Date: Sun, 3 Sep 2017 16:20:05 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Culberhouse Rules 12

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/culberhouse-rules/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between related young-adult men. Go away if any of
that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html
to keep the cum coming.

*****

His howl was pure Hollywood werewolf, a tormented soul in the throes of
agony, but bent on tearing the world apart nonetheless, just to stop the
aching need for blood. I heard another keening whine and a squeaking sound
behind me. I looked over the see Dave and Billy had jacked each other to
orgasm as well, Billy moaning so high and tight I thought he'd burst a lung
and Dave sounded precisely like Billy had described, someone riding the
rusty-springed elephant at the park. Jack had shot quite literally across
the trailer to paint Ryan's leg. And Ryan sat completely mesmerized by the
show. I winked at him and smiled. 'Yeah', I thought, 'the
Culberhouse-Arnhart partnership is gonna be epic.'

*****

Culberhouse Rules 12: Planning Out the Summer

By Bear Pup

*****

"F-F-F-F-F-F-Fuck," Ryan intoned like a prayer. "T-T-T-T-T-Taylor? Um? Uh?"
I was flying high, more from the sex-rush than the herb at that point. As
Jack kept going through vocal and twitchy aftershocks, I turned like a lion
scenting new prey to my brother's shocked and desperate face. I growled,
low and menacing and started to lick up the trail of spooge Jack has
painted down my brother's calf.  Other than Jack's whimpers, the trailer
was suddenly silent as the grave.

Ryan chuffed and whined a little as I moved up his leg with my tongue,
putting on a show for the Arnhart Brothers. I got to the pouch of his jock
and started to nibble with my face fully-involved as he spread his legs
wide and pushed himself forward so I could assault his taint, both of us
moaning in different keys but certainly singing from the same hymnal. I
used my nose to nuzzle the pouch up and to the side. His entire package
flopped onto my face, his ramrod proud, red and slick, his nuts tight and
churning.

I made a meal of that ball-sac as he squirmed and let out those sexy little
yips of surprise as my teeth and tongue probed and prodded. I very slowly
and elaborately worked my long tongue up his shaft, making sure to lick up
every trace of dogwater from the entire surface, round and round. I got to
the head and looked up to see that Billy's eyes were huge and his mouth
open. Dave was panting quickly like he was in the midst of a race. Jack was
frozen like a bunny in front of a rattlesnake.

I smiled wickedly and leaned forward and chastely kissed the cockhead
before licking up to Ryan's belly button, making him squirm, then giggle
adorably before I licked around his pecs and to his neck and ears. By this
point Ryan was a vocal mass of whines, whimpers, moans and gasps, so far
beyond words he couldn't have told you his name. I raped his ear with my
tongue and started to grind my jock-covered cock against his freed one. I
let the sexual energy build like the static on a cold winter's day and then
began to frot-fuck him in earnest.

Ryan's voice went higher and higher and he suddenly wrenched my head around
into a deep kiss, locking me in place with one arm around my neck and his
hand on the back of my head. He pulled my tongue into his mouth and started
to hunch into me in a syncopated rhythm to my own thrusts. Abruptly, his
cock found its way into my jockstrap and began to duel directly with my
superheated dick. That was all it took.

I'd been on the sexual edge for the entire night, and getting Jack off had
nearly made me flood my jock. Ryan's gut-deep and penetrating keening in my
mouth, his cock suddenly attacking my glans with his own, sent me into a
mindless, obscenity-screaming explosion of sound, movement and gushing
cum. That tipped Ryan over the edge as well. We must have looked like two
jock eels squirming together as I felt the cum squeezed southward, drooling
off me to dribble onto and then drip off Ryan's nuts.

I slid, insensate, to the floor and suddenly felt myself flipped over. Jack
was sucking my brother's and my combined load from the pouch of my
jockstrap, my belly, my sides and my legs. I looked up to see Ryan getting
the same Mr Clean treatment from Billy while Dave just stared, shaking like
an aspen.

