This story is about sex between boys. It's a total fantasy. You've made it to Nifty/gay/young-friends, so you'd know by now and I won't repeat the usual warning yadayadayada
What I do repeat however: support Nifty. This is a wonderful, free archive. A treasure box.
The stories make you feel good. A contribution makes you feel even better:
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This is my follow-up on the tales of the Mackey clan as created by Jonas Henley and extended by Charles Well, Nick ea. Please have a look at the Introduction for reference.
Enjoy
Nils
nilander101@gmail.com
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Weed and whiskey
Simon was bored. He hung lazily on the couch, staring at the TV set, not actually looking. School's out for the weekend and he was glad that had reached his quota for both the fucks and the sucks on Thursday already, so Friday and the rest of the weekend he had no Bottom obligations. He had called Dave to ask if he was OK with Tom or Dustin to fulfil the 5-day obligation and he was okay with that, as was Dustin, of course. It was striking that Dave almost always preferred Dustin over Tom when he asked him which boy should fuck him when he himself had no appetite in yet another round of sex. Apparently, Dustin and Dave got along very well, and Tom didn't complain either. Since he and Tom had their regular sexual explorations, Tom wasn't too much interested in sex with other boys, although he had told Simon lately that he'd visited Tyler Mackey a few times the last two months when he was very horny and would give Simon a break.
With nothing better to do, and with the unseasonal nice weather, Simon was glad his mom asked him and Matthew to visit Grandma to bring her a few thing his mom had bought in the city for her. They could stay with the grandparents if they liked, because they will be gone for the night, leaving Simon and Matthew on their own, so they wouldn't have to make dinner themselves.
Matthew and Simon looked forward to having the house for themselves all night, no parents until Saturday late afternoon.
As always, it was nice at grandma's. Grandpa Thomas Alan was in a very good mood, talking about some business he had to do in the UK. He had already contacted some old friends he knew from the war, and was planning some `walking-down-memory-lane' moments.
"You know, Simon," he said enthusiastically, "one of these British guys told me that his grandson will be over in the US this summer with the scouts, for a Jamboree or Hike camp or something."
Simon looked at his granddad questioningly. Yes, he did go to the Scouts again after a period of not so good time there. He was now more accustomed to his the Bottom duties, even with the scouts, and fortunately, there were also a few non-Mackey boys in the troop, so if he planned his exit at the end of a scouts meeting at the time they left, not too much fucking would take place.
"Will that troop be here?" he asked.
"I'm not sure where they'll be exactly, I thought he said something about Washington DC, but I can check. But when they crossed the ocean, it's a little step for them to come here, or you boys travel to Washington."
"Ah, well okay," Simon replied a bit hesitantly.
"Had I told you about the Bradley community before?"
Simon shrugged; the name didn't ring a bell instantly.
"Bradley is that little town where they have this bottom system as well, remember? I thought I told you last summer."
"Oh, yeah, I remember," Simon murmured, not fully convinced that having a troop with such comparable tradition visiting was a great idea.
After dinner, Matthew and Simon wouldn't stay too long, looking forward to having the house alone, so they left early.
On their way back home, they ran into Stuart McKenzie and Scott Weiberg, both carrying big backpacks, fully stocked as if they were on a tour around the world. At 16, Scott was one of the older scouts from Simon's troop and he was really a nice guy. He knew Stuart only vaguely, actually mainly as a friend of Scott's. He was almost 17 and the only thing he knew about him was that he apparently was very proud of his Scottish heritage, boasting that his umpteenth great granddad came to the US from Scotland at about the same time as Thomas McKie, the founding father of the Mackey clan.
Matthew knew them better being closer to his age, and he remembered how these two boys had caused some fun disturbance at school several times, annoying teachers, gaining respect from the other kids with their brashness.
"Hey, where you guys goin'?" Scott asked
"Back home," Matthew answered.
"We're heading the same direction, okay to walk with you guys?"
The two walked with them for a while, and they chatted happily and carefree about their plans for the evening, asking them what their plans were.
"Nothing special," Matthew explained, "our parents are gone for the night and will be back only tomorrow afternoon, so we'll enjoy our freedom tonight, as long as we want."
"Sounds great. We are going to our clubhouse," Stuart said, "we're staying there for the night. As you two are free from parental supervision, do you want to join?"
"Clubhouse? What's there to do?"
"Well, just hang out, maybe a quick skinny dip in the creek, and then having some relaxed time in the cabin. It's my uncle's, but he let us use it, provided that we do some repairs and maintenance, and keep it clean. And no illegal stuff. But what he doesn't know, he doesn't know," Stuart added with a cheeky grin.
He secretively showed a little brown paper bag and whispered, "pot."
"And there is some booze in the hut as well," Scott added, "you're both nice guys, and from what we hear, Simon, you could use a relaxed weekend away from your Bottom duties, can't you?
They held off, being a bit reluctant, but Scott pushed,
"Ahw, come on, Simon, you're a scout too, we're in for some adventure, come join us. Or do you have to be back in time to have your mommy tuck you in tonight?
"No, Matt and I are alone tonight, remember," replied Simon a bit confused.
"Ah, there you go. Plenty of time and all the freedom you need. Come on," and he pulled Matthew by his arm making him follow him.
After a mile, they turned to the woods, and followed a small path leading through the bush and they came at a cabin, hidden in the woods. Simon couldn't remember he ever ventured this far into these woods.
"This is the cabin, our clubhouse. Actually, it's from my granddad. He doesn't use it anymore, but he'd left it to my uncle because he just wanted to keep the claim on the land, so he kept the cabin."
"Looks nice," Simon said, impressed.
Stuart opened the cabin door and the boys entered, waving their way through the cobwebs.
"Let's make a fire, and clean up a bit. Too much cobwebs," Scott suggested, and he took two blankets from the backpacks and spread them on the worn out couch.
Simon and Matthew helped the boys tidying the dusty cabin, lighting some candles, and were glad they decided to join these two, instead of returning home, with nothing else to do then lamely hanging on the couch, glaring at the stupid TV set. This was far more adventurous, and there were no limitations at their stay in the woods this evening. It already felt as an adventure.
