Now that I'm over the hill, I enjoy long trips in my old Chrysler, sight- seeing and visiting friends. That's how I happened to be crossing Nebraska a while back, sticking to the secondary highways and byways: freeway driving is boring. As nightfall approached one afternoon, I began looking for place to spend the night: you can't do much sight-seeing in the dark. Out in these vast areas of farms, it isn't always easy to find a motel, and this time I had poor luck, so darkness had pretty well fallen by the time I spied the "3-J's Ranch and Motel" sign, with its glowing vacancy casting its neon spell. The place was clearly one of the many roadside motor hotels put up in the 30s and 40s: these are usually a clutch of small detached cottages, and nowadays they tend to be pretty run-down. Nevertheless, I don't like to drive in darkness, so I pulled in and parked in front of a slightly larger building with "office" lettered over the door.
A large, friendly dog wagged his tail in greeting as I approached the door and opened it. The office was empty, except for an old roll-top desk with a bell on top. I pushed the plunger and waited but a moment; a door behind the desk opened and a lanky youth appeared, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Through the door I could see a corner of a table well laden with food.
"Sorry to interrupt your dinner."
"No problem: it'll wait."
"Need a room overnight."
"No problem, either: single or double?"
"Single."
"Unit 9 has a nice double bed. Someone tall as you might appreciate that."
"Sure. Price?"
"Thirty bucks."
"Fine." I got out my wallet and handed over the cash. The youth rummaged around in some papers.
"Can't find the receipt book..."
"Take care of it in the morning."
"OK. I'll show you the unit."
He came round the counter, giving me an opportunity to be pleased by tight, faded jeans pleasantly filled out. We went outside. My Chrysler, being white in color, glowed pinkish in the light from the 3-J's sign.
"Jeez! How old is that thing?"
"'Bout 38 years. Been well kept, runs just fine."
"Cool. Just drive it over there to Unit 9."
Unit 9 was a duplex, larger than the other cabins. All were nicely painted and spiffy; the grounds were clean, and when my guide opened the door I saw the inside was clean and cozy as well. The walls and ceiling were bead-board, recently varnished. The bed was old fashioned but sturdy; a matching dresser, a small table, a couple of chairs and a TV on a stand completed the furnishings. He showed me how the heater worked "if you need it", and pointed out a shelf full of video tapes: "TV reception out here is lousy, so we just give you some tapes. There aren't any keys to the door: don't need 'em here."
"I doubt if I'll have time for a movie before I doze off. Are you one of the J's?"
"I'm Jay; my brother is Jack, and there's Cousin Joe. And there's Jet."
"That makes four: is Jet the dog?"
"No, that's Biggun. Jet's our hired hand.
I'd been studying this youngster: his face was pretty ordinary in a mid-west sort of way. His hair, which was probably brown but bleached by the sun, was neatly combed, his clothes were clean. He had no sign of a beard, only a faint hint of a moustache on clear unblemished skin, darkened somewhat by healthy exposure to the summer sun. In some ways, he looked like me at the same age.
"How old are you, Jay?"
"Fifteen."
"Well, that makes you less than one-fourth my age. About all I can remember now about being 15 is, I was unspeakably horny, and spent most of my time jacking off."
Jay chuckled. "Pretty accurate description of me," he said; "guess it don't hurt me none, though."
I glanced at his crotch: he was wearing his dick "up", and it was already expanding at the mere mention of sex. I remembered the feeling very well. I thought the tip might appear above the top of his jeans: it seemed quite long. As he made no move to hide it, I stepped over and put my hand on his crotch. His member throbbed in response.
"Uh, gotta get back to dinner: it's going cold on my plate."
"Yes, run along, Jay. And take good care of that thing in your pants."
He sauntered out. My thoughts turned to the first time an older man had touched me "there"...
Sex was never discussed in our little family of three. My mother was a rigid, frigid woman, and my dad never seemed to have much zip. I know they must have had sex at least once: I was the result, but I doubt they ever did it again. There was never the slightest evidence of affection for each other, and not a whole lot for me, either. We moved from the city to a rural community when I was four, so I was insulated from the influences of city boys, and I formed few close friends at school.
My growth spurt occurred around age 13, followed closely by the inevitable raging hormone syndrome. By the time I reached 14 my dick seemed to be perpetually hard, and I soon enough got the hang of playing with it - one of the few pleasures I had in life. Our isolation made it easy to find quiet places where I could jerk off without discovery during the day, and I did it nearly every night in the comfort of my bed: no one ever bothered me there, either.
There came the day I rode my bike to a nearby farm where the owner was discing his field with his ancient Fordson tractor on which I liked to ride. I would stand on the axle, hanging on for dear life to the big metal fender. On this day, though, Ted put me on his lap with one arm around me and steered with the other. I'd discovered long before how exciting the lurching old machine was, so my dick got stiff, as usual. I thought nothing of it until Ted's hand slowly dropped down to my lap. Holy Moley! Before long, he had unbuttoned my trousers and got my prick out in his hand: I thought I might faint, so powerful and so pleasurable was the feeling! I laid my head back on his shoulder and luxuriated in the spectacular sensations his attention produced. Just when I thought I might explode, he moved his hand back to its original position around my middle, and seemed to concentrate on his driving, following carefully the furrow freshly turned on the previous pass around the field. I calmed down some, though my adolescent boner was still out of my pants and still hard, pointing directly up at the sky.