Jack started getting increasingly-personal with my junk and I felt him
start to nuzzle into the pouch itself and pulled him off and up. I stared
into his very needy eyes and whispered, "Let's save that for next
time. Anyway, I'm not sure you," I pulled him forward until my lips were
again at his ear, "can handle it until we've got you tied down, stud." Jack
whimpered and dove in for a long tongue-battling kiss. I finally broke it
to find Ryan in a similar embrace with both Billy and Dave, swapping from
one tongue to the other.

I reached up and smacked Billy's ass (the nearer of them) and got a
satisfying yelp. "Guys, Ryan and I've got to head out. We have to work on
CYO tomorrow -- yeah, yeah, we'll tell you all about that part when we get
together again."

Jack jumped in, breathlessly and so obviously desperate that Billy and Dave
laughed, "When? Tomorrow?"

 I smiled, "How long is your -- what? Uncle? -- out of town?"

"'Til Monday."

"Ry? You think the rents will buy two nights in a row?"

The Boy with the Golden Tongue cogitated and I could see his eyes flick
back and forth as various verbal scenarios were considered and
discarded. He finally shook his head. "With meeting Brother Andrew for the
CYO stuff? For that we're driving to Springdale, over three hours each
way. We have to be on the road by seven and that means missing the famed
Saturday Breakfast, and we won't be home until dinner. No. I don't see a
way to make that work."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Sunday?"

He smiled slowly. "Yeah, I can see a couple ways to spin that one. Want to
start in the afternoon?"

"We can bring lunch!" Jack's desperation was hysterical to everyone but
him.

"No," I said. "We have to do Mass and some post-Mass stuff probably with
Father Sean... say, maybe 3:00?"

Ryan nodded, "Yeah, I can make that work. We can grill up a dinner here. In
fact..." my brother got a devious smile, "I think I can make it work
*really* well. Does your family go to church?"

Billy and Jack looked nonplussed but Dave started to grin. "No, not
really. Maybe Easter some years when the weather's nice and Christmas,
whichever church seems to be putting on the best show."

"Excellent. You three are about to be converted." Billy and Jack looked
stunned but Dave laughed.

"And I'm betting that is a long, involved and very, um, *private* process,
is it?"

Ryan did the whole fake-solemn thing, "Yes, I'm afraid it will take many,
many hours of private contemplation on faith and suchlike. Lots of
meetings. Probably take all summer." He smiled like a shark. "You up for
that?"

The penny had finally dropped for both Jack and Billy and they looked like
six-year-olds on Christmas morning. I spoke up with a chuckle. "You know,
Ryan, with that story, we might get Mom to spring for steaks..."

Surprisingly, for all that had transpired, it was barely 10:30 when we got
home. I had been right; Mom was ecstatic. She kept kissing us both over and
over when we told her about our missionary work. Dad looked up. "Arnhart?
You talking about Jake Arnhart's boys?" We shrugged, not knowing the
father. "Three guys, all athletes? One a tall basketball type?" We
nodded. "Huh. I'll be damned. Jake in a church? That I've got to see." His
look made me nervous but I knew Mom would keep him in line. This was Church
Business.

Ryan had bumped me and we ended up in a tussle of sorts. Mom said, "I'll go
to the Burch's place, Ozark Family Farm up in Moko, and buy a spread that
is sure to impress three..." she looked at us horsing around, "make that
FIVE young heathen men." We broke off and thanked her in true awe. The
Burch family raised the best beef in the state. Buying at their place did
little other than bring the cost down from insane to merely-extravagant.

We headed to our rooms, again with the ruse of me going to 'bed', locking
my door and sneaking through the bath to join a waiting and breathless
Ryan. He snuggled into me with the enthusiasm of a puppy and I chuckled,
holding him tight. He said he'd never felt so safe. In all honestly, I'd
never felt so loved... or so powerful, responsible and utterly male. The
play of the morning before became habit instantly. Ryan woke me with a
spectacular blowjob and I drove him to a shattering orgasm in the shower.

