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Lust and Oranges
by Jason (jacklloyd22@hotmail.com)
***
A rich relative in Florida. Some fast money to be made.
The only trouble was the boy. (MM/b, ped, orgy)
***
Marty reckoned Danver's as a bitch. Not in the way that
term is usually applied, but in his own way the old guy
was a bigger bitch than his son Eric. Sure, it had been
Eric that put out for him, but Danver's showed a
special kind of bitchiness. He hadn't accepted lightly
an employee interfering with his kin and had thrown him
out of a job.
Marty should have known better of course. He was wise
enough to foresee the risk he was taking the moment his
boss's son appeared on the scene - a cute kid getting
experience in daddy's business while on a break from
college - but Marty was never one to let want go to
waste, and the moment the horny teen started to roll
his sweet young butt around the office he'd taken an
interest.
It hadn't required a lot of effort; a little friendly
banter by the water-cooler and a couple of near-the-
knuckle remarks over a sandwich, and Eric was his. By
the end of the first day the college boy's trousers
were drooped around his ankles and Marty was giving his
beautiful fundament the benefit of seven inches of
solid meat over his daddy's desk. His dick had been
moving like the piston-rod in a steam engine and the
juice was flowing when old Danver's burst in.
That was the end of a nice well-paid job in accountancy
for Marty, and although the old guy was too feeble to
beat him up on the spot he'd told him if he didn't get
out of Chicago quick he'd have a couple of professional
thugs with iron bars make a visit to do it for him.
And Danver's meant what he said. He was that much of a
bitch.
Marty had taken plenty of risks in the past and got
clear away, but this time the cards hadn't fallen right
for him. Gone were his job and his Company car, he had
no supportive friendships, and although he had a
brother and sister in Ohio he'd insulted them years ago
and they'd both disowned him.
Luckily while he was panicking about what to do next
he'd received a wire from his Aunt Matilda inviting him
to take a trip south.
Great-aunt Matilda had invited him to spend a vacation
at Pitterpeetee Grove, which was the name she called
her home in Florida.. He'd never met the woman and he
didn't know an awful lot about her except for a
fractured mixture of hearsay and myth that had
circulated among relatives since he was a boy. He only
knew she was the distant, wealthy end of the family who
had never courted close contact with anyone in the
past, so it was a surprise to be asked to spend time
with her.
He wondered, why an invite out of the blue right now?
Then he recalled being told that she'd been a widow for
years and all her own kids had died off, and since she
was getting old herself maybe she was scanning round to
find some other relative to lay her fortune on.
The thought of receiving a present in the form of a
large unearned income had him licking his lips, but the
flight down country gave him a chance to mull a few
things over. It was vital to be acceptable. Old women
could be hostile to folk who didn't fit with their own
ideas of a respectable life, and any hint of an
alternative sexual preference to the normal man-woman
thing could be lethal to maintaining an old dears
goodwill. That was reason enough to make a resolution,
and he decided he wouldn't try to lay anyone while he
was staying with his aunt. He was twenty-eight,
handsome, in good shape and with a commendable prod,
and it was a shame to deprive all the randy young bucks
in the world of his assets for any length of time. But
it was probably wise to hold off for a while. In fact a
few days of celibacy would probably do his soul good.
He did the final stretch of the journey by rail, which
was a mistake. Just a single track led to the dead-end
town of Unction, south of Lake Okeechobee, and only
three trains a day went in and out of the place. The
day was long and irksome and there was nothing much to
see when he arrived. The low roofed station building
summed it all up. A concrete box surrounded by a
clutter of palm trees that gave it the appearance of a
desert outpost abandoned by the French Foreign Legion.
He was the only passenger to climb down from the train
when it ground to a halt, so there was no chance of
going unobserved and he was greeted by an old, lean
white-haired negro called Abraham whom his aunt had
sent to meet him. The crumpled black suit the fella'
wore looked as old as the ancient Ford convertible he
was driving.
"Aunt Matilda not here with you?" Marty asked.
The negro shook his head as he loaded bags into the
back of the car. "Nah, Missy Matilda don't travel
these days, but you'll meet her as soon as we git to
the house."
They missed out the town, which Abraham said offered no
more than two drug stores and three saloons, and they
were soon driving down a long, straight dirt road.
The landscape on each side was flat, with wide
stretches of land bearing pine trees and scrub oak,
then when the car steered off along a side road a
delicious perfume filled the air and Abraham grinned
when he noticed Marty breathing deep.
"You can smell the oranges Mr. Martin. Sweet ain't it?
That honey-scent wafts on the breeze around here long
before pickin' time."
"I heard Aunt Matilda did some business with oranges."
"She sure does. Got the biggest plantation here-a-
bouts. It'll be her fruit yu sniffin'."
Big plantation! mused Marty, quickly interpreting that
into dollar bills.
Big property of any kind meant big money.
There was no sign of orange trees before they reached
their destination, instead the scrub woodland thickened
and they seemed to enter a jungle of oak trees hung
with dripping moss that were so densely packed they
shut out most of the daylight. Then at the end of a
rising path appeared the front porch of the house
called Pitterpeetee Grove. It was big but it wasn't
the kind of old colonial mansion he'd imagined. It was
built of wood which had been painted white and was
lifted up on stone piers.
Sitting bolt upright under an awning set above a long,
wide verandah sat his great-aunt Matilda, a rangy
woman, very old, with features that would be best
described as embattled. She was dressed head to foot in
white, except for a flat wide-brimmed straw-coloured
hat with a low crown. The way she wore her grey hair
pinned back behind her head gave her a sort of 19th
Century appearance and made her look even older than
he'd expected, but although she was running a bit to
seed she was still elegant and she still transmitted
the fiery, tangled sort of fecundity she'd always had a
reputation for.
A lace frilled sunshade lay unopened in her hand and
she was gripping its handle like a cudgel.
"How long will you stay?" she asked at once.
"I thought maybe a week." Marty replied.
The old woman sniffed. "A week! That's preposterous. No
one comes here just a week. I expect you to stay for a
month at least. Abraham will show you to your room.
Dinner's at seven. I'll see you again then."
"Best wear a jacket an' tie at dinner, sur," the old
retainer whispered as he led the way into the house,
"Missy Matilda's a bit old fashioned an' fussy about
that kind o' thing. She likes to keep up values." He
chuckled. "Them's her words, not mine."
The house was big and its owner doubtlessly wealthy,
but Marty reckoned no money had been spent on updating
facilities for visitors since the time it was built.
His room was small and the furniture all old wooden
stuff; a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a
little wash stand that held a tin bowl and a white
enamel jug.
"There's a bathroom at the end o' the landin', sur,"
Abraham told him as he dropped bags on the end of the
bed, "If'n yur needing anything in yer room, press the
bell-button on the wall an' someone'll come-a-runnin'."
Marty smiled whimsically. A bell-button! Well at least
the house was wired for electricity.
On his return from the bathroom he noticed a door
adjacent to his own room, and out of sheer curiosity he
opened it.
The gloom that met him as he entered at first prevented
any appreciation of the size of the room, but as his
eyes became accustomed to the poor light he saw it was
three times the size of his own bedroom. A large four-
poster bed draped with heavy blue curtains stood on a
dais against one wall, and a rocking chair, upholstered
in black buttoned leather with a white antimacassar
stood near it. A triple mirrored kneehole dressing
table with glass knobbed draws occupied the wall
adjacent to the bed.
"Can I help yu sur." Abraham's voiced droned at his
back.
"Who's room is this?"
"It's the master-bedroom. No one sleeps here, not
anymore, not since Missy lost her man more than fifteen
years ago. Now it's just a quite place where she likes
to come an' sit sometimes."
Marty stepped back through the door. "Like a goddamned
chapel of remembrance, huh!" he commented without any
compassion.
Abraham closed the door quietly and offered a soft
smile.
"If'n you say so, sur."