On previous occasions, Ted had let me ride once, perhaps twice around the field, then he would put me off. This time, though, he made no move to end my ride, and after a while his hand went again to my hardness which he fondled and jacked languidly. He worked his big hairy hand down into my pants, squeezed my thighs and played with my balls things I had often done to myself, but without the incredible sensations he produced. I was in a state of ecstatic euphoria unlike anything I had ever experienced, and loved it!
Ted was in no hurry to end our little tryst. Now and then he would switch hands, to steer with his left and work on me with his right, or vice versa. The tractor lurched along contentedly, probably not going even one mile an hour, but the rough ride, the smell of exhaust fumes, and above all Ted's hand, combined to elevate my libido to a height seldom reached since.
After many passes around the field, in a far corner of it, Ted disengaged the clutch, which bought the machine to an instant halt: his steering hand freed, he put the gear-shift in neutral and killed the ignition. The silence on that beautiful spring day was, as they day, deafening. Ted worked his right hand up under my shirt; the warmth of his palm was exciting, for no one had touched me there since I was a baby. He pushed himself back against the seat and put his legs up on the gas-tank, which let me lie flat against him. Then, he made me shoot as I had never shot before! His hand on my stomach and chest combined with his gentle masturbation to send me over the edge: wads of cum flew in every direction, more of it than I could ever recall producing before! It was glorious, and I hoped it would never end. Of course, it did, and eventually I came down from my high, breathing long and deep. Ted continued to play with my tender meat as it finally began to soften, and cum oozed from it to cover his hand: the slickness was exquisite, nearly painful as he toyed with my young prick.
At length, Ted gently stood me on the axle and buttoned my pants. Then he climbed down off the tractor and turned from me: I knew he was going to take a piss. But I wanted to watch: I wanted to see what his dick looked like, so I clambered down and moved around him to watch unashamed as he began a long, long piss which generated a surprisingly large puddle in the freshly-turned earth. He made no move to prevent me from observing what I wanted to see, and I thought it a most beautiful sight. He held himself as he peed, and I could see he was far larger than I. Mesmerized, before he stopped pissing I reached over and put my hand behind his; he released himself, leaving me to hold his manhood as he drained his bladder and pumped out the last spurts. That pumping action led at once to his getting hard, and I tentatively stroked him, trying to remember how he had done it to me so shortly before.
"A little faster, Son," he said.
I obliged. I found that dick swelling up in my hand nearly as exciting as his hand on mine had been. I held on to his waist as best I could - he was a good deal taller than I - and jacked him, slowly gathering speed: I felt his body become rigid, and then it happened: he sprayed cum out of his dick almost as copiously as he had sprayed piss just a few minutes before. I'd never seen so much jizz! I'd never seen so large a man-tool, either and there I was, holding it, massaging it, catching some of his cum to spread over the head of it. He put a stop to that quickly: I guess his sensitivity was greater than mine. Eventually, satisfied, he zipped up his pants.
"Thank you, my boy, that was wonderful. Now, I have to get the discing done."
As if winding a clock, he cranked up the Fordson, put me on the axle with a good grip on the rusty fender, drove me back around to where I'd left my bike, and let me off.
Ted lived alone. From that day on for quite some years, I spent a lot of time with him. When his 20 acres of wheat did not claim his time, he had a shop where he tinkered with things: clocks, radios, toasters; just about anything folks needed fixed, he could do it. I learned a lot about mechanical gadgets there in his shop, and even repaired a few items myself. Not regularly, and nowhere near as often as I would have liked, he would work me up. Always when I least expected it, as we worked together on some project or other, his hand would wander down to my crotch, and mine would find his. The two of us, lonely each in his own way, would take care of each other's physical needs, even as we found solace in simple companionship. I came to have feelings of love for Ted that probably exceeded those for my own father, simply because Ted was willing to listen to me, teach me, and above all, satisfy as best he could my overwhelming interest in sex. Of course, he got his nuts off, too: I never objected to that; it was simply "turn about is fair play". He never forced me to do anything I didn't want to do.
He died while I was in college: I cried at his funeral.
***** Ah, well: that was a long time ago, and I certainly enjoyed every moment of it!
Somewhat tired at the end of the long day's drive, I decided to take a shower. The bathroom was old-fashioned, but completely functional and there was plenty of hot water and towels. Much refreshed, I turned my attention to the accumulation of video tapes, curious as to what might be there. I found the typical group of old standards - Citizen Kane, Rear Window - some straight porno stuff, and (to my surprise) a couple of old gay flicks. One was a Mustang classic, Ready Mix. I'd seen it years back, and remembered it had some terrific pop-shots. It would be fun to see it again, so it pushed it into the machine and settled onto the bed with the remote control. I fast-forwarded through the credits. Comfortable in my skivies, I adjusted the pillows and pushed "play".