After a while, the cabin was warm, a fire glowed in the hearth and a dozen or so candles lit the room.
Stuart went to what was the remainder of a kitchen, opened a little door below the countertop, and took out a bottle of whiskey that was already half empty and with a mischievous look in his eyes he said, "that's wat's left of last week's fun here. But no worries, we've got two more bottles."
He took four old, metal coffee mugs from the shelf, cleaned them, and poured some of the golden liquid in each one.
Simon had never drunk whiskey before and looked at his brother, not knowing if he could accept this. This was illegal, very illegal, he was not near the legal age for years to come, but he saw Matthew hesitantly taking the mug, so he did the same.
"You guys ever had whiskey before?" Stuart asked, not waiting for a reply, "well, don't be afraid, you'll get used to it quickly," and he laughed, breaking Matthew's resistance.
Although Matthew had tasted whiskey before, he was not really accustomed, but he knew once the first was down, the second would be easier and the fluffy feeling would soon set in.
Simon looked suspiciously at his brother, waiting for what would happen, but followed his lead when he saw Matthew taking his first sip without the world coming to an end.
Matthew's first sip was a bit too big, deafened his tongue, and scorched his throat. He barely could suppress a coughing fit. Wow, this was heavy stuff.
Scott grinned, "after the first, take the second directly, that will make the rest go easier, and nicer."
The boys made themselves comfortable, and chatted for a while, making jokes, addressing serious matters about what's going on in the world. The whiskey slowly did its work and blurred their minds, and soon Scott had to open a new bottle.
"How is Dave?" Stuart blurted out, "is he a good fuck?"
Simon coughed, almost spilling some of his whiskey. He wasn't prepared for a blunt question like this, and less willing to discuss.
"Euhm, okay, I guess."
"Okay? Okay?" Stuart gloated playfully, "You have him al to yourself, right?"
"Well, I share him," Simon said defensively, instantly regretting the demeaning expression.
"I mean, I let sometimes take someone else my place, but it's not like he's my private sex slave, or my property," he added quickly to do some damage control.
"Ah, good boy," Stuart lisped as he tried to straighten himself, a bit unsteady, "I voted against him becoming a Bottom, you know, I think it's against our tradition, and against all rules of human respect. This whole Bottom election is, in fact."
"You do not agree with the Choosing, having Community Bottoms?" Matthew wondered.
"Well, it's nice having Bottoms around who you can fuck when you're horny, but it's always the same bunch, and basically against their free will. I prefer getting off with someone I chose and who agrees, "is that right, Scott?"
Scott grinned and just flipped him the finger.
Stuart threw some extra wood on the fire and poked it a little, causing sparks flying around.
Simon and Scott hung lazily on the worn down couch and Stuart sat down next to Matthew, with their backs against the couch. Simon had his legs comfortably pulled up, his chin resting on a knee, and Matthew sat between Scott's legs.
The boys stared dreamily into the fire, nipping form their whiskey, slowly but surely getting intoxicated.
They played some music on a radio cassette player, tuned it to WNBC, and listened to Wolfman Jack's gravelly voice announcing an apparently random selection of old and new songs.
Stuart, Scott, and Matthew were soon beyond the stage of caring about being a bit more than tipsy. It was only 11pm on a Saturday evening. The world was asleep, the adults gone. Life could not be better. Spring was there, the State Inter-School matches were in full swing; there was much to discuss. In the early part of the evening, the discussion had been reasonably sensible. Stuart and Matthew were deep in knotty argument which had started with their view on freedom and the impact of the Choosing but deranged into in a rather incoherent argument about boys having sex with boys, then Scott joined, not adding too much sense to the increasingly foggy statements. They glanced around at the bottle, nodded, and went at it once more.
Simon felt the whiskey doing its work and a pleasant tipsy feeling set in. He looked at Scott's hands who were playfully stroking through Matthew's hairs, making little curls with his finger, teasing his earlobe.
Matthew didn't protest at the intimacy, and even lowered his head a little when Scott stroked his neck, making his dick stir a little.
"You find this erotic?"
Matthew looked back at Scott, faintly smiling, and he then noticed Scott's other hand tucked in his opened jeans, slowly moving around.
"Or do you think I'm a pervert?"
"Erotic is when you do something creative and imaginative with a feather of a duck. Perversion is when you fuck the duck itself," Matthew stated as if he presented a profound wisdom.
"That's not original," observed Scott.
"No, but it's funny," laughed Matthew.
"Not for the fucking duck," grinned Scott.
"Correction. Fucked duck, not fucking duck."
"Pass the bottle, Stuart. Just because you pilfered it from your dad's stash does not entitle you to hold onto that bottle as if it were your dick."
Scott reached for the bottle. Four Roses Bourbon. Nectar of the South. He poured a finger of the amber liquid into his mug. He held the bottle up to a light. Less than three inches left. They'd gone through nearly another half bottle in an hour.
Scott raised himself from the old couch and went to the evenly worn down armchair, set down the brown paper bag and its contents with a thump on the scarred coffee table.
He opened the little bag and took out something that looked like dried green flowers and a little package of rolling paper.
"Better prepare some joints now," he giggled, "before we're too far gone with the whiskey to roll proper ones. I've got enough for five or six, I guess."
He kneeled at the wobbly table and started to prepare, the other boys dreamily curious looking at his lean hands.
Scott carefully arranged all his supplies on the table and started to break the little green flowers in small pieces. With some difficulty, he removed five extremely thin rolling papers from the small box and placed them on the table, and put some of the grinded weed in the fold of the papers.
In trance, the boys watched as Scott - not so expertly - rolled one after the other joint, folding the tips and laying them neatly in order on the table, next to a box with matches.
"Voila," he said proudly, holding a big, not very evenly rolled joint up, "we could do with five tonight, don't you think? Now we're prepared. Well, almost," he added, and got up to get a jar of Vaseline from the kitchen and placed it next to the freshly rolled joints.
"Here, you may take the first," Scott said, handing Simon the freshly made reefer.