We dressed and went down separately to find that a very sleepy mom had made
us a to-go breakfast of bacon, egg and cheese burritos. We kissed her
goodbye and were on the road just before our goal of seven o'clock and
pulled into the St Raphael parking lot at 10:45, a quarter-hour earlier
than our scheduled appointment. Brother Andrew had given us instructions on
getting in. His office was actually a converted classroom in the
Preschool. We found the side door, went in and up the stairs, surprised at
the bustle of activity around on a Saturday morning.

Three of the classroom were converted to office space, one with the legend,
"Catholic Youth Ministries, Catholic Campus Ministries, Family Life Office,
Xaverian Brothers, Apostles of Jesus, Sisters of Mercy" We blinked in
surprise. I leaned back out to recheck the plaque on the door. Yep, there
were six things listed. And, yep, there were three desks.

Brother Andrew's massive bulk sat behind one where he was in an animated
conversation on the phone. A smiling, rosy-cheeked woman of middle years
was stuffing some file folders into a lurid, floral bag of the type seen
more on beaches than offices. The plaque read, "Sister Mary Catherine
(RSM)". The third desk was unoccupied but had its own plaque reading,
"Friar Prashant Ramachandran (AJ)".

The woman walked past, introducing herself as Sister Mary Catherine (per
the plaque). "You must be the Culberhouse Boys that have Brother Andrew so
excited. I hear you are quite the little innovators." Ryan blanched at the
thought of what the monk might have said but I smiled back at her.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sister. We're happy to help. One of the things we
have to discuss with Brother Andrew is that a number of non-Catholics are
interested. I'm hoping that he can give us some info on who they contact,
you know, about maybe becoming Catholic?"

"Well aren't you just priceless! Brother Andrew was right; you're quite the
pair. I'm afraid that I work on Family Life which is mainly couples getting
married, but often one or the other is coming into the faith at the same
time. It's not the same as a youth ministry, though. Brother Andrew will
set you straight." Ryan practically choked on that last phrase, but I just
shook her hand and thanked her, holding the door open as she left.

Brother Andrew nodded to us, smiling. We pulled a couple of the
preschool-chairs up in front of the giant man's desk and waited, trying to
find a way to make our knees work with chairs made for six-year-olds. We
looked like we were riding clown bikes in the circus.

Brother Andrew got up and locked the door before coming back to sit at the
desk. He let out a long sigh that blew his cheeks out. "Well, I have to
say, you two lit a fire that is really taking hold. Your idea, though I
refuse to condone or even discuss how you got there, is sound. I've been in
touch with several others including Youth Ministries experts in several
other dioceses and I was rather shocked at how few changes they suggested
to the overall outline."

Ryan and I let out breaths we didn't realize we'd been holding. The next
three hours were dizzying. Neither of us had even considered what kind of
logistics and planning went into real events. It was monstrous. First off,
the "mixed" bro-sis combo was nixed. Confessions would get
extremely... awkward, something we hadn't considered. Location was a big
deal, but the Diocese already had a relationship with a (non-Catholic but
very, very Christian) spot called His Place Resort. Since it was about at
the middle of Northern Arkansas on the White River instead of either of the
big, touristy lakes, it made for a good choice.

The itinerary was shockingly-close to what we'd suggested. For guys, the
camp would start with orientation, then a nerf sword/club battle. Bible
readings about brothers and what they are supposed to mean to each
other. Flag football, older brothers on one team and younger on the other
followed by two-man volleyball, with each brother-pair as a team (compete
on football then cooperate on volleyball). Fishing with each pair of
brothers in a boat; they have to trade off every half-hour on who has the
rod and who has the paddle and net, forcing cooperation (damn; wish we'd
thought of that).