But then, there came a knock at the door.
It was Jay. "I found the receipt book, so here's your chit for the thirty bucks," he said. No doubt he saw the flesh on the TV screen. But then, surely he'd seen it before.
"Wanna stick around?"
"Naw, got chores to do. Then I gotta 'take care of that thing in my pants'."
"Oh, to be a fly on the wall!" He smiled slyly as he departed.
I returned to Ready Mix. It was among the first interracial gay flicks, and had a very loose story line mainly revolving around a Los Angeles Metro passenger bus. In the first scene a handsome twink (Lance Long) boarded the bus; there was only one passenger, a blond cutie (John Bigger) who winked lasciviously at Lance, so they sat together and were soon pawing at each other and kissing wildly. The black bus driver Jack Comer) could see some of what they were getting up to in his rear-view mirror, and was soon groping himself. In an unlikely scenario, he parked the bus on a side-street and approached the two guys. There was a mercifully brief, amateurish and stilted conversation (Comer was obliged by the bus company to warn them not to do what they were already doing); in answer, Bigger just unzipped the driver's pants, reached inside and hauled out a massive piece of meat. At this point the music cut in, with largely unsynchronized moans and groans dubbed over. I hit the mute button. There followed the usual "formula" events, each of the guys sucking and fucking in turn. The conclusion was a spectacular triple "money shot" as each guy fired a copious wad of dick-snot on to a black naugahyde seat.
Somewhere in the long and often boring scene, I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, I thought I had turned the sound back on, as there were faint but familiar sounds of sexual activity nearby. I quickly traced this to the door which led to the adjacent unit: unlike all the others, this door was one of those cheap paper-thin things, with a simple latch which wasn't hooked. On the other side of that door at least two people were unquestionably giggling and groaning. Other guests must have arrived while I snoozed. I took the tumbler from the bathroom and carefully applied it to the door: it's an old trick which concentrates and seems to amplify sounds coming through. As soon as I put my ear to the glass, the door unexpectedly opened a little: it wasn't locked on the other side, either. I looked into a unit the mirror-image of mine, and immediately took in the scene: three young guys, one of them Jay, were arrayed on the bed. They seemed to be taking a break; all had on only white Y-fronts, all of those tented tantalizingly by bountiful hard-ons. Their bodies were tanned, smooth and muscular, splendid examples of teen-age youth. They appeared to be all about the same age.
"Come on in!" Jay encouraged me sincerely.
I pushed the door open further. "Oh, you handsome dudes don't want an old fart like me interfering in your fun."
Another of them spoke: "Hey, man; no age barriers here. Some fresh meat for a change is always welcome out here in the sticks where almost nothing ever happens." It amused me to be thought of as fresh meat, after all these years. By this time, nature was taking its course: with all that eye-candy, my dick was quickly pushing out my shorts just as theirs were.
Jay said, "You don't really wanna be a 'fly on the wall', when you can land on one of us, do you?"
He was right: I'd have gladly settled for any one of the three: to get involved with all of them seemed too good to be true. I moved into the room.
"We'll see. I'm Bruce, by the way."
The lad nearest me sprang from the bed and pumped my hand. I would have said he was the oldest, as he was compactly muscular, but it turned out he was Joe, the cousin, between Jay and Jack in age. "Glad to meet you."
"And I'm Jack, Jay's brother." This one leaned over and took my hand in a grip of steel. He, too had muscles; they just didn't show quite as much as his cousin's. "Jet will probably join us later, when the chores are done."
"So, what is the situation here: you guys can't be making a living out of this little motel, can you?"
"Oh, no," Jack replied: "We got a hundred acres of corn. Our folks sold off this corner for the motel years ago, but when the free-way was put through, it went belly-up pretty quick, and Dad repossessed it. Not long after, he and Mom were killed on that very same freeway: they had no idea how to drive on it. Joe came along when his folks divorced. Nowadays we just keep the motel going for the fun of meeting the occasional traveler like yourself. It helps relieve the monotony."
"Ah, so! Now I understand what keeps you all in such nice shape: a hundred acre spread must keep you very busy." But with three horny guys, I couldn't imagine it being monotonous.
"Right!" Jay exclaimed. "But you know the old saying: all work and no play..."
I could see the evening would be anything but dull.
The boys flopped back on the bed against a pile of pillows, arms and legs entwined. They were completely at ease with each other; their hard-ons had not flagged for a moment. If I had to choose, Jay was my favorite: about six feet tall, lean and sinewy. He had some fuzz on his shins, and his prong strained his shorts to the limit. His brother resembled him greatly, but was shorter and a bit more mature: an enticing treasure-trail emerged from the band of his shorts, tapering up to his navel. His nearly-blond hair was long but neat, and fell gracefully around his shoulders. Cousin Joe was shorter yet and stocky, dark-haired and clearly from a different blood line. All three were well tanned, no doubt a result of working the farm, and in the prime of youth. The scene before me was enough to make my old blood boil.