"Why me?"
Scott shrugged and passed Simon the joint and held a lit match at the tip. Simon had tried a cigarette once and thought this must be the same, so he put the joint between his lips and drew the smoke into his lungs. He coughed and gasped for breath, his chest heaving. It didn't seem to matter. Simon handed the joint to Matthew who took a big draw remarkably easy and handed it to Stuart.
The boys basked in the glow of the fire, the familiar country music from the radio humming their songs.
After his third take from the joint and a sip to empty his mug, a sip that appeared to be more like a gulp, Stuart stretched himself the length of the couch. Matthew sat beside him, letting Stuart rest his head on his thigh. Smoke spiraled above his head.
Scott turned to Simon.
"You're a Bottom for almost a year now, and I want to learn from you, you're the most experienced of us all, I guess, and I want you to teach me."
Simon didn't know what to say to that. Did Scott wanted to become a Bottom? Scott passed him the joint. Simon drew deeply, stubbornly suppressing the urge to cough, determined to explore the mysteries of dope. His lips tingled, the air around him vibrated, sparks from the fire left trails of shuddering light. He saw his Stuart's head resting on Matthew's thigh, Scott now openly fondling his stiff flesh sticking out of his jeans, asking him to teach him Bottom stuff. He was not shocked, he felt no urge to object. The mushroom head poking out made him grin. Was it purple? Or was it red? He saw the colors, but he couldn't name them. The top was moist, some liquid dripping down, but not as a fountain. He was flying, hovering some inches above the couch, he just giggled. Was this being stoned? He wondered. Was he stoned? Or just drunk? Or both?
Matthew felt warm inside, and that was not only from the fire. The head on his thigh made him tingle a little, but whereas he usually never would have let a boy rest his head this seductively on him, this time he didn't resist. The world was floating around him, and the special scent from the smoke made him join Simon's giggles. His eyes dared to settle on the boy's face. He could see the skull beneath the skin. He could see the smile beneath the lips.
He saw the lips forming words, but the whiskey and the weed didn't let the words come in.
"As you know, in our Scottish tradition, the hosting landlord who allows his guests exercising their freedom and taking his food and drinks, but," Stuart proclaimed, "that landlord has the right, no, the obligation, to sow his oats in whoever takes his whiskey. I will have to put mine in all three your asses as you enjoy my castle and my whiskey."
Scott giggled. He'd heard it all before, Stuart referring to his ancestry, making up stories about traditions, almost always ending in sex. But Scott was too far gone to care, and he was used to it, he liked it, he'd even hoped Stuart would do it, even now two other boys had joined them.
Simon giggled along with Scott, not knowing what exactly the point was, but he was light in his head and happy; he was asked to teach an older boy, he was the one with the most experience. Without the whiskey and smoking pot, he would have been embarrassed, but now, he was proud, he felt power, and at the same time, he was completely relaxed.
"My great granddad was from Scotland as well as was the first McKie," continued Stuart, repeating himself after another sip from the mug, "it's the tradition of our hospitality: when there will be fucking, the host will fuck everyone first."
Matthew stared at Stuart. The meaning of the words did not reach his brain.
His eyes traveled the length of Stuart's body. Stops at the hillock in his groin. He imagined the sleeping snake curled in its fibrous nest. He knew how dangerous the snake once wakened could be. He was never interested in other boy's snakes. Why then did he want to run his fingertips around the snake, feel its stretch beneath his touch, watch it rise lazily to his lips, and then let it dart and spit its white venom into him with its fatal kiss?
"When are you ever thinking of anything else these days?" laughed Scott.
"Well, a good fucking never did any boy harm."
"Now, which order do have you in mind, my Lord?" Scott played along, with a naughty, but also lustful, horny look in his eyes. The last question was asked with a straight face, though if Matthew had been more observant, he would have seen the wink Scott gave Stuart, who pursed his lips and blew Matthew a kiss.
Stuart swirled the liquid in his mug, breathed in the fumes, let his eyes water a moment, sipped a little, coughed and said,
"I was thinking of Matthew to start with, actually."
"I guess you will be his very first, my Lord," Scott theatrically mentioned, "I think he'd never had anything up his butt other than the odd finger at the Choosing, or maybe his own finger, testing the feeling."
"I'm not so sure. Have you seen that bottom?" replied Stuart. "I saw him in the shower after P.E. last week. I almost grabbed him right there and then and had him on the shower room floor. Talk about peaches and cream."
Matthew blushed furiously once he realized that this obscene conversation was about him and his bottom inexperience, and he swallowed the remainder of the whiskey in a single gulp. Finally managing to control a fit of coughing, he protested,
"Cut it out, you know I ...," but he couldn't find the right words to finish his sentence.
He could have begged off. When he realized that Stuart, pretending to be the host of the castle, had chosen him to be his first for his made-up tradition, he could have claimed innocence. But he didn't. He giggled. He laughed when he saw the snake he'd thought of earlier was now no longer a flexible snake but merely a stick, forcing its ways up the fabric that held it down. He wanted to touch it, play with it. Why am I looking? Why do I want to taste it? I must be stoned?
"It's OK you know."
Stuart's voice again. How had he gone in his head?
"What is?" Matthew asked confused.
"Everything is. This is the Never Never Land, Everything is allowed."
A tumble of images float in Matthew's head. He's dancing around the room. Holding Stuart close. Too close. He has an erection. It's pressing against him. Hands slides into his pocket. Fingers close around him. No, No. he pushed away. Matthew has pulled himself into a seating position, legs drawn up, chin resting on his knees, the last part of the joint glowing in his fingertips. Stuart pushed the hair from Matthew's eyes. The intimacy seemed entirely natural. It had to be the dope.
"Come, we have to do it. You first, then Simon, and then Scott. Then you all are free in my castle, I will lather you with my Scottish hospitality," Stuart babbled incoherently.
Matthew rose up, wobbly, but happily smiling, clouds in his head. He'd never felt better, free, funny. He couldn't stop giggling as dropped his pants and stepped out, and hugged Scott on his way to Stuart, kissing him on the forehead.