All too aware he was there to curry favor with his aunt
he did as Abraham had suggested earlier and dressed up
sweet and sharp for the evening meal. The ancient
negro, now immaculate in a white coat and white cotton
gloves, met him at the bottom of the stairs when he
went down and guided him to the dining-room.
There was plenty of other help scurrying about the
house, but the old retainer seemed to slot into
whatever role his aunt needed, be it chauffeur, butler
or general handyman, and strangely enough the man
appeared to relish being so useful, because he happily
parked himself against a wall in the attitude of a
major-domo.
The dining room was ornate, heavy and detailed with a
highly polished wooden table that could seat ten, but
was only laid for three. Old fashioned lamps burned in
wall brackets and beneath them his aunt occupied a
high-backed chair at the head of the table which could
have been a bishop's throne. Her thin fingers were
heavy with rings, her wrists with bracelets, throat and
chest with necklaces, all gold and glinting in the
lamplight. Marty would have laughed if he didn't have
a need to be so careful with his manners. The dotty old
girl was hanging onto the crumbling trappings of past
glory. The whole set-up was a remnant of bygone days
and long departed social status.
At one time, years ago, she must have been magnificent,
he thought. Even now, at an indeterminable old age, the
boned bulge of her bosom suggested a smothered
sexuality. The slant of her eyes, her high brow and
arched cheekbones were a reminder of a beauty that in
its heyday had probably rocked fella's on their heels.
"You'll find Unction dull," his aunt said without
smiling, "It's a town of orange-growers and cattlemen
who talk about work all the time. I 'spect you'll find
staying here at Pitterpeetee Grove pretty dull too."
"Oh, I don't reckon that." Marty replied lightly.
He was attempting to be ingratiating, but instead of
accepting his politeness she turned a pair of gimlet
eyes on him. It was difficult to believe she was
eighty, maybe ninety years old. "Do you know something
I don't?"
Marty squirmed uncomfortably. His aunt hadn't evolved
with the times, she looked and still behaved like one
of the feisty matriarchs who had dominated southern
communities a century ago.
"What I mean is, running the business you have here. It
must be pretty hectic at times and hardly dull."
"It ain't easy either." the woman scowled. "Frost in
the orange-groves near bankrupts me every second year.
Most of the other growers around here sold out to big
corporations years back an' it's difficult competing on
yer own agin them kind o' goddamn outlaws."
Her eyes turned to Abraham. "Where's Joseph?" she asked
sharply. "Tell him we're waitin'."
The door opened as she finished speaking and the late
comer entered. He was young, slight in figure but
graceful with a soft pixie-face and neatly trimmed hair
the colour of honey. Twelve, perhaps thirteen years
old, slim and spindly in the way young boys are before
they shoot up. Solemn but not sullen, on seeing Marty
he smiled and revealed beautiful white teeth.
"Joseph - you're late - five minutes late!" the old
woman grumbled.
The boys grin faded. "I'm very sorry, Gran'ma. I didn't
-"
"This as happened before. You know how I detest
unpunctuality. It disorganises the entire evenin'."
"Yes, Gran'ma." said the boy, sliding quickly into his
seat.
Stony-faced the old woman swung her arm across the
table. "This here gennelman is yer Uncle Mart'n from
Chicago. He's gunna be stayin' with us for a while."
The boy grinned, the scolding he'd received a moment
before quite forgotten, white teeth flashing again as
he nodded.
"Hi Uncle Martin. Sorry I can't shake your hand, but
I'm not allowed to stretch across the table."
"You should've been on time for dinner." grumbled his
grandmother.
The remark of dissatisfaction ricocheted from the boy's
ebullience. "Chicago! Gee whiz, I ain't ever been
north of Tallahassee. What's it like in Chicago Uncle
Martin?"
"Busy, all tarmac and concrete, and it rains a lot.
You're better off here."
"It's like I allus told you," the boy's grandmother
sniped keenly. "There ain't nuthin' up north that you
can't get better here." Joseph nodded. "Sure gran'ma,
but a guy can't help being curious."
Conversation ceased abruptly when the hostess rapped
the table with a spoon, then pressed her hands
together. It was the first time for years Marty had
been pitched into formal religious ritual prior to
eating, but he complied amiably as his aunt went
through her routine.
"Lord, we give thanks for you delivering us from want
by gracin' our table with the fruits of the forest and
the flesh of brute beasts, as is Your will."
She then picked up her knife and fork, signalling it
was okay to start eating.
Although she'd been grouchy with the boy when he'd
arrived late the annoyance in her expression hadn't
lasted more than a minute or two, and it soon became
apparent that she adored the kid. Marty couldn't fault
her for that. His face was round, innocent, and his
pale eyebrows framed a pair of large, well-set,
stunning brown eyes. His mouth was broad and graced by
rather sensuous pink lips and he had a lively, cute way
about him which together with his good looks made him
extremely likeable.
"Are you married, Uncle Martin?" the boy asked.
Aunt Matilda answered quicker than he could himself.
"A'course he ain't married. That's why he's here
alone."
Joseph wasn't deflected. "You're a smart lookin' guy.
Don't you want to get married?"
"Maybe one day I will. I ain't thirty yet, so there's
plenty of time."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"I do accountancy when I'm working. I'm - er - in-
between jobs right now and looking for a new
situation."
"Accountin'! That's messin' with figures an' tottin'
cash, ain't it? Gran'ma uses accountants."
The old woman chimed in rapidly. "Gran'ma's GOT
accountants. Don't bug yer uncle about work. He's on
vacation."
Joseph chewed his food slowly, and Marty felt drawn to
watching his delicate face. It had the flawless
complexion of pubescent beauty, soft and delicate like
that of a girl, like most boys appear before they
succumb to the more angular features of adolescence.
"I had three daughters and two boys, and I've survived
'em all." Aunt Matilda explained without emotion.
"Joseph is my youngest girl's boy, but I look after him
now."
She signalled to pass the salt.
"You must see everything we have here, Mart'n. Tomorrow
Joseph will take you through the groves. It would help
if you can ride. Such tours are easier when done on
horseback."
Across the table hazel brown eyes scrutinised him from
under the waft of their long dark lashes and the boys
face beamed with enthusiasm. "Can you ride, Uncle
Martin? Do they have horses in Chicago?"
Marty responded with a smile. The boy's unbroken voice
charmed him. It had a melodious quality with clear,
high notes that sounded like a girl. But not quite like
a girl.
"Sure." he replied, "There's always places to ride
horses if one don't mind paying. I've always enjoyed
riding. In Chicago I spent a lot of my spare cash doing
it."
He risked a glib smile at his aunt then returned to the
boy. "I reckon Colonel Custer would have given me a
place in the 7th Cavalry if he'd known about me."
Across the table he intercepted a glance between the
boy and his grandmother. There was a secret between
them, but they were giving no hint as to want it may
be.
Marty didn't enjoy that kind of thing. He swung his
head angrily and caught the eye of Abraham, who smiled
at him wanly.
When he turned back Joseph was holding his dessert
spoon upright and licked it slowly, his broad, wet,
pink tongue sliding delicately over the hard metal.
Marty was a sucker for things like that. He felt the
skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle as he
observed the lads shiny pink lips wrap around the
spoon. In a way it was almost erotic.
Hell's bells! The kid knew he was attractive, but was
he just being childish or was he laying on a tease?
That mouth! Those dark inviting eyes! He was a
succulent little morsel to a dirty dog like himself.
Suddenly his eyes met the kid's bright, rather sly,
hazel eyes and Joseph gave a radiant smile that that
lingered. It shook Marty to the core, and beneath the
table he slid his hand across the front of his trousers
to push down the stir of an upthrust under his fly.
'Whoa Bowser!' he cautioned himself silently, 'This
here tasty doggy-chew ain't for munchin'.
As soon as the last plate had been cleared from the
meal Aunt Matilda rose to her feet.
"You and I will play a few hands of cards, Mart'n." she
told him without offering any option.