Clean and cook the catch, sharing as needed -- the whole Loaves & Fishes
thing. Singsong at the campfire with lots of cool ideas, including
marshmallows (how the fuck did I forget marshmallows?). Then the heart of
it, Betrayal Storytime (officially, Sharing the Coat of Many Colors) where
the group as a whole dissects the worst moments in brothers' lives. Close
the night with a hymn. Next morning, an obstacle course requiring
cooperation, then Mass. Then another fishing excursion so everyone has
something to take to the 'rents. Lunch of num-nums cooked over the fire.

Lastly were two that were more-or-less what we'd said, but more-defined by
far. Reconciliation where each brother explained what hurt and what healed,
then the brothers would make promises and vows on new behavior and
attitudes. Final prayers, mainly asking God to help the guys actually
change. Another innovation was the follow-up. A Telegram group was already
set up. After Retreats, each participant had to promise to post to it
whenever his *brother* (not himself) did something to fulfill a
change-vow. 'Wow,' I thought, 'that's damned smart!'

For the girls' weekends (which, God be praised, we would NOT attend), the
nerf battle would be sponge-throws, flag football would be some interior
design competition shit, pure HGTV, and the readings would change since,
like, brothers are a whole different thing in the Bible than sisters.

Next up was our penance... um, our support activities. For a starter, St
Michaels (our own parish) would be the pilot. We had to speak at each CYO
and CCD meeting for the next three weeks, and do a reading at each Sunday
Mass (AAGGHH! There are THREE Masses every week! One on Saturday evening!)
and do a presentation near the end of each Mass about the retreat. Fuck,
fuck, FUCK! The monk gave me an incredibly stern look. Great. Brother
Andrew was a mind-reader. Just what the fuck I needed.

The first actual event would be in a month, the first full weekend of the
summer vacation. Ryan and I would arrive two hours early, greet and help
organize the guys, participate in all the events. Most importantly, we'd
lead off the Sharing the Coat of Many Colors doohickey with our own, actual
stories and help the other guys follow suit. We'd stick around after the
hymn for any of the guys who wanted to talk privately; apparently the
late-night darkness was incredibly conducive to confessions, worries and
questions. Same with the Reconciliation and Vows segments the next
afternoon. We'd stay to clean up, as well as answering questions and
offering support to those who lingered from need of such things.

Then the worst news yet -- we'd share a cabin with Brother Andrew. Yep,
Brother Andrew the Mind-Reading Monk would be in the same damned room with
us. Neither of us actually moaned at that, but it was clearly a close-run
thing. So, from Saturday breakfast to Sunday dinner, we'd be doing
everything EXCEPT enjoying 'alone time' with each other. Well, we sighed,
at least it was only the once.

Oh! But don't order yet! Call within the next eternity and you get a free
set of the exact same fucking bullshit every third weekend! All summer!
Yay! And the weekends we didn't have a retreat? BONUS: We had to go to
various other parishes as ambassadors! Isn't that just *special*? The rest
of the morning just flew (like a tortoise) by as he went over all sorts of
details, plans, itineraries and materials.

We left his office three hours after we'd gotten there. We got into the car
and simply sat, staring through the windshield at the bleak and desolate
future that was the broken tatters of our Junior-Senior summer. "Come on,
Ry. Let's head home. There's a Long John Silver's down the street and we
can drown our sorrows in greasy carbs. Let's, well, let's just not think of
it for a while?"

Yeah, well, that didn't work out. We got home to hugs and kisses from Mom
who immediately told us to call Father Sean to talk about what reading we'd
do the next day. Ryan called and I watched his brow furrow as he wrote some
stuff down. "Mom," he said, "Taylor and I need to read through this. When
do you think dinner will be?"

"Oh, honeys, at least an hour. I'll call you."

Ryan came into my room with the slip of paper and sat at the keyboard. The
passage was from 1 Peter, Chapter 2, verses 20-25. Ryan blanched as he
read. I read over his shoulder and my eyes bugged. The first part was fine,
then we got to the meat of the matter.