"I'll take you all sitting on my throne," Stuart orated, "but before I take you, we need to let the right spirit in," and he lit a new joint, took a drag from it and passed it to Matthew, who followed his lead.
Simon watched in awe when he saw his brother climbing on the chair, Scott quickly picking up the jar and putting some Vaseline into his crack, and lowering himself on Stuart, accepting the chubby, almost adult dick in his posterior. It was a horny sight, seeing his older brother accepting a dick in his butt, and moving up and down on it, taking the full length in. Even through his foggy head, he realized that this was the very moment his brother must have lost his virginity. As far as he knew, Matthew has never been fucked, until now by the almost 17-year-old `Scotsman'.
Matthew grunted when he sat down on Stuart's lap, taking his big cock in all the way, but he never stopped giggling while he hopped up and down the hard shaft, until Stuart urged him to stand up again,
"You are a great guest, but I need to save the fruits of my loins for later. You have been taken now, you are now free to do whatever you want in my castle," and with a pompous gesture he waved Mathew to stand up and make room for the next to impale himself.
Simon knew it was his turn now. It was by far the biggest dick he had in his ass, but the whiskey, the pot, his experience as a Bottom made him confident he could handle it. And he did, making Stuart moan softly when he expertly contracted his sphincter to tease the `lord on his throne', making him almost spill his precious seed in him.
"No, no, no! You little tease! I know what you're planning to do, but no milking me yet," and he made Simon get up, and gave him a firm but playful pat on his butt.
While Scott lowered himself on his friend like the two before him, Simon picked up the new joint Scott left on the table and inhaled, now without the urge to cough. He dropped on the couch next to Matthew, throwing a leg over Matthew's naked leg, letting out a happy sigh.
He looked at Matthew's still throbbing dick, reached out, and squeezed it gently. He moved closer to his brother and rested his head cozily at his shoulder, feeling Matthew's body warmth.
"We've never done it, Matt, isn't it time we do it? I feel good now, and the host said we could, now he'd had us." He grinned at his words, feeling the new wave from the joint taking effect.
"I don't know Si, I don't know if I should."
Ever since Simon was turned, Matthew felt responsible and even guilty about his little brother's fate.
He could keep an eye on his brother when he was at home, but outside, that was something different.
What had happened to Simon the past ten months, at school, the scouts, in the woods didn't go unnoticed by Matthew.
He'd promised Simon to be with him when a boy was there, just to make sure no harm was done. He tried to protect his little brother, but the overwhelming amount of boys tracking through the house and ploughing Simon's butt or mouth 3, 4 or sometimes even 5 times a day was taking a toll.
Their house was not big, and Matthew and Simon had always shared a bedroom. When it was not too cold, Simon used the redecorated shed in the yard. But when it was too cold, they had only the bedroom. There was no spare room to which Simon could move, to allow some private space for his duties.
Matthew felt especially guilty because of the times his friends visit; slowly, one by one, every single one of Matthew's friends spent some time in Simon's butt and the same could be said of Simon's friends. Every time a friend visited, they would end up in Simon's hole at some point.
And being witness to many of the fucks, it got him hard almost every single time; and it was becoming more and more difficult to resist jerking off when his little brother was taking it up the ass.
The moans and groans drove him sometimes to the edge and he kept fighting his lust.
Ten months into Simon's tour of duty, every time he looked at Simon, he found himself wondering whose sperm was inside his little brother this time. And when he sat with his friends, all he could wonder was `when was the last time they fucked my little brother, and are they thinking about it now?'
Matthew suffered in silence and more and more he left their bedroom when a boy visited Simon. He felt increasingly guilty; guilty for leaving Simon many times when he was asked to bend over and drop his pants and underwear. Guilty for wondering what it would feel like inside his brother's cute bottom. Although he was a Mackey, he rarely made use of the Bottoms. He fucked his friend Philip at his Choosing, his distant cousin Jerry from Indian Spring when he was over for a visit last year, and only maybe two or three other times he visited a Bottom, and that almost always was under some kind of peer pressure from his horny friends.
But lately, it sometimes felt as if he was lusting after his own brother. All this sex around him every day was slowly but surely breaking his resistance.
Simon's earlier professional action on Stuart's lap, and the warm flesh of his equally stoned and drunk little brother against him, softly playing with his dick, had deeply excited him. He finally didn't resist when Simon got up and straddled him, Matthew's dick pointing to his much used hole, to let himself down and welcome his brothers dick for the first time in his ass.
Stuart tapped Scott on the shoulder, and whispered,
"We can finish this later, look," and he nodded at the intimate scene on the couch.
Scott dismounted silently, refilled their two mugs, took the half-burnt joint, and sat down on the rug, leaning against the chair, one arm resting on Stuart's legs. Scott handed Stuart his mug, put the joint between his lips, and inhaled deeply. The two boys quietly enjoyed the lascivious scene enfolding before them. The warmth from the fire, the glowing feeling from the whiskey and weed made them mellow, and looking at Simon's soft, white buns moving up and down over his brother's very hard penis made them both sigh.
In a trance, Matthew obeyed Stuart's silent gesture, indicating that they should switch positions. He put Simon on his knees, making his chest rest on the couch, his delicious butt pointing backwards, ready to receive him again, and he pushed in, to finish for the first time deep in his brother.
"That was a sight to behold," Stuart said, making an ostentatious gesture with his arm, holding the now empty mug.
"Simon's ass is designed for this, don't you think?" Scott added.
"It shows a strong will from Matthew not to give in to lust much earlier, having this exceptional nice butt available all the time."
"Indeed," added Scott with some greed in his eyes, "under Mackey rules I'm too old to have rights, but under Stuart's rules here, maybe Simon could grant me the same rights as he'd granted you both?"
"You two are disgusting," said Matthew, passing his glass to Scott and trying to keep a small grin of pride from his face. To hear Simon praised even in those terms made him glow. And if he were strictly honest, at least with himself, Simon did have great, beautiful bubble butt. Almost every day a boy arrived to spend some time with Simon and have some pleasure, and he'd have a look at his brother's fine ass. But he wasn't used to hearing other boys openly discuss Simon's sexual virtues.
