Date: Fri, 30 Jun 2017 03:02:47 +0000 From: John Marshall Subject: Cox Cocks, Chapter nineteen This story does directly follows the previous story, "Jason Turns Ten" however it begins some two years later with largely the same group of characters and many new ones added . The saga which began with "The Working Boys,"continued with "Ecstasy Island," followed by "Ecstasy Renewed," "EcstasyInc," "The Pharm Boys," and "Erotic Isle: the Endless Orgasm." Like my other stories, it is unorthodox but quite seductive, as are the figures depicted. Like "The Working boys," "Ecstasy Island," "Ecstasy Renewed," and "Jason Turns Ten" (all found under Bisexual Adult/Youth), as well as "EcstasyInc," and "The Pharm Boys" and "Erotic Isle: the Endless Orgasm." (found under Gay Adult/Youth), this one is also written in third person with each chapter proceeding in something close to real time. I use extensive dialogue to carry the story along and intense character development. In this story, the sexual encounters are primarily gay. Once more, this story is extremely orgasmic with all ejaculating dialogue written in UPPER CASE. If you do not wish to be exposed to such material as described, leave now. If you are too young for this sort of thing, leave now. If reading this causes you to break the law where you live, leave now. Otherwise, take the time now to get naked and get your cock hard. Start strokin' it. Jack yourself off as you read and see if you can time your own blasts of naked sexual pleasure with those of the characters in the book. This one averages from one to four orgasms per chapter. For that reason, I don't recommend reading more than one chapter at a time. Any more than that might be hazardous to your sexual health...especially your hard, throbbing cock. Note: All drugs mentioned are fictitious. If you like what you read, let me know at crackerjacker18@hotmail.com. I answer all e-mails. THE COX COCKS CHAPTER NINETEEN "Jerk me off," Jamey whispered softly into Andre's ear, interrupting his snoring as they cuddled naked together by the fire. Their soft, white, furry comforter warming them both. "Go back to sleep it's not even light out yet," Andre snorted, rolling over onto his side away from Jamey. "It's six-thirty and I need to cum, it's been almost six hours," Jamey insisted. "Go fuck yourself," Andre told him gruffly, "...oh...and have a nice quiet orgasm." "Please, Andre, please, my dick's not long enough or I would," Jamey teased seductively. "My cock's so hard..." "Go take a piss...it's called morning wood," Andre reasoned. "I tried that...it's still hard," Jamey argued. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that's what your fuckin' FIST is for," Andrew asked? "Please, Andre, molest me, I need it bad." "Go pester your old man," Andre insisted, "I need my beauty sleep." "You got that right," Jamey huffed. He'd tried pleading so now he tried his sexy, snotty little kid act. He took Andre's hand, twisting his arm slightly, and wrapped the man's fingers around his rock-hard boycock. Andre pulled away. "Jamey, forgodsake, don't they teach you the meaning of NO at that queer fuckin' whorehouse of a school you go to?" "No one ever told me no before," Jamey went back into his seductive mode, whispering into Andre's ear and tickling it, even a he tried to wedge his four-inch boy-cock between Andre's clinched butt cheeks. "JAMES CARLYLE LONDON JUNIOR, get your fuckin' cock outta my ass or so help me I'll jerk it off alright...and I DO mean JERK IT OFF...COMPLETELY." "GEEEESSSS...toucheeee, who cummed in YOUR eye last night," Jamey gave up, rolling over onto his back, kicking off the comforter and taking matters into his own hands. "OoooooooOOOOOOooooo this feels good, ohhhh yeah, oahhhhh fuckin' yeah, feels good, jackin' my cock, ohhh fuck yes, I love this feeling. Feels sooooo good, oh, yeah, ohhh fuck, yeah. Best feeling a boy can feel, ohh yeah, jackin my cock, man jackin' my cock, jackin' my cock, ahhhahhh fuck, feels good, ahhahehhahh yeah, man, doin' it to myself, givin' myself hot fuckin' feelings deep down inside...yheah, oahhhah god, feelin' stronger and stronger, getttin' closer and close, ohhhh damn, aoahhhah shit...i'm....ohhhh fuckkk, I'm gonna...gonna..." Suddenly Andre sat up beside him, grabbed the comforter, gathered it around himself, the marched off to the second bedroom, making a point of loudly slamming and locking the door behind him. "Hmph...not a morning person, I guess," Jamey huffed. "WELL, NEXT TIME YOU WANT ONE OF MY HOT FUCKIN' BLOWJOBS, DON'T COME CRAWLIN' TO ME!!!" "WHAT THE FUCKIN' HELL'S GOIN' ON OUT HERE, YOU TRYIN' TO WAKE THE..." Jim London stopped suddenly realizing the inappropriateness, under the circumstances, of what he had almost said. "Just havin' a quick jack-job," Jamey told his dad as he, now lay sprawled naked across the floor in front of the fireplace. "You wanna give me a hand?" Jim London surveyed his sexy young son then turned, started