Carefully, as if troubled by an aching back, she rose
up to allow Abraham to pull away her chair, then
lifting her head she straightened her shoulders and
steadied herself with a hand on the table. As she
passed the sideboard she reached for the brandy
decanter with splendid aplomb and carried it through
into the room adjacent.
She enjoyed a few hands of poker in the evening she
said, and just to make it interesting she preferred to
play for real cash, which meant Marty ended the evening
being light by fifty dollars.
It was hardly a good result for an unemployed man, but
the stakes were higher in the real game he was playing.
If he could stay in flavour with the old girl he could
end up seriously rich.
His aunt was fond of saying she possessed little of
value but nothing in her household suggested any severe
economy. There was no want at all. The rooms were full
of old, but valuable property, and on looking outside
at the back he'd seen sheds all splendidly equipped
with the most up to date gear for processing crops.
There were three motor trucks to move stuff around, and
he'd discovered there was an office with a manager and
two clerks employed. In talking with Abraham it also
transpired his aunt also owned orange-groves other than
those grouped around the house.
He liked the house and he liked its situation: a
commanding site in the midst of two thousand acres of
prime orange growing land. If the old lady floated off
soon he wouldn't be averse to having a few hundred
acres of it himself. Or the whole estate if it came as
a present.
***
The next day Marty wore his favourite corduroys and a
black jersey with a scarf of brightly coloured silk -
did they call them bandanas this far south? - and he
made sure he put on boots with good high heels that
would hang on to a set of stirrups. Abraham supplied
him with a broad rimmed wide-awake that he put on
tilted over one eye, thinking that gave him a raffish
look that wouldn't seem out of character. All in all
he looked better now than in a goddamned city suit, he
reckoned.
It had come as something of a relief to discover there
was no temptation to his recent resolution of chastity.
The house staff were mostly female, all nearly as old
as the well worn Abraham and not in the ball park as
far as he was concerned. The only hitch to staying
straight and level for a while was the kid with whom he
was about to spend some time, and while he usually
steered clear of jailbait, young Joseph was a shining
beauty, and he knew his real test was going to be
keeping his hands off the little squirt.
Outside the morning air was clear and the sun had just
lifted over the tree tops in a long slant of russet
light. When he picked his way across the outside yard
to the stables behind the house he found Joseph already
saddling horses and he was able to assess the boy more
readily than had been possible at the dining table the
previous evening. He wore a flat-brimmed black wide-
awake with a chin strap like the one he wore himself, a
chequered shirt and blue jeans that seemed to emphasis
the slenderness of his form. He looked even slimmer
than he had last night. His torso was slender and a
leather belt fastened tight accentuated his tiny waist
and small hips. No bubble-butt, but an appealing little
swell to his backside all the same.
He looked down at him, skin so golden and svelte in his
spotless shirt, the sweep of her neck from ear to slim
shoulder hypnotised him. "Mornin' Joseph, you're
lookin' quite the cowboy." he said. The boy's eyebrows
arched as he looked at him, and again Marty felt aware
of his utter delicacy, of a loveliness as yet
indefinable. The kid's cheeks dimpled as he smiled,
his face rosy, complexion bright. He looked stunning in
the morning light.
"Hey, I know Grandma calls me Joseph, but I reckon
that's kind've uncool," he said. "Most other people
call me Joey or Jojo. I like that better."
"Jojo it is then."
"Great. Say, can you give me a hand fixing the cinch on
this saddle. It ain't movin' for me."
Marty placed his hands on the kid's shoulders, feeling
the warmth and firmness of flesh beneath the thin
material of his shirt, then he leaned over him, broad
chest pressing against his small back, the kid's tiny
rump fitting perfectly into the curve of his lower
abdomen. His hand pulled the cinch and locked the
buckle, and then he felt Jojo's cool fingers slide on
to the back of his hand. Cool fingers, small and smooth
that provided a devilish sensation and was incredibly
exciting.
The fingers seemed to linger a moment longer than an
accidental touch should justify, and Marty's latest
solemn resolution began to slip. The youngster, not yet
a teenager, had excited him in a way he didn't need at
that time. His adrenaline began to bubble and he felt
his cock lifting inside his pants.
"You're soft and warm." he murmured as he dipped his
mouth against the side of his succulent neck. The kid's
skin had an indefinable aroma, like a mixture of soap
and new bought suede. He wanted to suck the side of
that little neck in front of him, wanted to hear how
the kid squeaked when he gently nipped the tender skin
between his teeth.
Jojo stiffened and then grinned ebulliently as he
wriggled his narrow hips like a worm.
"You mustn't misbehave!" he said softly.
Marty blushed and shuffled back.
Dammit! His halo had almost slipped off before they'd
got out the stable door. The sweet thing had come near
to making him by-pass the decision he'd made to stay
chaste at Pitterpeetee. It was just plain good sense to
stay as clean as a whistle while living with the woman
he was hoping to be a benefactor, and messing about
with her grandson was a certain way of ruining things.
Luckily the kid showed no sign of anger or of suffering
distress.
Mounting up they set off on a walk the horses appeared
to be familiar with, and within a short while they were
in a forest of trees festooned with fruit.
They toured the orange groves leisurely, acres of them,
row upon row of trees with bright metallic looking
leaves spreading out for miles, each one almost
geometrically spaced from its neighbour.
"Geesh! exclaimed Marty. "I didn't reckon there could
be so many orange trees in the entire world."
Jojo smiled proudly.
"Millions of people start their day drinkin' orange
juice. Gran'ma just does her piece in keepin' 'em
supplied.
"Say Martin, you ain't my real uncle are you? What I
mean is, uncles are usually related to a fella's
parents, and you aren't."
"I'm related in a distant way to your grandmother, and
I guess she finds it easier and more convenient to call
me your uncle. I've no rub with that as long as you
don't mind. Tell you what. Let's cut the uncle stuff
altogether. I'm calling you Jojo, so you just call me
Marty, huh!"
Jojo beamed one of his irresistible smiles. "Sure
thing, Marty."
Later they circled about and visited vast orchards of
grapefruit and tangerines, acres of them too, and the
sight made Marty feel old Gremlin Greed stirring
inside.
He knew nothing about fruit growing and had no interest
in farming, so if any land came his way by inheritance
he'd certainly sell it off to a property developer, or
one of those big fruit growing corporations his aunt
detested so much. In any event he'd be likely to make a
tidy piece of hard cash.
The plantation was so extensive that the morning seemed
to fly by, but all the time he couldn't prevent himself
from secretly looking at the boy, his gaze a moth to a
flame.
Jojo had a carefree nature and a delightful clear
laugh. He also had personality and style and good
looks. When his lips parted, moist and red, his mouth
dimpled at the corners in a delectable kind of way.
Oh yes, he had looks with the appeal of boyhood, and
his sweet unbroken voice charmed his ears. His sliver
of a body had a fine seat in the saddle and no one
seeing him mounted on a light grey mare at that moment
would have credited him with being practically an
adolescent.
His thoughts kept wandering back to that moment in the
stable when the boy's body had squirmed against him,
and thinking about that made his cock swell as he dwelt
on the smooth flesh that must lay beneath the kid's
neat clothes. A flat stomach and slim hips, a narrow
boyish chest with small pink nipples, and not least of
all, the shapely curve of a fine little ass.
Dammit! stop doing that, he berated himself. Think of
something dark and cold instead. Think of coal mines.
He followed Jojo who led the way along a narrow path
through the pine trees and scrub oaks, on the rim of
the orchards.
"Do you like this place? Do you like living here."
Marty asked. Joseph - Jojo - turned his head. "Like
it? I love it. Gran'ma can be horrible to some people,
but she's always kind to me. I get just about
everything I want when I'm staying with her."
"It's getting on towards lunchtime. Will your grandma
be expecting us back?"
"Nope, I told her we'd be away a while, and I collected
a couple of food bags from the kitchen before we left."