"Now, boys, I have to confess something before we start. I've had my prostate out, so I can't shoot a load any more. As you can see, I can still get a hard-on, and I can still get the feeling, but the only thing that comes out of my old dick these days is piss."
"That's cool," Jack said to nods of agreement. "Reckon you can still suck?"
"You bet I can! I may be out of practice, but in my day I had a reputation as a Master cock-sucker."
"And fuck?" Joe enquired.
"Like I said: the only thing that comes out is piss, so if I screw, it becomes a piss enema."
"Ewwww!" That was Jay.
"C'mon, Jay," Joe said: "If you ain't tried it, don't knock it." I decided Cousin Joe was more experienced than his companions.
"Yeah, we're up for almost anything. It's not like we don't enjoy our play- time together, but, you know, familiarity breeds contempt," Jack said.
"No contempt on my part," Jay said as he rolled over, pulled his brother to himself and began humping him vigorously.
"Nothing personal, bro," Jack said, his voice muffled by Jay's slobbering kiss.
I moved closer to the bed, within reach of Joe who immediately stuck his hand between my thigh and my shorts, and grasped my hard-on. "Nothing wrong with this chunk of gristle," he exclaimed. He swung his shapely legs over the side of the bed and sat up: pushing my boxers down, he slipped my dick into his mouth expertly. He was no slouch at the task, but with the array of dick coming into view on the bed as Jay and Jack shed their shorts, I could see he'd had plenty to practice on. Jay was indeed well endowed, with one of those slender cocks that stands out dead-straight, bending neither right nor left. Jack's was a bit shorter but nothing to merit rejection; it curved upward somewhat, as many do.
Joe had his hands on the backs of my thighs, pulling me into his mouth deeply. I decided it was time to judge his acceptance of water-sports, and let a little piss squirt from my rigid tool: it takes a bit of effort. He grunted, swallowed, and went right on sucking. I pushed out some more piss: he took it in stride. I doubted it was the first time he had tasted pee. But his aggressive fellatio was moving me quickly to an orgasm, and it was far too early in the night for that! I pulled him away, though he was reluctant to stop.
"That's a mighty nice dick ya got there, Mister," he said appreciatively as he returned to his former position on the bed. "I want more of it."
"And you're a fine cock-sucker, Joe! I want more of you, too. But I want to watch your buddies, who seem to be enjoying themselves immensely."
"Oh, Jay and Jack are a perfect match: they been dickin' around with each other since they was toddlers, seems like. Hey, guys, share the wealth!"
They'd been doing a wonderful sixty-nine, but broke away from each other: each wiped his chin with a satisfied grin. Jack got off the bed, came around to me and threw his arms around me: his hard dick stabbed me in my groin. "Fuck me, Daddy," he said breathlessly.
"Whoa, not so fast! I gotta taste that toad-stabber of yours first."
So saying, I sank to my knees. Before me was a splendid young tool, springing from a thin patch of light-brown hair. Below, his balls hung low and large. I grabbed his buns and shoved that marvelous thing into my mouth. I tongued the head of it vigorously: almost at once I was rewarded with a flood of warm, sweet teen-spunk. "Sorry Jay," he shouted, "I couldn't hold it back. Oh, unnngh, wow!"
"Plenty more where that comes from," Jay said, no disappointment evident in his voice, as he turned and went down on Joe's pudgy prick.
I swallowed and swallowed: it seemed like Jack could cum forever. It was the first load I'd had from anybody in a long time, and I savored it like it was nectar of the gods. As Jack's cock began to wilt I held it in my mouth and tickled the end of it with my tongue.
Startled when he realized what was about to happen, Jack let out a breathless "Ohhhhh!" and began to pee. As an old hand at water-sports, I drank everything he offered greedily: by the time he was empty, he was hard again, a phenomenon I was familiar with. Most guys can't pee with a hard on, but pissing in another guy's mouth nearly always produces one. I knew Jack had never done this before: I suspected he would readily do it again - and again!
"Thanks, Jack, I appreciated that very much: all of it!" I said.
"I never... Jeez, what a feeling... Been missing something I think."
"You know the saying: 'you can't teach an old dog new tricks': but we old dogs can teach you young pups a few things! Still want me to fuck you?"
"Sure do, but I gotta recover first." He went into the bathroom: I heard him draw a glass of water. No, two glasses: I think I had him hooked on water-sports. It's usually easy...
Joe and Jay were now doing a sixty-nine, Joe still with his shorts on. There's something particularly stimulating about a young dude in white shorts that really gets to me, and these three specimens of young manhood in and out of them were exciting as all heck. Jack returned to the bed, his now-soft pecker swinging loosely above his low-hangers. Jay relinquished his spot and came over to me: I put my arm around him as we watch the boys on the bed. Joe fucked his cousin's face ferociously.