clapping his hands in applause, and marched, naked back to his bedroom for another couple hours of sleep. "Damn, hasn't anyone around here every heard of sex in the morning?" Jamey complained. He had grown used to sex morning, noon, and night with quickie's tucked in between enounters whenever the opportunities presented themselves. "Jet...where are you when I really need you," Jamey sobbed, missing his preteen lover more than he ever had before. He turned his attention back to his still-hard cock and stroked it a few times. He gave up. His heart just wan't in it. This was the first time in his entire, pubescent life anyone had ever rejected his sexual advances. He found some pillows on the couch and covered himself, drifting off to sleep, one sad, frustrated, little boy. ---------------------------- "Jamey, it's almost nine, time to get up, get dressed, so we can fine a place to eat," Jim London nudged his naked young son's shoulder with his foot to wake him. "Go away, I'm havin' a wet dream," Jamey rolled over without opening his eyes. "Sorry 'bout that," Andre nudged the boy gently with his highly polished black loafer, then changed his mind. "No...no I'm not. Jim, you know what this horny little cockhound did this morning? He woke me at 5:30 a.m. wantin' me to jack him the fuck off." "Cox Academy withdrawal pains," Jim shook his head in dismay, then, knelt, kissed his son on the lips, then sat him up. "Come on, get up, get a shower, I laid your suit out on the bed in there." "Jamey sat up, rubbed, his eyes, staring up at the fully dressed men surrounding him in surprise. "Couldn't I just skip the funeral and send my condolences...a nice bunch of flowers, maybe?" Jamey asked as he struggled to his feet. "I suppose a blowjob from one of you two is out of the question." "For now," Jim relented, humoring the boy as he shusted him off toward the shower. "And clean up your ass, you don't smell very good," Andre called after him. "That bad, huh?" Jim smiled slightly. "No," Andre admitted, "but I'm pissed off at your horny young son...and he deserves to be taken down a notch or two. Just because he's the hottest little fucker with two testicles doesn't make him the cock of the walk." "You think I spoil him?" Jim asked seriously. "In a word, YES," Andre told the boy's father firmly. "If not yet, you will, then you're gonna have hell to pay." "It's just that...that I love him SO much, in every way a father CAN love his son...and some ways a father SHOULDN'T love his son," Jim admitted to his aeronautical friend. "It's just...I can't help it...he's all I got." ---------------------- "I'll say this for him, he sure cleans up nice," Andre nudged Jim London as Jamey and the two men got into the company limo, along with the Averill Group driver. "He almost looks better in clothes," Jim whispered back as the massive black automobile began to move off. "You attending the funeral with us?" "I don't think so...I won't know anyone...never met your father," Andre demured. "I'd only raise questions you needn't worry about at such time. Jamey was silent, lost in thought as they drove to the nearby funeral home. Had there not been a spot reserved for them, parking would have been a major problem. Inside, Jamey forced a polite smile as he greeted and shook hands with relatives he hardly knew and his father's upper-echelon business associates whom he knew not at all. There were several of his grandfather's rather decrepit looking old friends. He even met two senators, a congressman, and the Lieutenant Governor of the state. There were about twice as many there as he'd expected. Even Jamey's father seemed taken aback at the number. "Jamey London, my, aren't you the handsome one here today," Jamey's Aunt Betsy greeted them with a pronounced southern drawl. She hugged Jamey, then solemly shook hands with Jim, her brother. "I can't believe how you've grown!" "Aunt Betsey..." Jamey's pasted-on smile faded somewhat. "It's been almost two years," Jamey added by way of an explanation for the fact that he was no longer the innocent little nine-year-old his aunt remembered. "And...and handsome too," Betsy repeated herself, looking him over from head to foot. "He must take after his mother." "Uncle Bob..." Jamey nodded to greet his "uncle-in-law." "Jamey..." Bob acknowledged his young nephew barely looking at him. "Your dress looks...quite nice..." Jamey lied. She was dressed in a very hot pink lacy number with bows and ruffles. It was the ugliest dress Jamey had ever seen. "We better find our seats, or we'll be holding up the proceedings," JIm called a halt to his son's conversational trials. As they moved inside the chapel, Jamey whispered to his father, "Quite the fashion statement..." "Right," Jim smirked. "When she dies, I'm going to insist she be buried in it." Jamey stifled a laugh as they moved down the carpeted aisle toward the closed oaken casket. Jamey ended up sitting right beside his Aunt Betsy and her "Evening