Marty nodded, pleased in a strange way the boy had made
such a decision. He may have had a tempting young body
he couldn't touch, but he enjoyed the kid's youthful
banter, and now he knew he had him to himself for a
while longer.
He gazed up at the heavens. The sky was cloudless and
almost Cerulean blue. "The weather's warm. The orange
groves will make a nice setting for a picnic."
The youngster scoffed at him cheekily.
"Hah! You Yankee city slickers figure Florida to be all
Miami sunshine, but we get hurricanes goin' though here
reg'lar in summer, an' in the cold seasons give us
plenty of frost.
Gran'ma reckons Pitterpeetee was hard-won in every way.
Early settlers had trouble with the Crackers - that's
folks descended from the Seminole tribes that lived
here once. She says her own grandfather was murdered by
'em, an' I guess that's part of the reason she refuses
to sell the land to anyone an' wants to keep it in the
family."
He suddenly kicked at his grey mares ribs and cantered
ahead. "Follow me Marty. I know a place better for
picnicking than any other around here."
They made their way out from the groves and covered a
few miles of scrub country shimmering in the full blaze
of late morning. Eventually they reached a fringe of
dense woodland and hauled up at a spot the boy knew
well.
Apparently it was Jojo's secret dell, a bright green
cleft between the trees where a narrow stream flashed
between mossy stones and shallow banks of bracken
before tunnelling into a swamp of saw-grass and
mangrove roots. There they voted to swing out of their
saddles and give the horses a breather.
Giant butterflies flitted in the dark backdrop of the
forest as they wadded through the deep bracken by the
edge of the stream. Eventually they found a clear patch
of ground cushioned by velvet-like grass where the warm
midday sunshine had found a route between the green
canopy overhead.
Jojo dumped himself on the ground and began pulling at
his boots.
"The water's shallow hereabouts an' I'm for steppin' in
to cool my feet."
His eyes always sparkled with such merry optimism that
any man would feel an urge of affectionate irritation.
The kid was never awkward or shy, and once he'd set his
mind on something, it was impossible to deny him.
Marty went back to the horses to collect the saddlebags
that held the food and get a couple of horse-blankets
to spread on the ground. When he returned Jojo was
already paddling ankle deep in the stream, and not
content with throwing off his boots he'd also stripped
off his jeans.
Marty surveyed the partly undressed youngster with
lecherous interest. He was slightly built rather than
skinny. With Marty skinny always conjured up a picture
of bony limbs with lack of flesh, and that wasn't true
of Jojo. He was impeccably well proportioned and his
lightweight figure only served to emphasis his spry
youthfulness.
His legs were young and smooth - shapely and immaculate
with an enticing butterscotch tan, and captivated,
Marty watched his small bottom moving under the
clinging, skimpy jockey shorts that were inadequately
covered by the drape of his shirt.
Even though the kid was untouchable in the present
circumstances he couldn't help but groan a little in
frustration. The boys spine had enough curve to give a
truckload of sauciness to his little ass cheeks.
Quite suddenly Jojo gave out a yelp of distress and
hobbled towards the bank.
"Something bite you?" Marty asked with genuine concern.
"No, I stepped on a stone an' twisted something in my
leg. It feels sore." His lips curved into a winsome
poor-little-me smile, hazel eyes teasing from beneath
long lashes as he sat down heavily on the bank and
raised his foot for some attention.
"Will you check things out for me?"
He watched Marty's hand curl under his ankle, felt the
pressure of his fingers, and he smiled. Swiftly he let
his foot revolve away so he could lean forward and
point, frowning, at his calf. "There, I think that's
where it hurts." he said, leaning back again.
Sunlight played on his glossy thighs and Marty was very
conscious of the way his tiny white briefs had wedged
up into his crotch. He tried not to glance up. It
needed no imagination to define the outline of what was
inside the boy's skimpy briefs. The material had become
damp and the bulge of a boyish cock and balls was all
too evident, but he was playing the game with studious
concentration as he rubbed his hand along the muscle,
ostensibly feeling for tenderness.
"Does that hurt?"
"Just a little."
"And this?"
"Hardly at all."
"No damage done then."
He was knelt before him. Jojo might have been
Cinderella and he Prince Charming, except this was no
fairy tale, and while there was no impropriety in his
ministrations the boy seemed to be enjoying the touch
of his big hands.
He stretched out a leg and pointed his bare toes.
"Have you done this sort of thing before, Marty?"
Marty nodded. "My mother suffered from rheumatism."
"Your mother!"
"Yes, but I've also had some experience with horses.
Strained fetlocks and that kind of thing."
"Are you comparing me with a horse?"
"Certainly not," said Marty, "apart from which you
don't have any swelling on the flexor tendon or clap on
the back sinew."
"You ARE comparing me with a horse."
Marty laughed and stood up. "You'll live Jojo. You
ain't got nothing that a hot bath won't cure."
His young companion levered himself up in front of him,
now showing not the slightest bit of discomfort.
"Gran'ma says your going to stay here for at least a
month. If you stay at Pitterpeetee for four weeks
you're gunna get mighty bored. There ain't no decent
looking women this side of Unction, and a guy like you
probably likes to have a girl on his arm all the time."
Marty smiled cynically. "You're reckoning me as a
teenager Jojo. When you get a bit older you'll find out
fella's often have to go for long spells without the
company of dames."
The boy thought about that for a moment, "Uh, uh!
'Spect you're right. But I 'spect guys find other
things to occupy their time." He then swivelled his
shoulders back and forth in a way that seemed
deliberately precocious.
"You think I'm pretty, don't you?"
Marty pursed his lips thoughtfully. "No, I don't think
you pretty, I think you're perfect."
Encouraged by the flattery Jojo unfastened the top
button on the front of his shirt and spread the collar
open, The hand lingered, moving up to stroke the very
spot on the slender neck Marty had yearned to kiss
earlier. He was taking the lead, and he was doing it
with style. It was no charming whim or accident of
interpretation. The boy was flirting. The kid was
coming on to him!
"Oh, oh! I know what you're doing."
"What am I doing then?" Jojo asked, his eyes widening
in a mockery of innocence.
"You damn well know what," He brushed the tip of the
boy's nose with his forefinger. "Back at the stables
you said to not misbehave."
"That was then and there. This is here and now. Do you
like boys Marty? When there's no dames around do you
like cuddlin' boys who aren't wearing many clothes? Do
you like me?"
With a low laugh Jojo playfully leaned against him and
bit his earlobe, and Marty felt his breath quicken. As
he pulled back he looked into his vivacious eyes and
the blood drummed in his ears as the kid stared back at
him.
"You're a big hunky guy. You could do anything you
wished with a boy like me, you could use me like a girl
and I wouldn't be able to stop you."
Marty felt like he was suddenly being pulled in all
directions. One moment he was lingering on a threshold,
and the next he was being swept away by passion.
Common-sense became ignored as his face swung down.
Jojo's lips parted slightly and he felt the tip of a
tongue touch his lips. He reciprocated instantly, his
own tongue snaking out to outline the shape of the
boy's mouth before running along the smooth ridge of
his teeth. Still revelling in the taste of the young
mouth and he gently bit Jojo's lower lip.
He wasn't sure how he ended up with the lad in his
arms, or whether Jojo said anything before his flirting
little pink mouth made contact with his own. But the
time for talking had passed, now only touch and taste
mattered.
He gripped the kid's waist and hauled the young body
against his own, smelt its freshness, felt its warmth,
felt its pliancy as it molded to him. There was no shy
uncertainty or hanging back, Jojo wanted contact,
wanted to be held in a man's arms.
Without a word passing between them the boy wrapped his
arms about his neck and threw himself into a kiss.
Marty's tongue at once probed into his mouth and the
boy instantly caressed it with his own. Tongues began
swirled, wriggling and thrusting in a flurry of sexual
excitement.
