make a lot of money if the council sells that timber. Zack Butts down in Mountain Hollow will buy all of it we let him cut. Plus, we'd more than double the land we can farm. We'd have room for our sons to have their own farms here on the mountain and bring up their youn'uns the way they were themselves."

Ralph and his family ate as he talked business. Deciding that cold mashed potatoes wouldn't be all that good, I did the same. Ralph had complete control of the floor.

Janet was a liberated woman, she'd proved that when she interrupted her father and jumpstarted the table conversation into what she wanted us talking about. But her father was not a browbeaten man. He had accepted her ideas and made them his own. It was definitely his thinking that I was getting.

From what Ralph said, I was the designated financial advisor to the Taylors of Taylor Mountain. It didn't matter how young I was or how inexperienced they thought I might be. I was the fourth in the line of Samuel Adams Taylors to direct the family's financial life. It would take the majority of the family council voting against me holding the position before there was even the possibility that I'd lose it. The family would have to ask Old Mr. Sam himself to remove me. That was the only way I could lose the combined investment portfolio.

In the security of my position I ranked right behind Old Mr. Sam himself as leader, arbiter, ombudsman, and whatever else the Taylors decided I was.

Dad's files sure hadn't indicated that he'd been the family's potentate those one-weekend-a-month trips he'd taken.

"This old Mr. Sam -- is that S. A. Taylor who runs the foundation?" I asked.

"Yeah. That's your great-granddaddy, Sammy," Henry said, venturing into the table discussion for the first time since we'd sat down to supper.

"Him?" I cried. "Is he still alive? He's got to be over a hundred years old!"

Ralph cringed. His wife looked away. Henry looked uncomfortable. Janet seemed to take that moment to get squishing her butterbeans with her fork.

"What's up?" I asked her quietly.

"Daddy -- everybody here on the mountain -- makes that old man out to be some kind of boogeyman or something. Most of us haven't ever even seen him. But if you want to scare somebody around here just tell him that old Mr. Sam won't like what they're thinking of doing and they'll shit bricks."

Mama Taylor's face whipped around and she was staring at her daughter. Her face was blank, however. Ralph looked as if he ought to start making hex signs. Henry looked like he was trying to gulp air and couldn't.

Janet's comment ended the sales pitch. Our supper ended too, and Mama Taylor was soon moving around the table collecting dishes. After a moment's hesitation, Janet got up and helped her mother. Ralph and Henry just sat there, silent as a tomb.

I didn't know what the hell to do.

"Ralph," I said being as diplomatic as I knew how. "This all is real new to me. Especially the role you see me playing in all this. What you've suggested for the mountain sounds good on the face of it; but I'd like a week or two to think it over." I smiled. "And pull together some figures to see how they crunch."

He nodded, looking run-out of steam.

"This thing -- the council meeting -- this evening. If Henry's willing, would it be all right if he went up to the house after lunch with me and then showed me how to get to the meeting?"

I saw something in Henry's throat bob as he tried to swallow. The Taylor parents looked at each other and there was definite fear showing in their faces.

"I'd only be up there for the afternoon?" Henry asked me in a strangled voice.

I nodded.

"I guess -- Daddy ..." He waited until Ralph turned to him. "It'd still be light when we meet at the longhouse ... I'd be coming back with you and mama after the meeting."

When I was a senior in high school, I was doing good to even tell Dad where I was going. Henry acted like he was a little kid scared to be with me.

No, not me. He acted like he was scared of being in the log house where I now lived -- especially when it got dark.

"You want to go help Sammy, Henry?" Ralph asked, apparently leaving the decision up to his son.

"I reckon I ought to," he answered and looked over at me. He tried to smile, but he still looked like a deer caught in a car's rushing headlights.

As I turned into the drive and started up to the house, I was thinking that Henry was hot. I was thinking that I wouldn't mind some hanky panky with the boy over the next couple of hours. My dick stirred in my jeans.

My mind went back to my earlier thought about him joining me this afternoon. Was he queer? Did I really want to pork some guy?

Jesus!

Without even realizing I was doing so, I started trying to picture his dick and how big it was. I wondered if it'd be cut like mine or still have its skin like my dream blond's.

"Henry," I said, cutting off those thoughts, "you sounded almost scared of coming up here with me."

The silence in the car was deafening as I followed the drive around to the house. We broke through the trees and whipped into the two car parking area. I looked over at him to find him studying me.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"You don't really know, do you, Sammy?"

"Know what?" I demanded, turning the car off.

"About our great-granddaddy -- old Sam Adams Taylor."

"No." I turned to face him. "What about him?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to let you find out the same way every other boy on this mountain has found out the past eighty years."

"Find out what?" I grumbled, ready to worm it out of him.

"Do you grown-up boys in Atlanta party, Sammy?" he asked, shifting me onto totally new ground.

"Party?" I asked.

"Yeah." He grinned. "I've heard about you all down there in Atlanta."

"Are you asking what I think you are?" I asked very carefully.

He opened the door. "Let's go inside, Sammy." He looked back at me. "In case you're worried about it, I turned eighteen two days before school started."

I stood just inside the room watching Henry. "I don't know about this," he said from the side of my bed. He'd pulled off his sneakers and T-shirt and was sitting on the edge, looking back at me expectantly.

He didn't know about this? He'd come on to me! We were in my bedroom and there were only his jeans, a pair of socks, and his underwear between him and nudity -- and he didn't know about this?