in Paris" perfume. She smelled like SEVERAL evenings in Paris. He almost choked. "How come they closed the lid?" Jamey whispered to his father as he sqirmed uncomfortably on the shiney, black, folding chair." "Because I asked them to," Jim told his son softly. "Why? Because of Aunt Betsy's perfume?" Jim almost laughed. "No, I wanted you to remember him alive, not all painted up lying out on white satin," Jim explained. "This is a memorial to the man, not a mortitian's showcase." Jamey knodded in understanding, a tear meandering down his pretty, pink cheek. As the secular services began, several people got up to tell about Jamey's grandfather, their memories, his philanthropy, and his pleasant personality. Eventually, the funeral director asked if anyone else wished to speak. Suddenly, impulsively, surprising himself as well as the hundred or more in the chapel, Jamey raised his hand. "I do." More than a little stunned, the funeral director looked first at Jamey, than at his father. Jim nodded. "Jamey..." the funeral director said softly, remembering his name as he nodded silent in Jamey's direction. Shaking only slightly, Jamey stood and moved a few feet forward, standing behind the podium. He could barely see over it. Recognizing the problem, the funeral director, moved quickly to solve it, providing jamey a wooden stool upon which to stand. The problem was, once Jamey mounted it, everyone present smiled, with a titter of amusement passing around the room. The stool was way too tall. Jamey now towered over everyone in the room. Thinking quickly, Jamey removed the microphone from the podium and stepped down, standing to one side. "It's okay, son," Jim London whispered just loudly enough for only Jamey and those nearby to hear. Jamey cleared his throat and spoke a little too loudly at first as he held the mike too close to his face. "Friends, acquaintences, countrymen, lend me your ears. I come to bury my grandfather, not to praise him. The evil men do lives after them. The good, is oft' interred with their bones." There was another titter of amusement as some of the audience recognized the words of Shakespeare's Mark Anthony from the bard's "Julius Caesar." Others, less astute, simply thought they were a bit odd. Jamey was thankful his English teacher, Mr. Laver, had made them study Shakespeare during the previous month. It was the only funeral oration he knew. "That was NOT the case with my grandfather," Jamey bravely continued. "The good he did lives on after him. I loved my grandfather. I AM the good that lives on after him. He made me be good. He smacked my ass when I wasn't, and kissed my forehead when I was. He taught me the difference between good and bad. He taught me to be honest. He taught me to love. He taught me to say nice things to nice people. He taught me about money, about friendship, about obedience, about sex, about having fun, about having fun with sex..." Jamey glanced over at his father who was shaking his head slightly trying to unobtrusively cover his face with one hand in embarrasssment. He was either laughing or crying. Jamey wasn't sure which. Nonetheless he labored on. "My grandfather...though he was quite rich, taught me about being poor. He taught me to be generous. My grandfather taught by example. He taught me how to treat the bitches and bastards in this world as good as the saints and the sinners, the smart and the stupid, the sad and the silly, the high and the mighty. He taught me when to fear, what to fear, and how to fear it. He taught me when to fight and when to run. He taught me to be proud and brave, how to say, 'I'm sorry.' How to say 'please' and how to say 'thank you.' Put simply, he taught me to be nice. Okay, I guess I did come to praise my grandfather. But I'm his only grandchild, I guess that sorta gives me the right to praise him." He ended, gave a slight bow, then sat down. After a few seconds, Jamey and his father were startled to hear polite applause. "Where the hell did THAT come from?" Jim tried to hide a proud grin. "What? You don't know your Shakespeare?" Jamey asked as they stood to leave the chapel "All to well." Jim laughed. "And he's probably rolling over in his grave at the moment." "Uhh....Jim...I...I was wondering if we might have a word with you while we wait to leave for the cemetery?" Betsy asked her brother. Jim shrugged. "Sure I guess." "There's a small office just off the lobby, we can go there," Bob suggested. Jamey followed his dad as his uncle Bob led the way. "That was a very brave thing for a boy your age to do...and very well put," Bob complimented his nephew. Betsy gave her husband a dirty look but said nothing. "Jim we have some papers for you and...who knows when we'll catch up with you again so... "You couldn't even wait until dad was in the ground to start all this," Jim told his sister briskly as he glanced at the papers she'd just handed him. "Jamey maybe you should wait outside, if you don't mind?" Betsy