As his hands skittered over Jojo's body and Marty
marvelled at the sleek torso and chest in his embrace.
It was just as lean and lithe as he had earlier
imagined it to be. He pulled at the narrow waist,
pressing against the yielding body to eliminate all
space between them while his hands explored Jojo's
young form and shamelessly pressed his hard thigh
against the boy's smooth flesh.
With their mouths melded together he fumbled with the
front of Jojo's shirt, slowly working at the row of
buttons as the kiss went on and on.
Contact was finally broken as he scooped him up in his
arms, and with a tiny cry of surprise at his tightened
grip Jo-jo nuzzled his face against his neck.
Taking full advantage of his greater strength Marty
reached around the back of him to squeeze his little
backside, and he felt it rotate in his grip, the skimpy
little pants the lad was wearing doing nothing to
disguise the soft texture of the youthful anatomy they
contained.
Hot with passion now he didn't hold back. He daubed the
boy's face with saliva and left a wet trail across his
fevered lips before his face dipped and he slid his
mouth across the smooth, bare chest, inhaling the
delicious aroma of his new little love pup. Perky
little boy-nipples brushed his cheek when he began
licking the kid's firm pectorals, licking all around
before pressing onto them, mouthing each nipple in
turn, teasing and tasting them and then taking them
into his mouth and sucking the small pink teats.
"Ooooohhhh!" Jojo moaned softly. "Oh yeah, suck my tits
Marty, bite 'em a little bit, but don't do it hard."
The man's hands burrowed inside the young boys shirt
and stroked his sides, and Jojo's dainty hands
fluttered as he gripped the waistband of his pants and
quickly slipped them down to expose the rest of his
sleek young body. A young body still devoid of coarse
hair.
Gorgeous! A pair of cherry-sized balls lolled in the
small pink bag of his scrotum, and above them - a
beautiful, slender erect boy-cock.
As his hands slid onto the tender skin of his inner
thighs he found the uncircumcised penis was slightly
curved, quite thick and with an impressive five inch
stand, already stiff with its foreskin rolled back to
show a blushing pink tip. He held it in his hand and
savoured the solid girth of its shaft before he began
stroking it, watching the tip disappear and reappear as
the soft fleshy foreskin melted against the shaft as he
moved it up and down.
Jojo returned every move, running his hands over his
man-friends ribs and torso and feeling the body heat
beneath the fabric of his shirt before dropping onto
the front of his corduroys.
"Wow! That's some night-stick in you're carrying in
your pocket, Marty. I knew you'd have something good."
The kid's hands went straight in to unbuckle his belt
and Marty heard the sharp intake of his own breath as
young hands worked against the tight ridge of his
abdomen. With a flick of his fingers and a wicked smile
Jojo unhooked his trousers and unzipped them with
tantalising leisure, casually brushing the back of his
fingers against the hard length behind the corrugated
fabric.
In complete surrender to his base desires Marty allowed
him to pull the waist loose so he could slip them over
his hips, but his swollen cock was rearing up like a
tower by then and the tip of it snagged on his briefs,
so in the end he eased them down himself.
A delicious shiver ran the length of his spine as his
pants went down and his fully hard cock sprang up,
smooth and hard, a shaft of silky steel. Without the
slightest hesitation Jojo took hold of it and began
stroking, ringing it with his fingers and increasing
the movements of his hand until Marty began to shake
violently and felt compelled to grip the boys hand
tight around his slippery erection and hump into it.
The boy looped a twig-like arms about his neck, and
Marty's fingers tangled in Jojo's hair as their mouths
meshed and melted together again. Slowly they dropped
to their knees and keeled over sideways in the grass,
heads twisting, locked in a deep and passionate kiss,
jolts of electricity sizzling between them as boy-
erection nudged against man-erection.
Pressing forward aggressively Marty slipped his tongue
between his young lovers fevered lips, tongue-fucking
his mouth while Jojo sucked the tongue like it was a
cock.
"Mmmm, ooooh!" Jojo's small voice quivered like a
fiddle-string as Marty reached out and rolled a pair of
young testicles in his hand. "Oooh, mmm!" The boy
gasped again, legs pulled tight. He may have had the
face of an angel, but his confidence and lack of
hesitation gave the lie to his looks of innocence.
He'd done this kind of thing before, and was beyond
clumsy fumbling with boys his own age. He'd done it
with men.
Marty's excitement took him beyond reason. Between his
own legs a length of hard meat was jerking and
throbbing with anticipation of unspoken promises.
Jojo's eyes began to glaze and he drew back while
gazing at the man-cock in his hand, admiring its size
and solidness and watching in fascination as his
fingers wrinkled down the foreskin to reveal the
smooth, bulbous head. Marty's erection was angled
slightly off centre, big, very big, standing out from a
bush of black hair.
For a moment Jojo stared at the seminal ooze seeping
from its tip. "Boy! Your prick's like a stick o'
dynamite. I gotta do something with it before it
explodes."
With a burst of strength that was unexpected he rolled
Marty onto his back and straggled his thighs as if he
were mounting a horse, then grabbing Marty's erection
with his slim fingers he tucked the tip of it between
his buttocks.
His eyes flickered momentarily as he pressed his body
down, young belly undulating, narrow hips screwing left
and right as he slowly opened up and eased the head of
Marty's dick through his outer sphincter.
"Umph!" He grunted and bucked as his rubbery spinster
contracted and clamped tight. Every muscle in his body
seemed to flex as he lifted slightly and then settled
again to sink down on two additional inches. Marty was
stunned by the accessibility of the kid. His dick was
in no way a small item and he could only assume Jojo
had done some early morning lubrication on himself to
help things along later. That meant all that what was
happening wasn't in the heat of the moment. It was pre-
planned.
"Nnnngh!" The swooning boy sitting astride him
struggled to get more and more cock into his narrow
tunnel, and slowly, inch by inch Marty's cock sank
right in. Jo-jo anal tract rippled down the length of
his fat shaft - right down, until backside met balls.
Pausing to let his bum get used to being stretched and
occupied Jojo offered a smile.
"Gee! Boy oh boy! I didn't think I was gonna make it,
yer big hunk. I didn't reckon was gonna be able to take
it all."
Marty groaned too as he felt Jojo's anal muscles
flutter then hold him tight, then the kid raised
Marty's hands and placed them on his hips before
slowly, deliberately beginning to rock back and forth,
riding up and down, bouncing to savour the full extent
of penetration. Every few moments he would lift up so
that Marty could feel the ring of his sphincter
hovering under the rim of his dick, then he'd go down
again, squeezing with his insides and rippling his
stomach muscles, working everything in unison to
generate pleasure.
Marty made no protest. The way Jojo mixed the
exuberance of a boy with the delicacy and grace of a
girl was beguiling. Every movement of his lithe form
seemed done with canny awareness. The swing of his
hips, the tilt of his head was posed, practised. Even
now he still had the ability to amaze him. He was so
casual about his homosexual actions. There was no
hesitancy, no guilt, no self-doubt or remorse, he was
utterly comfortable with the way he was. And
experienced too, even skilled. Where had he acquired
such knowledge and such confidence?
The kid was moving nicely now, all the time retaining
Marty's swollen man-meat and sliding up and down its
entire length, his tightly clinging anus clutching and
caressing the thickness of his cock and sliding with
the ease of a kid glove up and down the length of his
hardness. With little spasms of delight and sensuous
grinding of his buttocks Jojo was milking his dick with
shameless skill, milking it with his asshole.
The man froze, muscles taut, eyes squeezed shut, and as
his eyes rolled and he began to gasp. The youngster
leaned forward and gasped with him. The initial
discomfort had faded and his breath became shallow as
he rasped in his throat.
"You like this, don't you. You enjoy boy-ass moving up
and down your prodder, don't you?"
He did like it. He liked the heat and the friction, and
he loved shafting the sassy young featherweight kid
that was mounted on his dick. His rock-hard cock felt
like a crowbar buried inside him, it was throbbing and
tingling along its entire length, which made his balls
draw up tight against his thick shaft.