Stuart and Scott noted Matthew's discomfiture and switched the conversation. Once more Scott filled the mugs, and if Matthew had been observant, he would have noted that Scott had poured him a double this time.
As the night wore on into the early hours of Sunday morning, the boys relaxed, gotten looser and looser, and were laying with just their shirts and underwear on. Scott stoked up the fire on several occasions and they had no need to put their jeans back on, and when the third joint was finished, Simon stretched out on the couch and the three other boys took to the carpet. The whiskey and pot, the candlelight, the company made the boys' faces glow. It was good to be alive, it was good to be young, and it was good to be together.
The three boys lay stretched out on the carpet, heads towards the fire that was now banked low. Stuart and Matthew lay on their sides facing each other across Scott who lay on his back catching drops of whiskey in his mouth as he tipped them from his mug.
"Did you know that in Ancient Greece, freeborn boys wore gold balls around their necks when young, so that Greek men could tell which boys they could use sexually?"
"That was when they were nude, Stuart," said Scott from below.
"Who? The men?" asked Matthew.
"No, the boys," said Stuart. "if they had their clothes on, they'd know right away. Freeborn boys and slave boys wore different outfits in ancient Greece."
"Can you just imagine it?" whispered Scott huskily. The whiskey and the smoke were getting to his throat. "You're in the baths in Athens. You see a group of naked boys. And then you say, 'Look at the balls on those boys!' Bet that got a laugh."
"I suppose it did," added Matthew, "the first hundred times people heard it."
"Don't be such a stick-in-mud," said Stuart. "The Greeks had their boys and you've got Simon. Love or lust. What's the difference?"
"I resent that," said Matthew, emptying yet another mug. "Simon is my brother. We share room."
"Bet you share something else, too," giggled Scott, "would you consider hiring him out?"
"You two are disgusting," said Matthew. "You're a pair of... degenerates." He had learned that word last week. It was a pleasure to use it.
"Depends what you call disgusting," smiled Stuart. "Do you call this disgusting?"
He glanced down between them. Matthew's glance followed. Stuart, who was propped on his left elbow, had his free hand in Scott's briefs. He was manipulating the boy's penis. It was brutally clear that the boy had an erection. There was a sharp intake of breath: Matthew's. How could he have missed this before?
"You don't have to stay if you don't want to," whispered Stuart.
"It's okay."
A murmured 'good' came from Scott. "Open my buttons, please, Mathew. It's so warm in here."
As if mesmerized, Matthew slipped open the buttons of Scott's shirt. His fingertips trembled as he touched the hot, smooth skin. He edged the boy's shirt apart until his chest and Scott's stomach lay bare. Beneath, Stuart lifted the waistband at the boy's waist. Scott raised his hips and let the briefs slide away from his groin and buttocks. The boy's body was laid bare to Matthew's fascinated gaze.
How slim Scott was -not skinny but slim, his chest, hips and legs making an almost single line. His chest was like sculpted ivory topped by prominent pinkish-brown nipples. His stomach was as flat as a pond, his navel curving upwards like a little dash of whipped cream.
Matthew looked at Scott's face. The boy's eyes were closed, a smile playing round his lips as Stuart stroked his penis to full hardness. Matthew had never realized how light Scott's hair was. It was silly to call him blond, but his hair was light with some curls, making two elegant slashes above his eyes. White hair, white eyebrows, black eyelashes. The ivory skin was scattered with little dark freckles that made Scott look absurdly young.
"Stroke his chest. He likes that."
Matthew stroked Scott's chest with his fingertips. He became adventurous and let the back of his fingernails run over the boy's upraised nipples.
"Mmmmm, I like that."
He had averted his gaze from the boy's groin, but now he had to look.
He all but gasped. He had seen his erection, but not this close. The boy's penis was slim, not skinny, slim, but it was a full seven inches long. How could such a slight, slim figure carry around a whopper like that! Scott was circumcised; a neat scar about an inch and a half below the head showed where the scalpel had done its job. How elegant it looked. How hot, hard and urgent it made the boy's cock seem. The same ivory skin, tinged with purple and red, ran down the shaft, darkening as it reached the boy's ball sac. Matthew could see the boy's testicles shift in their scrotum as Stuart gently jerked Scott's cock. Seven inches! His was only just over six and he was equally built as the boy who lay beneath his gaze.
Scott reminded Matthew of a picture he'd seen of a marble statue in his history book. An `ephebe', the teacher called it, Greek beauty at its most classical, the teacher said. But that `ephebe' did not have a cock like Scott! Matthew's fingertips traced a line into Scott's groin and brushed the hair at the base of his penis. Like wild silk, light brown silk.
"Go on, hold it, it won't bite you. It might spit at you, but it won't bite you."
There was warmth in Stuart's invitation, and Matthew placed his fingers where Stuart's had been until he gripped Scott's cock. He was surprised by the steel beneath the skin; the hard core beneath the soft, sweaty skin that he jerked along the shaft. He wasn't into boys, but here, intoxicated with the booze and the weed, he floated on a heavenly warm cloud, everything felt so soft and happy.
Still propped on one elbow, Matthew's face hovered over Scott's stomach as he masturbated the boy in a rhythm that his own penis knew so well. There was a gentle push at the side of his head. He did not resist. He sank down until the side of his head lay on Scott's left thigh, his face only inches from the hot shaft he was jerking. Across the boy's stiff cock, his eyes caught those of Stuart. He blushed a little, sighed, and then gave in. He must be drunk, very drunk, and stoned to be doing this. Yes, that explained it all. Did it? Why was he getting so much pleasure out of giving pleasure to this beautiful blond headed boy with the huge erection? He jerked Scott's shaft and looked into Stuart's eyes.
"This is what he really likes," whispered Stuart. His tongue came out slowly and licked across the head of Scott's penis. He looked into Matthew's eyes, and then licked the blood-engorged head again. Stuart licked and looked, licked and looked.