Presently, Joe withdrew his slimy cock from Jack's mouth and turned Jack over face-down on the bed with his legs over the side. Jack seemed to like the mild dominance of his younger relative, and he knew just what was coming next. Still in his shorts, Joe bent over, aimed his glistening dick and plunged it adroitly into Jack's ass: he began a slow, deliberate fuck. Guess they liked their corn "whole"! Joe was plowing a well-tilled field, and Jack's appreciative moans made it clear he loved getting a dick up his poop-chute. Jay toyed with my hard-on as we watched the copulating pair. Joe's pace quickened: his whole body was employed in screwing his cousin; the symphony of muscles was spectacular to behold. With a few slaps here and there and a guttural "take that big dick, Jack," he erupted in his cousin's bowel as Jack pushed back against him. "Yeah, Joe, let me have it: oh, yesssss!" Jack's ass was now high enough off the bed that we could see him pull himself to a quick climax, almost in concert with Joe's ejaculation: he shot a huge load of sperm all over the bed with a shout of unalloyed joy, then collapsed with Joe still buried inside him.
"Christ! You guys know what you're doing!" I exclaimed.
"Jack's the best piece of ass in the county, far as I know," Joe said breathlessly. "Never get tired of fucking him, and he never gets tired of me doing it, do you Jack?"
"Don't get tired of anybody doing it," Jack's muffled voice emanated from the bedding. "Always makes me cum." He struggled as if to get up, but Joe rested heavily on him.
"Stay put, Jack," Jay said authoritatively. He was hard again, and I think I knew what he had in mind.
Joe struggled to his feet. His dick, flaccid and still dripping, hung from the fly of his Calvins. He replaced Jay by my side: he had the upper body of a gymnast with perfectly-formed shoulders and muscular forearms. They felt wonderful as I massaged them.
Jay, meanwhile, plunged his prong into Jack's backside effortlessly and splayed himself across his brother's back. He made no move to initiate a fuck. "Relax, Jack," he crooned. They lay together for quite a few moments as I continued to appreciate Joe's musculature.
"Hey! What ARE you doing?" Jack exclaimed. He struggled underneath the weight of his young brother. Then, "Oh, you bastard! You're pissing in there!"
"Puttin' out the fire, Jack. Relax!"
I knew what Jack was feeling for the first time. I expected him to take to it, since he seemed somewhat submissive and definitely appreciated rear-entry sex.
"Jeez! Are you finished?"
"Almost. The feeling is fantastic!"
"Hurry up, or there's gonna be a big mess."
"Tighten up, Bro, I'm pullin' out," Jay said as he pushed himself up from his brother's back. Freed, Jack righted himself and rushed to the bathroom. We heard water splashing in the toilet, then a flush. He returned to us with a sheepish grin on his face. "Sure a different feeling alright," he said without much enthusiasm. "Might get to enjoy it, but I wish you had warned me."
"You loved it, and you know it," Jay joshed. "You know we always say 'anything goes'."
"Well, you sure 'went'! Thought I was gonna burst!" Jack rejoined.
Jay returned to Joe and me. "Now," he said to me, "I want you to fuck me! Lube him up for me, Joe."
Joe sat on the bed as before and sucked my rigid tool into his capacious mouth. He concentrated on getting me well lubricated with spit, then withdrew. I turned Jay around in front of me and bent him over gently: lithe, he doubled over and gripped his ankles, exposing a perfect rose-bud. I sank down and tongued it briefly to wet and relax it, then stood and pushed myself home. He was tighter than I expected, but fully receptive: I was buried to the hilt in a trice. I grabbed his waist and moved him on my dick: with nearly every stroke I pushed out a little piss. Arm in arm, Joe and Jack watched the two of us. It was not long before I reached a delicious climax: I get all the feeling anyone gets, just don't shoot off. My jizz winds up in my bladder: it's called retrograde emission and is the consequence, as I had told the boys, of having had my prostate removed.
As my prick softened, as it does quickly with us older guys, I was able to let go and fill Jay's backside just as he had filled his brother's a few minutes before. He made no move to prevent me from doing so. I enjoyed giving him a piss-enema, as I always do: I wondered if he would enjoy it as much. As I withdrew, he straightened up: I couldn't tell if the glow in his face was a matter of pleasure or blood gone to his head, but when he returned from the bathroom the glow was still there.
"Well, 'turnabout is fair play'," he said, presumably referring to his willingness to accept what he had perpetrated on his brother.
"More like fore play," Joe said. "Say! What's become of ol' Jet?"
"Rat here, Massah," a voice said from the other side of the door to my unit. "Been waitin and watchin'."
The door swung into the room, to reveal a spectacularly well-built young man, perhaps a bit older than my companions but not by much, and black. Blue-black. Ebony. Gorgeous! He wore, almost, a ragged pair of cut-offs which were clasped tight at his waist: the fly was open, clearly unable to encompass what lay partially hidden behind. His white tee was also too small, every seam stretch to the limit by muscles that were not massive, only perfectly formed. He was of Joe's height and general build, a bit bulkier here and there. Especially there.