He looked me up and down. "I guess you could say that I'm sort of curious."

"So am I."

"You won't think bad about me after?"

"Henry!"

"I like you, Sammy. I don't want you to think I'm just easy or something. I'm not like those boys in Atlanta."

I didn't know a fucking thing about the boys in Atlanta. I just knew I had a dream that had fucked me raw last night and I'd sucked myself off and swallowed this morning. I knew that I wanted to explore this shit with Henry to see if it was all I was cracking it up to be.

I crossed the room and stood before him. He looked up at me, searching my face. "We're cousins, Henry," I told him, playing it by ear.

A grin curved his lips up and spread across his face. "Kissing cousins?"

"Yeah."

He rose and his arms went around my waist, his hands sliding up my back. His full lips were coming at me and I wanted them. Mine met his and my tongue was pushing at his teeth to get them to open. My hands went to his jeans-clad buttcheeks and started kneading without so much as an encouraging thought from my head. My dick went to its full seven inches.

He ground his crotch against mine, his tongue giving as well as it got. His hands found the hem of my shirt and slid it up to my shoulders. Mine found their way between us and worked the button of his jeans free.

One returned to his butt, slipping under the waistband of his briefs to find warm, naked skin. The other worked his zipper down before joining its mate.

He pulled away and pulled my shirt over my head, his eyes watching me all the while. His thumbs hooked inside the loose waist of his jeans and pushed them and his briefs over his butt. His jeans fell down his legs, but his briefs hung up on his pole. I watched spellbound as the white cotton of his briefs was pulled inch after inch out along the shaft of his dick.

"Big boy!" I mumbled as the knob finally sprang free of its cloth prison and the tube of hard, trimmed meat slapped back against his abs. I knelt, taking over from him. He sat back on the bed as I pulled his clothes over his feet.

He spread his legs in invitation and I crawled between them.

My fingers encircled his pole. It was almost exactly how I remembered the wand the blond had been wielding in my dream. Except that Henry was cut, had a mass of shiny black pubes, and was real. A drop of precum glistened in his slit.

I leaned closer and licked the underside of his knob, the rough flat of my tongue moving up to get the drop. I reminded myself that I'd sucked myself off just that morning -- and swallowed everything I could shoot. I took the whole head into my mouth, my lips closing behind the flange, and bathed it with my tongue.

Henry groaned. I closed my eyes and let my lips slide down his pole until its head was lodged at the opening of my throat. I was as hard as a rock inside my jeans as I started to bob.

His hands rode the back of my head as he humped my mouth in synch with my bobbing. He kept up a steady moaning. My fingers came up to his ball sack and began to explore the eggs it held. He moaned louder.

Holding his balls in my hand, my index finger moved to explore the territory behind them. It found his pucker almost instantly.

"Oh, yeah!" he groaned. "Fuck my ass with that finger, Sammy."

My finger pressed against his pucker and was instantly sucked into him. About the time I was in him up to the second knuckle I found a small bump behind his pecker and balls. I pressed on it and his whole body jerked. His balls rose and their sack tightened. I started to rub across the bump as I sucked his dick. He ground his groin on my finger, moaning louder.

"I'm going to shoot!" he cried softly.

I continued to bob, and his widening knob found its way past my tonsils. His whole body tensed under me. His cumchute widen against my lower lip as his ball juice barreled through it. My lips dove for his pubes.

His first rope fired straight down my throat. The second rope hit my tonsils as I began to pull back. The third hit the back of my tongue. The next three I tasted with only the head of his pecker was in my mouth.

His jizz didn't taste bad. It was a bit thicker than mine had been that morning and maybe a little saltier. I licked him clean and sat back on my haunches. I found him gazing down the length of his body at me.

"Give me a minute, Sammy," he mumbled, "and I'll do you back." He smiled wanly. "Only, I want you to fuck my ass."

I nodded and got to my feet. I got out of my jeans and boxers. I lay down on the bed, stroking my dick a little as I waited for him. Henry moved up on the bed to lie beside me.

He reached between us and took my pecker from me. "That's mine for now, Sammy Taylor," he whispered as his face swam toward mine. "And I'm going to take good care of it this afternoon."

Henry sat up and, getting on his knees, straddled me. Reaching around under his butt, he positioned my pole at his hole.

I watched as he lowered himself. His dick was hard and hugging his abs. He began to lower himself, and I felt his sphincter resist before opening to let me in.

He sighed when the whole head of my pole was inside of him. He held his butt suspended there as his body adjusted to me being in him. His pecker rode his belly.

"Here we go," he mumbled and sat down on me, impaling himself on everything I had in that one moment of surrender.

He ground his butt against my crotch and my balls tightened with the stimulation.

I couldn't believe how good it felt to have my dick in him. His ass was so tight, tighter than any pussy I'd ever fucked.

"I'm going to fuck myself on this joystick of yours, Sammy," he whispered as his upper body bent over me so that his face was less than a foot from mine. I raised up on my elbows and reached him. His hands took my face as his lips found mine.

We kissed as he raised himself on my dick, then lowered himself. My tongue explored his mouth as he fucked himself on me.

His fuckchute gripped me from my knob to almost my root, like warm, wet fingers gripping and stroking me. His fingers tweaked my nipples. His tongue pushed into my mouth and possessed it.

I took his pecker and jacked it in the same rhythm his ass was using on mine. I could feel my orgasm rushing toward me. My balls straddled my dick.

I didn't last long.