"Go on, Matthew, try it. Look, Scott to the Scots." Stuart's tongue licked the length of Scott's pole and then the length of Matthew's hand. Matthew snatched it away. Stuart continued to lick along his friend's cock shaft.
Tentatively, Matthew put out his tongue, and with the tip merely touched the tissue of Scott's cockhead. Daringly, he gave it tiny licks. What was that taste? Sweet and bitter at the same time. He licked boldly now, letting the tip of his tongue round Scott's corona, wandering down the shaft. He wanted to kiss the boy's cock. And if he wanted to, he would. He pursed his lips and kissed the head. It was gooey now, sweaty and slippery.
He wondered if he could get the head of the boy's cock in his mouth. He knew that was something for the Mackey Bottoms usually, but he didn't care anymore. He opened his mouth into a wide circle and placed it round the head without coming into contact with it. A slight pressure on his head encouraged him down. He did not resist and his mouth enclosed two or three inches of the boy's shaft. God, it was hot and hard and big. It filled his mouth as he strained his jaws to take more and more in. He was drunk now, really drunk. He was not responsible. Stuart and Scott would understand what had happened. Simon would understand. He was drunk and high, he was not responsible, he tightened his lips around the boy's shaft and began to suck on it in earnest. How soothing it was, how comforting. How long had he been waiting to do something like this? Suddenly he thought of Simon. It was Simon lying beneath him. It was Simon's penis in his mouth. He was giving this pleasure to Simon. His brother's smiling face danced behind his eyes as his head bobbed over the crotch of the boy below him.
Matthew felt a tug at his briefs. Someone had lifted the waistband. Someone was tugging his briefs down. He raised his bottom. That's what you did, wasn't it? Someone tugged your briefs down and you raised your bottom to help them. He felt the palms of someone's hands press on his stomach. It was such a good feeling. Then a hand curled round his erection. He was as hard, stiff, as he had been since he'd lowered himself on Stuart. He felt fingers stroking over the length of his shaft.
He sucked Scott deeper into his throat, fighting a gagging reflex, releasing him, then sucking him into the hilt again. He wanted to brush that hair with his lips. That was a challenge! Matthew loved a challenge! He would take the boy's seven inches -thank goodness, his cock was not too fat -all the way in until his lips kissed the boy's hair and the skin beneath. But it was getting hard to concentrate. The warm hand on his own erection was gone now, with an agile move like a panther towards a prey, Stuart moved over to Matthew's side. A hand gripped his dick again, but soon he felt warmth and wetness on the head of his cock. He knew what that was.
Scott was pushing his cock up hard into Matthew's mouth. The mouth on his own cock was sucking hard, he felt saliva run down the shaft into his own thick bush of dark hair. Matthew's hips and bottom began the same motions; it was not intentional on Matthew's part; he had no control over it -though to be honest he did not try to control it. His hips jerked upwards, pushing his dick deep into the sucking mouth, while Scott pushed his own cock into his. The feeling was there, building, rising, and getting ready to rush his mind into that white place where reason and reality ended. He sucked Scott's cock, jerked it, and played with his balls. That must feel good; it felt so good to him.
There was another sensation. Where was it? Yes, there. In his secret place, in his dark place, in his hairy place. Something was burrowing into his hole, seeking the most intimate of entrances. No! That was too much. The entrance had been used for the first time ever by his host this very evening, but it should be him alone. Matthew clenched his buttocks and tightened his hole.
"That's all right, Matthew, that's all right, I know." The voice was soothing. He knew that voice. Was it Simon? No, not Simon, was that allowed? It was Simon!
Matthew shook his head to clear away some of the whiskey fumes, forgetting how deeply Scott was inside his mouth. He felt hands at his bare, unprotected globes, soft, warm fingers entering the cleft, touching his most private opening. He resisted, tightened his sphincter, but the fingers were coated with something slippery, and the soft hand on his buttock broke his resistance. Was it a finger in him?
The soft hand made him raise higher on his knees, his vulnerable butt open. Was the finger replaced by something else? He let go of Scott's rigid member and looked behind him, just in time to see Stuart gently taking Simon's erection, directing it to the white globes in front of him. There was that sensation again. This time a warm, wet feeling, not a finger. There was pressure.
"Oh ... shit ... yeah ... yeah... " That was the voice again. That was Simon's voice.
It was him, Matthew realized. His brother's boner had entered him in his private entrance. A warm mouth had taken his dick in, again. This was too much. A delightful feeling made him fly, his little brother grinding in him, a tongue teasing his member, soft hands playing with his testicles. No, focus! There was another dick waiting to be taken care of. His tongue comforted Scott's glans and corona, his lips slowly nibbling downwards towards the bush.
The hard rod in his throat was swelling; Matthew was forced to draw his head back, and then the spurting started. No, not a spurting. A long stream, two or three of them, streams of liquid hitting the back of his throat, choking him, he had to swallow, it was sliding down. Then another stream and another! And his own hips were jerking out of control; he was shooting, streaming, spurting. His cock swelled to its utmost. The sperm shot from his balls, up the tube and into ... It was Stuart's mouth. Stuart was swallowing his sperm just as he swallowed Scott's. Thoughts spun and crashed into each other, he was falling from the blinding white. There was nothing left but sensation, he was nothing but sensation. He wanted -he wanted something -he wanted Simon's cock, he wanted Simon.
There was a grunt behind him, a warm body now pressing hard against his buttocks. This was it. His brother had sent his semen in him. Never before semen was injected into him. Simon was his first, he felt happy, sharing this most intimate moment with his dear little brother. A watershed moment for him.
He had released Scott now. He was lying flat on his back. He could feel his penis lying thickly limp, still oozing, across his thigh. He felt something dribbling between his buttocks. His lips felt hot and swollen. Bee stung lips. Where did that come from? He felt something cool at his lips, cool and hard. He felt a trickle of liquid at his lips. He opened his mouth. He coughed in fits as the drops of whiskey ran into his throat. They mingled with Scott's sperm. What a taste, what a wonderful taste! Where did Stuart get that whiskey?