"Bruce, meet Jethro: we call him Jet for short. Jet, meet Bruce," Jay introduced us. Jet extended his hand warmly.
"Mah pleasah," he said.
"So, you've been watching, eh?" Joe said.
"Ya know I alluz do, Joe. Mighty interestin' show."
Jack turned to me. "Jet don't go for our kinda stuff," he explained, "but he loves to watch." Disappointment must have flooded my face. "Oh, don't worry, Bruce," Jack continued. "He has one incredible asset."
"Tha's right, Mistah Bruce. I likes ta plug my little Kitty. Trouble is, she has trouble takin' me, so I hafta, uh, relieve myself pretty often. Watchin' these youngsters gettin' it on does get me worked up, though."
I could see that he was more than partially erect in those skimpy cut-offs. "So, give us your usual performance, Jet: I'm sure Bruce will appreciate it," Jay said.
The three boys and I arrayed ourselves on the bed as Jet unabashedly grasped the bottom of his tee and snapped it over his head. This revealed a chest about as close to perfection as I'd ever seen. There was not a trace of fat on this dude: he was all muscle, with pecs and washboard abs that rippled beneath his glabrous black skin, catching glints here and there from the lamps. In no hurry, he did a bit of posing to display his magnificent body for his appreciative audience, of which none was more appreciative than I. His crotch expanded alarmingly. At length, he uncoupled the clasp of his cut-offs and slid them slowly down, bending as he did so to remove them and temporarily blocking our view of what they had so unsuccessfully tried to hide. When he straightened up, there emerged from his loins a piece of meat so grand, so large, and so long that my heart went out immediately to his Kitty: no wonder she had trouble taking him! I sucked in my breath in appreciation.
"Only gettin' started, Mistah Bruce," Jet said.
On cue, the boys moved off the bed, where they went to work on Jet in various ways. Jack knelt on the floor and enveloped Jet's sturdy thighs in his hands; Joe worked a hand up under Jet's huge balls and massaged them; Jay toyed with Jet's nipples, bending over to lick them occasionally. Jet stroked his massive meat: his fist barely reached around it.
"You can join us, Bruce," Jay said. "Jet gets off on body worship, s'long as it's his."
Man, what I would have given to be alone with that magnificent stud! But, as that appeared out of the question, I stood and assisted the boys in any way I could. Touching any part of Jet was like touching an iron statue. He had no body hair whatsoever, so his skin was smooth, like silk under my fingers. His nipples were as erect as his penis. I quickly deduced that there were just two parts of Jet that were off-limits: his face, and his "incredible asset". No one made any effort to kiss his mouth, although Joe had got around behind and was vigorously tonguing his back-side. Nor did any of us touch his cock, which Jet alone stroked slowly from end to end. It could have accommodated at least three of our fists, but it was clear Jet intended to relieve himself, just as he said he would. As the four of us worshiped him, Jet uttered low moans of pleasure. He seemed taken with my attention to his shapely left arm, which I licked and slathered with spit to make it glisten as if oiled. The pace of his stroking slowly increased.
"'Bout ready," Jet breathed quietly. Jay pulled me back to the bed along with the others. "You won't believe this," he whispered.
Jet's hand moved more quickly now. He wasn't whipping his meat the way some guys do; it was a nice steady rhythm. Signs of an impending orgasm began to appear: tense leg muscles, more rapid breathing, closed eyes. Slowly he turned, his extraordinary cattle-prod now pointed to our left, towards the bathroom. Jay's arm around my waist tightened in anticipation, as did my hand on his thigh. Jack and Joe were all eyes, though I suppose they knew perfectly well what to expect. Whatever was about to happen, only I had not witnessed it many times, I was sure.
With a grunt from Jet, a small drop of cum dropped from his dick to the floor. Then, an astounding ribbon of cum burst out a couple of feet into the space in front of him. He aimed up, and the third spurt shot straight up, reaching a height above his head before landing with an audible splat on the floor. His fourth shot was a repeat of the first, except it splashed down far into the bathroom as if shot from a gun. A fifth, and a sixth spurt, likewise. Never had I seen anyone shoot jizz like that! A seventh wad landed on his chest, and the remaining effusion came in a more leisurely, not to say normal, fashion except that he continued to squeeze out more cum with every stroke. At last, his movements slowed, and his meat began to shrink, still dribbling the odd drop of jizz, and his body relaxed.
I've seen hundreds of guys pop their cork, in person and in flicks: this guy took the prize by a mile. Or by several yards, at least! Joe brought a towel from the bathroom, which Jet used to mop some sweat from his brow. He wiped off his chest and cock as well, bent over and pulled on his cut-offs. His flaccid manhood hung well out of the cloth along his right leg, and he was still unable to bring the zipper up; he got the clasp together only with difficulty. He struggled into his tee: with a satisfied smile on his face, he went out through my unit, the way he'd come in.