Eventually his body demanded to be allowed to empty.
Eyes rolling, helpless amid his own pleasure he
surrendered to the convulsions that accompanied his
climax.
"Ughhh! Aaaaah, ooooh!"
"Oh yeah. You've really got some cargo to unload, ain't
you?" the kid remarked whilst still steadily bouncing
up and down.
As his prick pumped strongly upwards Marty blindly,
almost without being aware, swung his hand up, grasped
Jojo's stiff penis and began pulling and pushing.
The boy's tummy heaved and an expression of surprise
blossomed on his face. Then he shook like a leaf as a
trace of clear fluid leaked out from the straining tip.
Within moments the kid's hot, silky-smooth organ
throbbed tangibly and the man heard Jojo breathing
quickly as it pulsated. Then he heard the him squeal,
"Ooh, oooh, OOOOHH!" and he watched as with each
exclamation a heavy shot of warm cream hosed from the
bloated tip and slopped over his hand.
Jojo remained motionless for a moment afterwards, just
flashed his big brown eyes and smiling with contentment
as his sated gland slowly retracted into its soft
sheath.
Afterwards they lay side by side on the horse blankets
for a while, content in a warm, sunny never-land
bordered by severely regimented acres of orange
orchards on one side and the unrevealed mysteries of a
mangrove swamp on the other.
It was a world apart from the hustle of Chicago Marty
had endured for so many years and he was enjoying a
sweet way of life unknown to him. It was beautiful. The
meandering little stream nearby was too fast running to
harbour mosquitoes that would spoil things, and red-
winged cardinals and flocks of ibis were flashing
overhead.
What could be more ideal? he thought languidly as he
observed the contrast between Jojo's smooth naked form
and the hairiness of his own thighs. He was in a
paradise where a delicious looking twelve-year-old boy,
like some houri in a drug-induced dream, was eager to
satisfy his every gratuitous urge.
"Do you seduce every fella' you take to the groves?
Marty asked him.
Jojo grinned. "Only the one's worth the trouble. It's
unusual for a hunk like you not to be married, and it
got me to thinking you preferred being with guys. I was
right, wasn't I?"
Marty declined to answer, but Jojo remained smiling.
"It's okay. I'm glad. Things can get pretty dull around
here. Gran'ma don't let me go into town alone, an'
things can get pretty stale sometimes for a kid like
me."
"A kid like you?"
"Y'know. One that's growin' and likes dick."
"You seem pretty experienced."
"I went to a live-in school in Tallahassee for a while.
There were other kids like me there, all wantin' to try
stuff. It got pretty wild some nights."
"Listen, it's going to poison your gran'ma against me
if she hears about what we've just done."
"Don't worry Marty, I don't tell her about everything I
do."
"Speakin' of poison I'm feelin' vulnerable without
wearing clothes. This place is pretty, but its wild
too. There's probably snakes around."
Jojo nodded. "Yep, there's plenty of coral's an'
rattler's creepin' in the grass around here I guess,
but I come here all the time an' I ain't been bothered
by any yet."
He served a wry glance at Marty's penis lolling between
his legs, itself looking like a fat, olive-skinned
viper.
"The biggest risk to kids around these parts comes from
the spittin' cobra's guys carry in their breeches."
The kid's outrageous humour set Marty's pulse racing
again. Maybe he was being stupid, but he'd already gone
further than was wise, so to hell with resolutions to
be pure. Jojo was hot for cock, as hot as any bitch in
Chicago, and his own lust was coming to the boil again.
He went over to the horses and delved into his personal
stuff in one of the saddlebags. He'd long had the habit
of carrying a tube of lubricating jelly with him on his
travels, and today it was going to come in handy.
Returning to where Jojo lay on the ground he abruptly
turned him over onto his stomach and ran his hands
across both soft bottom cheeks. He squeezed them and
rolled them gently, first one then the other, then
stroking up and down his inviting boy-crack before
spreading it open to reveal the pink pucker of his
tight little ass.
The boy squirmed uncertainly. "Whatcha gonna do Marty?
Whatcha gonna do?"
Marty carefully lubricated the pucker, his fingers
stroking tenderly as they wormed and probed.
Pulling the kid onto his side he slid down behind him
and squeezed up close to his bare, warm body, raising
Jojo's leg up and back so he could have plenty of room.
In an act that was slow carnal torture he expelled a
slight sigh as he slipped his prick into him, but it
went in easier this time and he revelled in the
pleasure of sinking his solid erection into the tight
anal tract. His eyes smouldered with tightly leashed
desire as he watched the boys every reaction reflected
in his expressions.
Gazing at his face he began a gentle assault, dipping
and rolling, and as he moved his grip on reality began
to slacken and again he was transported into a world of
pure sensation.
The tension began to build and he began pushing,
pumping deeper, hips arching up with his thrusting.
He picked up the pace. Spooning the kid from behind he
rammed him with strong, forceful pelvic slaps, arms
wrapped around him and holding him tight and long-
dicking him hard and deep, cock driving faster and
faster up and down in his asshole, letting him know
what a good man could really do.
Jojo clawed at the ground as he rammed in and out, but
all the same moved with him, desperate for more,
absorbing every thrust, his small bottom pushing back
and rotating shamelessly. They were both in heaven, the
boy huffing and puffing as much as he was.
"Ugh, ugh, ugh! Oh yeah! Oh, oh oh, Jees! You're big
dick's fuckin' me deep, but don't stop 'til you've shot
your jiz."
Jojo appeared to sense the finale arriving. As his man-
friend jacked-off the boy's buttocks pumped.
"Wow, yeah. Oh Marty, yeah! Shoot yer spunk in there.
Give this sweetheart babies. Give him everything you've
got."
***
On his return to Pitterpeetee Marty found himself
squarely cursing his own stupidity. How could he be
such a numbskull? His aunt had brought him to there to
make a judgement on him and discover if he was worthy
of some inheritance - and within twenty-four hours of
arriving he'd poked her beloved grandson in the ass -
poked him twice.
He was pretty certain Jojo wouldn't mouth-off about
what had happened, but he'd arrived back from their day
out together glowing with the kind of over-all bloom
people associated with a freshly fucked young girl, and
kid's Jojo's age could get careless about the things
they said.. Now he not only had to contend with losing
Aunt Matilda's goodwill and a chance of some
inheritance, he was in danger of being dragged off to
jail by some hard-nosed sheriff or whatever else stood
for the law in Florida. With a shiver he wondered if
convicts still formed chain-gangs in that part of the
country.
In an effort to disperse his negative thoughts he
bathed and dressed and went down for dinner much
earlier than he needed to, and then felt at a loss as
to what else to do.
There were no newspapers or magazines in the house and
the only books he could find were a collection of
ancient self-help manuals tucked on a shelf under the
stairs.
Jesus Christ! The cranky old bitch hadn't brought a new
book into the house for the past fifty years.
He found himself reading through dull accounts on
geology, obscure items about diseases in cattle, and
the importance of sanitation in the homestead (dated
1910). There was also a copy of James Brown's treatise
on the planting and management of trees, which long ago
had been heavily annotated in pencil along the margins
of every page.
Dinner when it came was a stilted affair, even more
formal than that of the previous evening, and the
reason for that came soon after the dessert had been
cleared.
"You may leave the table, Joseph. Go upstairs, I want
to talk to yur Uncle Mart'n alone." said Aunt Matilda.
Her eyes swung over to Abraham who was standing by the
sideboard. "You go too. I want some privacy here."
Marty's heart thumped. What was coming? he pondered as
the others departed. What was so personal between
himself and Aunt Matilda that she wanted the room
cleared?
He had a bad feeling about it, like he knew he was
about to get the proverbial boot out the door.
His aunt dipped a spoon into her coffee-cup and stirred
slowly, an unnecessary action since she took coffee
black and unsweetened. "You were a long time in the
groves today. I hope you figured it worthwhile. Not
everyone enjoys the company of my grandson."