Matthew lay there dreaming, playing with the recent images in his mind: Stuart under him when he lowered himself on him, Scott's long, hard, warm rigid member the feeling, no, the sensation of semen in his mouth, semen in his ass, the pictures of Simon and all those the boys in their room.
Had he fallen asleep? He wasn't sure. But the fire was lower and most of the candles were out. Who had been here? Stuart and Scott. And Matthew? Had they gone? Grunting forced him to focus. Simon turned where he lay on the carpet. No, Matthew, Stuart and Scott hadn't gone. Matthew was on his side, stretched on the rug, resting on his elbow, his head on his hand, intensely watching the two other boys.
Scott was on his back, not completely, for his legs were rolled so far over him that his knees almost touched his ears. Stuart had a hold of Scott's ankles. He was kneeling, his groin pressed against hard against the boy. He grunted as he drove into him again and again. Scott's eyes were open. He looked dreamily up into Stuart's eyes. Both boys were wet with sweat. It poured down their faces, shoulders, chests, hips. Simon could hear the wet smacking sound each time Stuart drove into Scott. He knew what was happening. Stuart was fucking Scott in the ass, and Scott was loving every moment of it.
"Hi, Simon." That was Stuart. How could he chat at a time like this?
"Sorry, didn't ask permission." Every few words were grunted. "You were asleep."
Simon raised his eyebrows. Why should he ask for my permission? It was his castle, wasn't it?
"We all got to cum. You did in Matthew's ass, I did in his mouth, Stuart swallowed Matthew's," Scott added. "Not fair to leave Stuart out. I usually fuck him, but he's doing all right."
Every few words were interrupted as his head bounced on the rug. Simon reached for some jeans nearby, folded it, and slipped it under the boy's head.
"Thanks, Simon, you're a pal." Pain flitted over Scott's face as Stuart rammed his penis home again.
Another `oof' as his head hit the pillow.
On all fours, Simon crawled the length of the boys until he lay curled up near the hearth. He had an unrestricted view as Stuart's penis drove into Scott's anus.
It was hard to take in what he was seeing. He peaked at Matthew, who was looking mesmerized at the voluptuous scene from the other side of the boys. Stuart's swollen penis was as almost twice fat as his own, and as he withdrew, then rammed it home, Simon could see it was all of six inches, and that was without counting the head of the boy's cock which remained buried in the exposed hole. How could an anal ring stretch that much? Scott had very little hair on his legs or between his buttocks. Simon could see how stretched the ring was, red and raw round the glistering smooth entrance. The puckered skin must be stretched to breaking, he thought. Oh man, it was an erotic sight! And sounds, too, as the boys heaved and panted, Stuart withdrawing to the tip and ramming back in to the hilt.
Matthew took the scene in, open mouthed. Would Stuart shoot his cum up Scott's hole? Like he had Simon's cum in him? Would that make Scott a bottom? Was he a bottom? Should they wash it out? Or would they let it slosh around all night?
All night! What time was it? He glanced at his watch. Ten past three. It was Saturday morning. But he was free. There was nobody at home. Simon and he could stay as long as they wanted. They only need a breakfast, maybe a little clean-up. He had to get to bed. He wanted to stay and watch the climax. But he had to get some sleep. The whiskey, the pot, he couldn't think clearly now. He looked at Simon. Simon enjoyed the sight as well and took another drew from a joint. How many are there? Was he still sipping whiskey as well? Will they be fucking the rest of the night? Will Simon join them?
Matthew stood and leaned over Stuart.
"I'm off to take a nap. It's after three. When you two have finished we'd ..."
Stuart nodded. Scott blew him a kiss. Those two were crazy. And he'd been sucked into the craziness. What should he do? What could he do? Fuck it, he was going to sleep, on the couch. He'd think about it in the morning. Quietly he climbed on the couch, struggling to get his briefs back on, jeans, where are my jeans? Oh, they must be under Scott's head. He'll pick them up tomorrow, and wear them, with or without stains.
When Scott woke up, the first beams of sunlight came through the small window. The fire was now only glowing, the flames of the candles had died. He saw Matthew laying on the couch, softly snoring, asleep. Two bodies were on the floor, on their sides, spooned against each other, and with only their lower legs covered with a blanket. The world still moved while he wasn't, the whiskey played its tricks with his mind. The bodies on the ground moved, but only little. It was not moving, it was grinding. Scott smiled. That young Bottom was working on his friend, with an arm under his head, the other around Stuart; he was very slowly moving his hips, and tenderly pushing against the bare buttocks of the older boy in his lap.
Was he in him? Or just grinding? Was Stuart asleep, or did he enjoy quietly the attention from the Bottom boy?
Scott got up and silently moved towards the two boys. He picked up the blanket and pulled it over them.
Simon looked up, misty eyes from the whiskey and weed, he smiled and murmured a `thank you', and continued his grinding. Stuart didn't move. He was in a deep sleep.
From his chair, Scott watched the horny slow-motion action, seemingly taking hours, until some jerking moves under the blanket, followed by a deep grunt, announced that Stuart had received some wetness.
When Simon got up after several minutes, he grinned cheekily when he held the blanket up to show Scott the wetness in Stuarts cleft and between his legs.
"What about a dip in the creek?" Scott suggested, and he noted that Simon hadn't entered his friend, only shot his load between the warm legs, coating them with his cum.
The two boys went outside for a dip in the cold water, waiting for the other two to join.
***
It was crowded in the Arcade. Although it was nice weather that Saturday, lots of boys preferred to play in the Arcade, hang out with their friends.
Still groggy from the previous night, Simon couldn't resist hanging out with his friends. He felt a little dizzy, as if the whiskey fumes still controlled his brains. Or was it the sensation of what had happened, his first drink, his first joint, his first time with his brother. It had been good, both ways, but somehow he couldn't fully believe that it actually had happened.
From the door to the workshop, Mr Ferguson looked contently at the buzzing crowd. He loved to see so many boys having fun, and it was good for his business as well, although he sometimes gave more nickels to broke boys than he had earned from them. But who cares? His core business was the repair shop and that was booming, and with all these boys hanging out, his diner had come to life as well. And he definitely enjoyed the company.