The room suddenly seemed empty. Joe was down on his knees with the towel, mopping up Jet's cum-wads from the floor. I was speechless.
"Now you know why we call him Jet," Joe said.
"He should be in films!" I exclaimed.
"Naw: with that out of the way, he'll be able to fuck his Kitty tonight. If he could, he'd live with it buried up in her," Joe replied.
"Wish he'd bury it in me sometime," Jack sighed.
"He's split you wide open," Jay replied.
"Yeah, but what a way to go!" Jack said with enthusiasm.
I said, "Guys, I can't thank you enough for a really wonderful evening, but this old fart needs his beauty sleep."
"Um, before you go...," Jay said. That ram-rod prick of his was pointing at the ceiling. I pulled him up from the bed, then knelt before him. In my face was one of the most perfect young dicks I'd seen in a long, long time. It arose from a patch of hair the color of sand, unusually fine and straight, confined to his pubes: there was none at all on his belly or thighs, though a sort of peach-fuzz hinted at more to come in the future. His balls were nestled directly below, drawn up tightly, smooth like the skin of an apple. I fondled these with my left hand, curled my right fist around his rigid shaft, and tongued the purplish head, then went down on it as far as I could. I slathered it and my hand with spit, then worked with my hand and mouth together, in, out, in, out. He put his hand on the back of my head, pulled me to him and came quickly, yielding a terrific accumulation of sweet essence. It was delicious!
"Guys, it's been an evening to remember, but I really must get some sleep!"
"Hey, it was great," they said as one. "We gotta sleep too: there's chores waitin' for us in the morning. Have breakfast in the office whenever you get up: Kitty will be there to fix it for ya. It's in the price for the room."
I hugged each of them in turn, leaving my favorite, Jay, for last. To my surprise, he gave me a big sloppy kiss. "G'night, Bruce: sleep tight."
I left the door to their unit ajar, and collapsed into bed: exhausted, I sank into sleep in moments. Sometime in the night I realized I wasn't alone: it was Jay. I pulled him to me spoon-fashion. But, by morning, he was gone.
I'm usually awake at first light or before, but the next morning I slept in. I decided I might stay another day or two in this place, with it wonderful benefits, which I contemplated as I lay in bed. About seven, I remembered the tape I had begun to watch the night before. Having forgotten to turn off the machine when I got engrossed in my neighbors, I had to fast-forward again to the second episode of Ready Mix.
Once again, the scene is the transit bus, parked at the car-barn. A cute Asian guy (Phat Dong, according to the blurb on the box) in a uniform several sizes too small is busy cleaning the inside when he spies the pools of spooge left from the previous scene (miraculously, it is still as fresh as when it was put there). He recognizes it for what it is, tastes it to be sure, does a quick strip-tease and prepares to add to the accumulation. However, he is interrupted by a strikingly handsome Latino mechanic (identified in the credits only as "Guapito") who climbs aboard the bus with a tool bag to make some adjustment or other. Again, there is the stilted conversation about the mess on the seat, but Guapito finds the sight and smell of cum (not to mention Phat Dong's erect dong) stimulating, and within minutes they are pawing at each other, the music comes up, and I hit the mute button once again. Guapito is darkly handsome with interesting patterns of body hair: Dong has hair only on his head and a trifling bit in his crotch. Each of them finds the other's dissimilarity stimulating, and the usual sucking and fucking ensues. Guapito finally pulls out of Phat's ass and adds a mighty load of cum to the seat. Dong immediately kneels on the floor and greedily laps up all this effusion as Guapito, lying on the floor, sucks him off, getting a nice face-ful when the Asian dude shoots his load.
I hit the stop button: I was getting hungry. I shit, showered, and shaved, then dressed in comfortable Dickies and sauntered over to the office. A delicious odor of coffee wafted from the door into what I took to be the private dining room. I rang the bell. From further back in the building I heard movement, and presently a woman I presumed was Kitty put in an appearance.
"You muss be Mistah Bruce," she said warmly.
"Right. You're Kitty?" There might have been surprise in my voice, for she was a tiny woman, really not much beyond being a girl. I saw Jet in my mind's eye: if he got all his meat into her, she'd taste it in the back of her throat, I thought. Still, she had a very satisfied look about her. Maybe Jet had gotten some of himself into her last night.
"Tha's me. Whatcha like for breakfast? We don' botha with a men-you."
"Um, well, bacon and eggs?"
"How ya like them aigs?"
"Over well?"
"You got it. Hep yersef to coffee outa that-there pot and set a spell: I'll whip ya up some breakfas'."
The coffee was delicious, and so was the food when Kitty brought it. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat opposite me as I scarfed down the farm-fresh bacon and "aigs". I was hungrier than I thought.
"Reckon you an' the boys had some funzies las' night," she said matter-of- factly. No secrets around here, obviously.
"Mmmm, yes. They're charming fellows."
"'Spect Jet done put on a show fer ya, too."
"Yes. He's a charmer, too. Amazing, in fact."