Marty smiled awkwardly. "Perhaps I shouldn't say this
to you, it's not my business anyhow. I'm a guest here,
and a stranger, but - I like Joseph." He tried to make
his words light but there was a tiny catch in his voice
that he couldn't disguise.
"I'm glad you like Joseph, he rewards all the care I
expend on him." the woman replied. Then she gave him a
deeper look. "Just why did you come here, Mart'n?"
"Why Aunt Matilda, I came because you invited me of
course."
The old woman's mouth curved cynically, and when she
looked at him he felt she was taking sight down the
barrel of a gun. "You didn't come outta politeness.
You came because you saw a chance of gettin' a piece of
an old lady's estate when she passed on. Ain't that
more the truth?"
"Aunt Matilda... I..."
"It ain't going to happen Mart'n. Pitterpeetee Grove
and everything else I have will go to Joseph when I
die."
The blood rose in Marty's face. He felt a rush of rage
and swallowed it like bile. The arrogant old woman!
Enticing him to come here to her wretched house with
undefined promises when he was on a low - and now
ditching him like a loose wheel.
Struggling to control an urge to stamp, shout and
demand fair play, he dumped his elbows on the table and
tried to think what to say next. Hell! He'd allowed
his imagination to float off into a fairy tale and he
shouldn't have been such a chump in the first place. He
was only a distant relation, and of course she'd want
her nearest kin to inherit. But there was still a 'why'
to get an answer for.
"Why did you invite me here in the first place?"
The old woman sipped her coffee. "I've a use for a man
like you. I've had to pull Joseph outta school - he's
growin' and he's a mite promiscuous, so he gets into
trouble in them fancy residential places. But he ain't
finished his education, so I want you to take on
tutorin' him."
"Tutor him! I ain't a teacher."
"I only need you to give him grades that won't let him
down when he goes to college. You've passed exams in
accountancy, so you ain't completely dumb."
"It's not exactly what I planned."
"What did you plan? I've had a private detective
investigating you for the past month, so I know you're
out of a job and can't go back to Chicago. "Take up
the offer Mart'n. You'll live here free and gratis for
a while, and I'll give you a reasonable salary on top.
And if the boys school grades are good you'll be in for
a fat bonus at the end."
She placed her coffee cup delicately in the centre of
her saucer. "There's also Joseph himself of course.
You'll know by now he likes being with guys. He likes
guys a lot. It's an instinct with him. That's why he's
not in school. He was causin' trouble with all them
male teachers slobbering all over him.
There's no accountin' for taste, an' all that matters
is what pleases him, but his instinct must be
controlled, an' if there's indiscretions I like to keep
'em private among the family, if you know what I mean.
That's why you'll be allowed all the latitude you need
in pleasing him."
Marty leaned back in his chair. The old girl was cranky
and maybe a little deranged, but she held all the cards
on this occasion. And on the whole the offer wasn't a
bad one.
She pushed herself stiffly up from her chair. "I've
something to show you, but I'll need the help of your
arm going up the stairs."
They went into the hall and together they ascended the
stairs one step at a time, and on the landing Aunt
Matilda directed him towards the master-bedroom.
What the hell was he getting into?
Marty paused as they entered the room, astounded by the
sight that awaited him.
The room was flooded with moonlight, the swaying
branches of a large poinsettia tree outside throwing a
restless pattern of shadows across the polished floor,
while a soft breeze sweetened with the perfume of
oranges wafted through a partly open window.
Beneath the barrel-canopy of the big four-poster bed
Jojo was being fucked by Abraham. He was naked on top
of the bedcovers, face down, knees folded under him and
with his feet and beautiful bare ass jutting over the
edge of the mattress. Unbelievably his hands were
reaching back and spreading his cheeks to assist what
was happening, and he was uttering explosive little
sounds of delight with each of the black man's inward
thrusts. Abraham was right up close, holding the boy
by the hips as he humped him, his coal-black body
glistening in its own lean nakedness.
Neither boy or servant paused to show any alarm when
they walked in, nor did they look up to make an
acknowledgement, which made it clear they were used to
being observed in such intimacy, and what they were
doing was a routine that was practised often.
"It ain't a surprise surely." Aunt Matilda murmured
coolly. "Y'already know the kid likes being dicked in
the ass. It ain't something I altogether approve of,
but if it makes him happy I'll go along with it. Gay is
a word used to describe butt-bangers these days, but
when I was young it meant happy."
Marty swallowed hard. "Yeah sure, but Aunt Matilda,
you're his guardian.
Shouldn't you..."
"Sure I'm his guardian." snapped the woman, "Joseph's
my dearest kin and I think the world of him. That's why
he gets everything he wants. Abraham provides it most
of the time, but the old fella's getting on in years
and needs some help now and then. I figure from what I
know of you, you'll be ideal for that."
Marty stared in astonishment and wonder, unable to take
his eyes away from Abraham's great oiled black stalk
sliding in and out between Jojo's delicate lily-white
cheeks. Every movement was making the boy utter tiny
squealing noises.
The old woman eased herself carefully into the rocking-
chair, and as she began to tip back and forth Marty
realised she was doing something she'd practised
countless times in the past. It was a ritual. The old
master-bedroom was a shrine where she could witness the
fornication of her grandson.
"Come outta there Abraham," she said after a moment,
"Step back and let Mart'n give it a try. You stay where
you are Joseph. You're gettin' an extra meat-treat
tonight."
As the old retainer dragged his thick ebony coloured
cock out from Jojo's backside Marty's face drained.
"Aunt Matilda, are you expecting me to - do you want me
to ...?"
The old lady glared at him. "Sure. What's a matter with
you? Joseph's bare-assed, hot, an' willin' - he's every
man's dream come true. Yer not gonna let him down, are
yer?"
Marty felt embarrassed. Shoving his dick into Jojo when
they were alone and in the mood was one thing, but
laying on a command performance in front of an old lady
was entirely something else.
Slowly he pulled off his fine linen shirt and silk tie
and dropped them on the floor, all the time feeling the
old woman's eyes studying his torso, scrutinising his
pectorals and the set of his ribs whilst waiting for
him to get rid of his other clothes.
The scent of oranges continued to funnel in through the
window on the humid air, filling the entire room with
its sickly sweetness, and he silently swore he'd never
touch that kind of fruit again.
He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his trousers,
and as they went down his cock sprang up, big, erect
and solid.
"There yer go!" remarked his aunt, "Yer into the spirit
o' things a'ready."
A small dew of perspiration gathered on Marty's upper
lip and two unfortunate patches formed under his arms
as he nuzzled forward. Jojo's impeccable young
buttocks, so recently buggered by the black servant,
now mooned patiently in front of himself.
He gripped his penis in his hand and guided it, rubbing
and chaffing against the silk-like skin until he felt
the sensation of the boys nakedness. It was warm and
both pliant and demanding.
His face twitched with a nervous smile.
He was willing enough - but with Aunt Matilda - with
her watching?
It was sick. It was indecent and perverse and just
plain wrong. Then he thought, okay! He'd never had any
problem being indecent and perverse in the past.
Gently he separated the small white globes of Jojo's
anus, spreading them open as he carefully inched it up
between his neat little cheeks. Then he rocked his
thighs carefully, teasingly, touching himself onto him
then drawing back, touching again, then at last forcing
himself into the hot, yielding elastic opening
spreading to take him in. As he started prodding into
it he glanced over his shoulder at his aunt who
remained stony-faced watching the tender ring expand
around the girth of his penis and observing its concave
indentation has he pushed forward. As it went in Jojo
turned his head and gave him a huge smile. "Oh yeah!
I'm glad you're here Marty. Plow me like you did
earlier. Do me good huh!"
Taking a firm grip on his hips Marty lunged forward
while pulling Jojo back towards him, slamming slowly
into the hot, throbbing tunnel and skewering him like
an apple on a stick.