Greg had no special plans for the day and had decided to go to the Arcade. After a quick shower, he donned his jeans and a sports sweater, he combed his thick, brown hair back, and tied his new sneakers.
Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Greg decided that he was a reasonably good looking with his glossy, chestnut hair and big brown eyes. He wasn't going to win any beauty contests, but at least he wouldn't scare anyone off. He secretly hoped to find a nice boy, who just like himself was interested in boys, not girls. Alas, Simon was of no help, although he suspected that he must by now knew about every boy. He was relieved he had told Simon, but he knew that he still was on his own. "Ready as I'll ever be," Greg said to no one in particular, slightly tense for what he might face today, following Simon's advice to just look around, and chat with boys he liked.
"Hey Greg," said Simon when he saw him at a pinball machine. "Enjoying yourself?"
Greg shrugged, it was fun, these games and all, but he was interested in something else.
"Yeah, games are fun," he replied, and added under his breath, "nice boys as well," and he grinned shyly as if surprised by his own words.
Simon smiled. He knew what the boy was looking for. Tom had agreed with him that he shouldn't act as a matchmaker, but with his knowledge of many boy's secrets, it was hard for him not to help. Greg was a nice boy, and deserved some help.
"There is a new shooting game," Simon pointed at a machine at the other end of the Arcade, where Lucas and a classmate were playing with great concentration.
"Let's go there," Simon suggested, secretly hoping that maybe Greg and Lucas might connect.
"Hey Lucas, nice game? It's new huh? By the way, this is Greg, guess you have seen him at school, he's a friend of mine," Simon introduced Greg to Lucas at a pause in the game.
"Hi," said Lucas, with a quick glance at Greg. He had seen Greg before, a nice boy, but not really his type. And as far as he knew, he was not a Mackey. And he was more interested in the game than anything else.
Simon tried to start a conversation, but Lucas was clearly not interested, so after a while, Greg and Simon moved to the pinball machine.
Greg said, "he's a bit of a loner, isn't he? I mean, he's not really talking to others, and almost pushed me away."
Simon nodded. He understood that this wouldn't be a good match.
"Let's play this machine," Simon said, and he put a nickel in. He saw Greg smiling; he liked pinball machines, just like him. Greg was good at it. Every time he hit a new record, the machine played the trophy sound load enough for everyone to hear.
"You're an ace it seems," Wesley said when he walked past Simon and Greg. He smiled at Simon, with a hidden look of understanding. Simon noticed, and playfully challenged him,
"I bet you can't beat Greg with this."
"Are you daring me?"
Greg looked at the older boy. He had seen him at school, but they had never met.
"Hi, I'm Wesley," he introduced himself, "and Simon here says that I cannot beat you. Are you ready for your defeat?"
Greg grinned. "Sounds like the battle is on."
While they were playing at the machine, very focused, Simon looked at the boys with a smile. He did not expect them to be so driven and motivated to go for the record score with this game, forgetting everything around them. Their enthusiastic shouts and laughter attracted several other boys who came looking at the game. They were good players, and patted each other on the shoulders every time one had saved a ball miraculously.
Without them noticing, Simon stepped back, and let the boys play, surrounded by several other boys.
Simon walked to the boxing punch machine where Daniel Mackey stood, with his younger brother and several other 12-year-olds, trying to punch the bag as hard as they can.
"Hi," Simon said, and joked "you trying to win from 12-year-olds?"
"Nah, just looking and trying to get the boys play games instead of hanging around me all the time."
"How so?
"Stan, my brother, is very anxious about the upcoming Choosing, you know," Daniel said, discretely turning away from the boys, "he's asking every other day. I guess he's nervous, and so are his little friends. I won't tell anything, though."
"No, we can't. Being anxious is part of the rite, I didn't like it then, but now I understand. It's was an unpleasant surprise then, but I wouldn't have survived if I knew weeks in advance. You're worried about your brother being chosen?"
"To be honest, yes. I think you don't know, but last Choosing, these two guys sort of blackmailed me to vote for you, or else they would make sure that my brother would be turned. I'm still afraid that they've already spread the word. Maybe I see ghosts, but every time a boy looks at my brother, I got shivers down my spine."
"Brian and Gavin are gone now, they can't threaten anybody."
"I know, but who knows what damage they already did."
The two stood silent for a while, looking amused at the boys showing their strength at the machine. The both knew, most likely one of these boys would be turned at next Choosing, they wondered which one.
"I think you've made a match" Tom said, when he sneaked quietly up, surprising Simon.
Simon grinned. "Ain't done nothin'."
"Don't play dumb, hillbilly, you're too smart for that," and he bumped Simon on his arm.
"Who's a hillbilly?" Daniel asked.
"Simon is. If you look up `Ain't done nothin' in Webster's, it'll burn spontaneously."
Daniel rolled his eyes and laughed, but before he could comment, his brother pulled his arm and dragged him, along with several other youngsters to the next game.
When Tom saw Wesley coming towards them, he discretely left, leaving Simon and Wesley some privacy.
"Greg is good at that game," Wesley said, clearly impressed, "even better than I am."
Simon glanced at him.
"You know Greg better than I do, Si, tell me, he isn't a Mackey, is he?
Simon nodded. "He is not a Mackey, but between you and me, Greg has some insight and he can be trusted with a little Mackey folklore."
Wesley looked meaningfully at Simon, and understood Simon's mischievous look.
"Well, okay, little potential boyfriend material so far, but there is one person who has been in every time I've been in the Arcade who attracted my attention, and now, with this game...Yes, you've guessed. Greg."
Simon hesitated. He knew Wesley was on the lookout for a boyfriend, as was Greg. But he was no matchmaker. They needed to sort it out for themselves, so he just mumbles something incomprehensible and tried to divert the attention turning to the nearby game.
***
Next episode:
Will Greg and Wesley fall for each other?
Can the 12-years-olds take a little teasing?
To be continued...