He [Christ] committed no sin, and no deceit was found in His mouth. When He
was insulted, He returned no insult; when He suffered, He did not threaten;
instead, He handed Himself over to the one who judges justly. He Himself
bore our sins in His body upon the cross, so that, free from sin, we might
live for righteousness. By His wounds you have been healed. For you had
gone astray like sheep, but you have now returned to the shepherd and
guardian of your souls.

He turned to me. "We have to stand up there and read THIS? In front of
everybody? '...no deceit was found in His mouth.'? '...He handed Himself
over to the one who judges justly'? US?? Dear God, think of the carnage: St
Michael's Church Destroyed by Simultaneous Tornado, Lightning and Flood --
Film at Eleven!"

"Actually, I'll take this one. Yeah, those are bad for, you know, us and
what we did, but we can even tie one of the lines into the speaking
thing. 'When He was insulted, He returned no insult; when He suffered, He
did not threaten...' That's, like, perfect for the Retreat. Cuz that's how
we 'got off the rails' as brothers, by always counterattacking when we even
thought that the other might have dissed us." He was nodding now, some
color coming back into his face.

"So, um, you're okay reading this? I mean, you always say I have the Golden
Voice or some shit. I thought you'd make me do all the readings."

I scowled and let it into my voice. "If you ever, even one more time, talk
about me 'making' you do anything, I will kick you fucking ass from here to
Wednesday."

He smiled. "If you can promise to kick me to the end of summer break so I
can skip this shit, it would be worth it!"

"Yeah, whatever. I'll do the readings this week, you do the spiel. Let's
rewrite it quick and then we have the rest of the evening." We did, having
earlier decided that we'd both go up for readings and the spiel, but only
one of us would take each.

Dinner was uneventful and tasty. Afterwards, we retreated to Ryan's room,
explaining that we need to rehearse. Instead, we laid and just
cuddled. "You know," Ryan said, musingly, "I've been thinking."

I groaned theatrically, "Oh, God, that bodes not well." He punched me
lightly.

"Dick! I was thinking about the Arnharts. Damn, dude, not like that!" He'd
felt my instant erection thump his ass, apparently. "More like, well, their
sleeping solution. Now, hold on, hear me out. Mom's on a serious high about
the CYO thing and it really will be a lot of work all summer long. What if
we told them, like, we needed a workspace and turned your room into that,
and put both beds and shit in here?"

I flipped him like a rag doll and pulled him into a fierce kiss. "You, big
bro, are a fucking marvel," I growled. He was right; it would work in
spades.

We strategized for a while until Mom knocked and said through the door,
"Bedtime, boys." I walked out and kissed her surprised face and walked
across to my own room, praying she didn't notice that I looked like I was
hiding a can of Red Bull in my pants leg. I went in and fumbled around
noisily until I heard her and dad go into their own room, then locked my
door and snuck across.

As it turned out, while we were both rock-hard, we were also too nervous
and preoccupied to do more than snuggle, and we slept restlessly all
night. We were up well before the alarm and the idea of doing, well,
anything sexy just before reading at two masses and a CCD meeting was not
exactly inspiring. We washed each other... differently as well. It was
sensual, but more loving than sexual, as if instead of titillating, we were
marveling at who and what was in our arms.

Mom made me change clothes twice and Ryan once before she could bear to let
us be seen in front of the congregation. We were early to Early Mass and
spoke to Father Sean on the logistics as he and the Altar Youth (they let
girls do it now, too) got robed. As it happened both of the helpers were,
indeed, Altar *Boys* and looked at us in a kind of awe. First off, few
served at the altar after around 14, and we were Juniors. Second, word of
our transformation had both spread and morphed in the telling. I honestly
think the pair was inspecting us for halos.