"Yah, oooh, ooow!" Jojo squirmed as he pushed at him
and felt the sheath in his delicate rear end clench on
his flesh as it engulfed it.
Marty was soon going in and out with easy strokes,
determined to give that beautiful little asshole the
fuck it needed no matter who else was in the room.
Jojo's gasps had become a brisk panting and he smacked
his hands down on the mattress, but unaccountably he
also raised his rear end up as if he were a dog on heat
and pushed back to assist in his own impaling.
Trembling and moaning, slender body heaving, he swung
his bottom left and right as Marty rode him, letting
the boys wriggles draw his cock deeper and deeper.
Abraham had already opened the kid very nicely, but not
so much as to illuminate the delicious hot clamping of
his anal tube. The kid was a beautiful fuck. The boys
anus was cloying and moist and the insides seemed to
ripple and squeeze him, but once the bulbous tip of his
gland was established the rest of the shaft glided into
the snug hole easily, all the way up, until it was
buried inside the squirming youngster. As he shagged
the tight little ass he was acutely aware of Aunt
Matilda slowly rocking in her chair observing every
move he made.
He quickened his movements in response to wave on wave
of drenching tension. There was no way he could stop
now. Animal desire consumed him. He had to ram the kid,
fuck him hard.
He arched over him and rutted passionately, heavy hips
rising and falling, big balls slapping his little ass,
and young Jojo whinnied and groaned with each enormous
thrust as Marty's randy cock fucked him into bliss, but
he never said stop.
"Hold on there!" Aunt Matilda suddenly called out,
"Don't go finishing right now. Extract yerself Mart'n,
there's another act to play yet."
Confused, Marty pulled out, allowing Jojo to swing
round and sit on the edge of the bed.
The woman stopped rocking as she surveyed a trio of
pricks, Jojo's sticking up from his pale thighs,
hairless and rampant as young boys always are in such
circumstances. Either side of him the two men, one
black and one white, each with a long, thick muscular
looking prong slavering at the tip.
"You've got a choice tonight Joseph. Which one do you
wanna please?"
Jojo glanced sideways at Abraham's ebony coloured meat
standing out from his thighs like a thick length of
knotted wood, uncut and with a massive purple head. The
old guy may have been old, but he was still well hung
and capable. Then his face swung the other way and he
studied Marty's dick, just as big and just as full of
promise.
"I like 'em both gran'ma. Can I please both of 'em?"
The old woman shook her head in dismay. "Ach! Yer
little whore. Go ahead. You know you allus gets your
own way wi' me."
At once, holding one straining gland in each delicate
hand the boy began slicking the foreskins back and
forth, back and forth in an amazing synchronised
fashion, while licking each molten bulbous tip in turn
and poking his tongue at the meatus.
His mouth flirted with each of them briefly, but then
he stayed with the black man and began sucking in
earnest.
Abraham gazed down and stroked Jojo's head, uttering
regular little sighs as the youngster opened wide and
squeezed the entire fat tip the old negro's thick,
veiny prong deep into his shiny mouth. Mouth moving,
hand jerking. There was no doubt the kid was after a
result.
Abraham's sighing became a drawn out groan and his body
trembled. Shunting his hips he submerged a good portion
of his dick into the kid's face so that he could savour
every ridge, bump and vein of his tool.
"You're enjoying yerself Abraham. The boy's got some
talent, huh?" Aunt Matilda remarked dispassionately
from her chair.
The old man rolled his eyes like an old-time minstrel.
"He surely as Missy Matilda. Young Mas'er Joseph allus
gives good head."
All the time Jojo's mouth was occupied with the servant
his right hand continued acting independently,
clutching Marty's pulsing length in its fist and
hammering it with firm, long strokes. That came to an
end when Abraham began to squirm his hips.
"Ggggnnnn!" The black man clenched his teeth but still
let out a fevered squawk as he shuddering thighs
churned and his juices pumped.
Jojo uttered a little "Uph!" but his lips stayed locked
on as his mouth wrestled with the bucking, stiff flesh.
His slender neck undulated as he swallowed, but he
refused to draw away until the black man's noise faded
and he was sure he'd got everything.
He swallowed hard but could hardly have had time to get
rid of everything before he pulled back, and swung
around, flushed, steaming with unashamed excitement to
swirl his tongue on the corona of his uncle's knob and
slurp the helmet-shaped head.
"Ummmm!"
He kissed the tip and licked it, then gazed up with
big, round eyes. "Now you, Marty. It's your turn. I
never had the chance earlier, but now I'm gunna suck
every drop o' hot sarsaparilla outta your faggot-lovin'
balls. I know you've got a lot to give, so don't be
scared of lettin' it go."
Then he opened his mouth and took in several inches of
the Marty's thick dick.
One hand gripped the shaft of the man's gland while the
other started stroking the underside of his testicles.
Lips began moving his foreskin to and fro, up and down,
while a mouth sucked gently, not too hard, encouraging,
coaxing, inevitably drawing forward great volumes of
his juice. To Marty right and wrong didn't matter any
longer. Everything felt too good. Soft lips were
sliding up and down his aching shaft while a smooth
tongue made brief excursions to slither around its
spongy tip. And all the while fingers, slender, young
and compelling, ringed his flesh and pushed and pulled
his foreskin.
Jojo's head bobbed faster on his tool while the hand
cupped under Marty's testicles started squeezing gently
to milk his sperm-bloated balls. "Ugh, ooooh!" Marty
felt the head of his cock expand in the young boys
sucking mouth and felt his shaft throb and pulse as a
familiar all-over hot tingle rolled through every
molecule of his flesh. He could take no more - he had
to shoot now!
And he did. He lost all control of his body and his
knees began to buckle, and a moment later his glands
gave up their treasure and unloaded powerfully into
Jojo's obliging mouth.
"Ughhh, ffmmm, aaaah!"
As he'd done with Abraham, Jojo hung on tight, and when
he eventually slumped back there was not a smear of
semen anywhere.
Aunt Matilda smiled indulgently at her grandson.
"C'm here yer little cock-lover. Come an' sit on yer
grandma's lap."
Jojo clambered up from the bed and was soon astride her
lap facing outwards so it was plain enough to see how
she was handling him. Pulling him back she was peering
over one of his shoulders, the fingers of one hand
stroking under his pink ball-bag while those of the
other, a slightly mottled arrangement of skin and
bones, pumped busily on his stiff young shaft,
jockeying it slow and easy and showing all the
dexterity of a practised expert.
"Randy as hell to finish yerself now, ain't yer? Yes,
an' I reckon there's a quart o' stuff to pull out of
yer tonight."
Her eyes flashed at Marty and Abraham in turn.
"Get down here you two. Let him feel some tongue on his
balls."
Marty and the negro didn't consult each other, didn't
even exchange glances. Wordlessly capitulating to
events as they were dictated they both slumped down,
pushed their faces forward and began to lap Jojo's
balls.
The old woman nodded her approval.
"That's the way! Joseph enjoys plenty of attention on
evenings such as this."
Putting her mouth close to her grandsons ear she
whispered, "Who's it gonna be, honey? Which one gets a
mouthful of my little tramps jungle-juice tonight?"
Joseph panted softly. "Uncle Martin, gran'ma. Feed it
to Marty this time."
Aunt Matilda peered down over the boys shoulder. "Yes,
I reckon I agree. The new man in your life should get a
proper taste of you.
"Open your mouth and lift up a bit Marty. You need to
be in close when I jerk him off down your gullet."
Marty complied without a quibble. Kneeling on the
floor, slumping forward, mouth open like a gagging
carp, he waited for Aunt Matilda to feed him her
grandson's semen.
Was this it? he thought Was he about to commit himself
for the foreseeable future just to screwing a young
lads ass and gulping down his cum?
Then he became philosophical. Well, he reasoned, there
were worse ways to earn a living.
END
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 36