suggested, correctly guaging his father's reaction. "NO." Jim London said suddenly, startling Jamey, as well as Betsy and Bob. "Stay put, Jamey...you need to see and hear this...see what a greedy, old witch your aunt...and uncle...really are. I was going to use the "B" word but..." Jim eyed his son. Jamey very poorly stifled a smile but remained silent. "Those are simply court documents detailing our intentions to challenge dad's will in court," Betsy explained. "There's no need to get nasty about this." "My god, Bets, he left you-two million..." Jim began, barely controling his disgust. "You've seen the will?" Betsy reacted in surprise. "Seen it, read it, practically memorized it word for word," Jim sat down on the edge of the heavy mahogany desk. "Two million," Bob repeated, exchanging glances with his wife. "Then you know how miserly...how unfair such an amount would be." Betsy carried on. "I do." Jim surprised his sister by agreeing. "I don't know what grudge he had with you...you two...but it should have been TWICE that much." "Twice?" Bob once more repeated the amount. "Four million....for a company worth four billion?" Betsy was growing angry. "I see you've done your homework," Jim remarked, deciding that his sister's figure was likely more accurate than his own guestimate. Jamey's eyes widen but he had the presence of mind to keep his mouth shut. "You realize what a knock-down, drag out family insurrection this is going to be?" Jim watched his sister closely, as if trying to read her mind. "Why, JAMEY could be CEO of Averill before this got settled." "You exaggerate," Bob commented, glancing down at the attractive eleven-year-old. "Posssibly," Jim admitted. "No, probably," Betsy corrected. "And you know we'd ultimately win too, don't you?" "Perhaps, if you don't mind ending up with an empty storefront on Peachtree." Jim told his sister. "You know, of course, the second this hits the street Averill Group is going to plunge fifty points...just the first hour...another fifty before the week's over...a hundred or morein the first quarter alone. "Like Bob said, you exaggerate," Betsy shot back. "I don't doubt we'll take a hit, but we'll bounce back. We always have." "Betsy, you of all people should know damn fuckin' well what a fighter I am," JIm told her. "Whatever his reason, for dad's sake, I'll fight you both tooth and toenail on this. You're damned right we'll take a hit, and as it drags through the courts, year after year we'll keep ON taking hits. We're a holding company. What hits us hits all 230 companies we're invested in, not to mention the milions of people who work for us...and them." "FUCK 'EM," Betsy retorted as Jamey drew in a sharp breath of surprise and distaste at his aunt's uncaring words. "You getting this all down, Jamey?" Jim asked retorically. "You may be asked about this meeting someday in court." "Okay, I shouldn't have said that," Betsy admitted, "but Jim, two-million, even FOUR-million is grossly unfair. I realize how shitty....messy this is gonna get, even in the short term, but... "You want more?" Jim collapsed her words into a nutshell. Her greed unmasked, Betsy said nothing. "Yes," Bob answered for her, uncaring as to what anyone thought of his position. Jim was the silent one this time, looking his sister and her husband up and down, trying to decide his next move. Jamey reached up and tuggedf his dad by the sleeve of his jacket, pulling him down, then whispered something in his ear. Jim pulled back, once more standing erect. "You think?" He gazed down at his son questioningly. Jamey nodded. "Jamey thinks I should offer you TEN million to drop this whole thing and...as he put it," Jim smiled down at his son. "Go fuck yourselves." Betsy gasped at her young nephew's words, her husband gasping at the dollar figure. They both looked at one another, stunned. "Can you...afford that?" Betsy asked in dismay. "No," Jim replied, once more eyeing his son, trying to decide if he'd fathered a very astute negotiator or a spendthrift kid who cared little as to how he handled money that wasn't his. "But we'll find a way." "We'll get back to you," Bob told them as he opened the office door and turned to leave. "Ten million...?" Betsy repeated the figure to her brother as if unsure as to his offer or her own ears. "Ten million," Jim repeated more firmly, gathering up the court documents his sister had served him. "And Betsy...you either take this off the table NOW or we go to court where you'll be lucky to get your precious TWO million. I want an answer TOMORROW. You have my number. Call and leave a message." Betsy winced, then turned to Jamey. "And as for YOU, young man, your shakespearean plagerism STUNK," Betsy said taking a parting shot. "Not as bad as your half-gallon of Evening in Paris," Jamey shot back, having set next to the woman for the past hour or so. Once more Jim London stiffled a laugh, then bent over and whispered to his son, "Dammit, wish I'd said that."