We sat in the front-left pew where lectors always did. The First Reading
(from Acts) would be read by Joan Nichols, the lady who taught Junior
CCD. At St Michaels, they had four classes: Kids (up to First Communion or
about seven years old), Youth (through eleven), Juniors (to prep for the
Sacrament of Confirmation at thirteen or fourteen, depending on the family)
and Seniors (through the end of High School).

It meant that everyone who had come of age in the parish knew her, loved
her and mortally feared her wrath. She looked like (and was) that favorite
aunt who always baked you cookies and gave you sweets and would deliver
near-fatal tongue-lashings if you stepped a toe out of line. It was simply
too perfect that her reading today would include the line, "Save yourselves
from this corrupt generation." I think it was her life's motto.

I thought I might puke as we approached the second reading, but as soon as
I climbed the three steps with Ryan beside me and stood behind the podium,
it was a cinch. I didn't have the Golden Tongue, but I had a rich, strong
voice and had always loved speaking to a group. It was over in less than
two minutes and we sat back down, Ryan smiling widely. Just before the
Final Blessing, Father Sean invited us up and Ryan spoke about the planned
retreats.

It was odd. He was so... convincing. Everything he said just screamed,
'This is Truth.' Standing next to him, I actually started to wonder if we
really *had* done the retreat he described and I just forgot it
somehow. Our inserted reference back to the second reading, "As my brother
read earlier," with a nod to me made Father Sean sit up and beam at
us. That was good, since he was the only other person in the church who
knew what had actually happened on that weekend.

We sat, sang the Recessional Hymn and went to the vestry behind the altar
to be warmly congratulated by Father Sean. "I never knew you both had such
superb voices. Simply wonderful. After your current--" his voice dropped to
a slightly-menacing tone, "--obligation--" instantly back to warm and
friendly, "--I hope you'll volunteer as a lector through your senior year."

We made a mad dash to the church hall (the old church, actually; parishes
are a bit like hermit crabs. We build a church, outgrow it, build a bigger
one next door and repeat until well-established parishes have a number of
successively-larger structures, often in a neat little row) to grab
something from the Altar Society brunch. It's a sin to eat for a period of
time before accepting Communion, so the tea, donuts and cookies would be
our breakfast; we'd skip Communion in the Late Mass.

We made it to the Junior CCD just as Mrs Nichols was settling her
students. We gave a variation on the same spiel, but targeted directly at
teens. We all knew who had brothers and sisters (almost all of them), and
which got along like cats and dogs (*absolutely* all of them). We talked
more about what we did and why it helped; the mass spiel had been more
about the objectives and was targeted at the parents.

We kept it to ten minutes including questions, then skedaddled to the
Senior CCD where we normally would have been. At the end, Mr and Mrs Butts
(yeah, seriously) gave us twenty minutes since we expected, and got, a lot
more questions. We told everyone they could email, call us or stop us in
the halls at school for more info. Then we redid the mass thing, stayed to
talk to Father and asked the right questions about converting others to the
Faith (something that isn't really a Catholic thing, normally) and fled.

We got home to find Mom and Dad in the front room and a pot of
beanie-weenies in the oven. This perpetual favorite was based on the cans
of the same name that appeared when Mom and Dad were kids. Traditionally,
they were insipid pork-n-beans with Vienna sausages in them. Mom had turned
it into an art form with loads of bacon, peppers, onions and pork hot hogs
stewed slowly in a smoky, sugary, scrumptious sauce. We dove in like the
ravening wolves we were by that point, not giving a lot of thought to our
later plans and the inevitable result of the formula Teen Boy + Beans =
OMFG.

Mom had packed the meat in a cooler as well as some fresh corn we could
roast alongside. She gave an appalled lecture on how we were dressed (tanks
and workout shorts) until Dad hushed her, "Mary, no kid their age is going
to take someone seriously if they're dressed like Mormon Witnesses." Mom
huffed at that and we escaped before the fireworks started.

We got to the Timberlane place to find Jack waiting like a golden retriever
on the porch. He practically wagged as we got out of the car. He grabbed
the big cooler one handed and chivvied us, more sheepdog than retriever
now, into the RV. When we were in, he THUNKed the cooler down. Billy and
Dave were sharing a fatty, apparently their first as the smell was fresh.

Dave spoke up, "Damn, guys, we are so glad you made it." He passed me the
joint. I took a hit and handed it to Jack.

"So," I asked Dave as Jack handed the spliff to Ryan, "How's this gonna
work. Any ideas howwwwwwwwwWOW!" Jack had stuck his whole face into the leg
of my shorts and had my chubby in his mouth before I finished the
question. Ryan made a beeline for Dave. He handed the joint to Billy and
kissed the smaller guy with a singular passion that actually kinda pissed
me off. Then again, I was groaning over what Jack was doing to my cock,
so...

I'm not really sure how the nudity fairy kept popping up, but I blinked and
everyone was nekkid. I mean, I would have sworn my cock never left Jack's
mouth, but my shorts were puddled at my Nikes and my shirt was... fuck,
where was my shirt?

I saw that Dave was sitting on the countertop, just having taken a massive
hit and he handed me the join. Why? Cuz his and mine were the only mouths
available. Ryan must have had Dave's dick in his mouth from the rhythmic
slurping, and Billy appeared to be trying to crawl into my brother's ass
face first. He had so much of his tongue up there that Ry's buttcheeks were
practically at Billy's ears.

I had more pressing problems. Jack was doing things that should not even be
possible to my horn. Dave waved the joint away and I snuffed it (they used
the same little ceramic putter-outter things that I did) and looked
down. Jack's eyes were locked to mine instantly, as if he'd been praying
for my gaze. I smiled and he moaned around my cock, sending shivers through
my body. I toed off my left shoe and moved my bare foot forward until I
felt what I expected, Jack's hand furiously flogging his own throbbing
dick. He resisted as I kicked his hand away then practically screamed on my
prod when he realized I was jacking him off with my foot.

He started to pile-drive my manhood down his throat, obvious desperate for
my load. I sped up my 'sole'ful work on his own member and was rewarded
quickly as he started to flood the linoleum with spooge. It also made him
squeal just as he dove balls-deep on my ramrod. I could feel the lips at
the front of his larynx trill with a vibration I never imagined and I blew
like a fucking cum-volcano. I pulled back so as not to literally drown the
best fucking cocksucker on the planet and he was gobbling my cum and
washing round and round as my "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" echoed off the
steel walls of the small RV.

I looked up to see that Billy was still eating out Ryan's ass like a man
possessed and saw that Dave had apparently erupted himself and was now down
on Ryan's not-exactly-small dick. The twin work on my big brother's ass and
cock had Ryan keening a high, desperate sound that suddenly became a stream
of nonsense syllables as Dave blew his cock and his mind at the same
time. Billy had brought himself off all over the floor between Ryan's legs
and all of us, like a puppet show when the act was over, collapsed into
tangled heap of moaning, groaning, gasping jock-flesh.

I panted like I'd just run a dozen laps, "I {rasp} was gonna ask {puff}
what was first {wheeze} but I guess {gasp} that was a {huff} seriously
stupid question." Various parts of the mound chuckled or giggled at that as
we tried to figure out which body parts belonged to whom. "So how
about... what's next?"

<eof>

Thank you to beta-readers Zach, Steve and Jack (who, due to the fact he is
an adorable guy, will be appearing in an upcoming chapter of another
series).

*****

Now on Tumblr: Bear Pup -- Beyond Nifty https://orsonbearpup.tumblr.com/ -
Now including INSTA-PORN, sexual vignettes based on pictures that appear in
my feed

If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings or give me ANY
feedback that could make me a better author, e-mail me at
orson.cadell@gmail.com

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 34 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 26 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 28 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Culberhouse Rules: 12 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 10 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 4 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/
Maybe Next Time: 4 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/