"He my man."
"So he said."
"Funny how oppa-sits attrac': he so friggin huge 'n I so teeny-tiny!"
"Yes, life is strange that way. But I could see he loves you with all his heart. You're a lucky girl."
"Oh, yes he do! He 'bout split me open las' night. I loved it!"
I had to ask: "You ever suck him off?"
"Lawdy, yes! Tha's how we do it mos' the time. That whang o' his so friggin big, I cain' take it more'n once a month or so. If'n he din't do his shows fer the boys, I reckon I'd be day-id by now."
I chuckled: "You're sweet. And lucky! You know how to keep your man happy: most girls don't."
"You right! We get couples in here now 'n again: they spend mosta they time fightin', steada fuckin'."
"Yes, I've seen it often."
"Well, Mistah Bruce, I gotta clean up this mess and get on my chores. Anything I can getcha?"
"Is there a phone in my unit?" I hadn't noticed one.
"Nope: only phone is out there in the office. Yer welcome ta use it, though. It mos' never rings. If you be stayin', lunch is at noon, sharp." She stood, all of four-feet-four, gathered up some dishes and disappeared.
I got my lap-top out of my car and. I had a gadget I could use to tap the phone, knowing they would be unlikely to have a modern type of jack to accept my computer. Before long I had things up and running, and checked my e-mail. Time passed quickly: before I knew it there were voices out where Kitty had disappeared, and the boys suddenly put in an appearance through the office door. In dirty over-alls, they were the perfect picture of young, healthy farm-hands.
"Still here, Bruce!" Jay sounded pleased.
"Yes, decided to stay a while. I'm checking on my e-mail: I won't tie up the phone much longer."
They crowded around me and watched as I worked the machine. They might not have ever seen a lap-top. It turned out, they had never seen any computer, so they were fascinated by my activities. Quickly, I closed my mail box and loaded one of the mpg movies I have on the hard-drive. It was the one of a young dude who jerks off pretty much as usual, but at the last minute throws his legs up over his shoulders and shoots his load into his own mouth and all over his face. One of my favorite little shows!
The boys all expressed amazement: not at the boy servicing himself, but at the computer which could present the little vignette.
"How much does one of those cost?" Jack asked.
"Oh, around fifteen hundred, depending on whether it has the costly extras."
Still connected to the outside, I gave them a quick and dirty run-down on the internet, and accessed my own web page. There I was, promoting my little "Mr. Fixit" business I started when I retired: it really started with Ted and his wheat field.
"Anybody can have ads like that?" Joe asked?
"Sure. And here's another neat thing." I brought up stock quotes and found the price of corn at that very moment.
"Man, that's neat," Jack exclaimed.
"Y'all gonna stare at that thingy all day, or d'ya wanna eat?" It was Kitty calling from the dining room. I shut down the computer and we all traipsed in to the table laden with food: Kitty knew what each boy liked, and they fell to eating with gusto. On the other hand, I had done little to work up an appetite (for food, at least) since breakfast. When Kitty began clearing up a half hour later, I had scarcely touched my plate.
"Y'all don' eat 'nuf ta wad a shot-gun!" she said, somewhat miffed.
"Sorry, Kitty: you filled me up at breakfast, and I haven't been out working the south forty, or whatever it is these hunky guys do every day."
"Oh, well: Biggun will have fun with it.
"Gotta get back to the 'south forty'," Joe said. "We'll be back around four. They all headed for the back door, leaving me with an afternoon to myself.
Back in unit 9 (I noticed going over that the other unit was 6 - a nice touch, I thought), I decided to watch the remaining episode of Ready Mix.
The final scene begins in what purports to be the transit management office. A handsome stud (Dick Harder) is there with another blond bomb- shell (Brad Hammer) done up as a security officer. They are reviewing surveillance tapes taken on the bus during the first episode: the scenes are jerky and black-and-white, but the driver has been caught in flagrante dilecto. They call him in to the office and take him to task for engaging in sex with passengers. The two "officials" are far too young to be in the positions they supposedly hold, and the dressing down is so amateurish it's hilarious. They decide they have to inspect the bus to be sure it has been properly cleaned. Of course, when they get to it, the Asian and the Hispanic are still at work. Guapito is on his hands and knees adjusting something under a seat. He's showing a bit of cleavage which sparks the inspector's interest; he orders the mechanic out of his greasy uniform on the spot, and before long the five of them get into a free-for-all gang-bang that goes on for over twenty minutes of sweaty (and piss-y) action that pretty well trashes the bus. The movie fades out as an unidentified dude is seen cleaning the interior of the bus with a high-pressure water hose.
I enjoyed seeing the old flick again; had I not been sated the night before, I could have gotten off with its help. Still, I had another night at the motel to look forward to: whatever might be in store, it would be tough to beat last night's scene. I drifted off to sleep as I my mind replayed some of those events.
By three o'clock I was up and about. I fired up the computer shortly before the boys came in from their chores: once again, they were fascinated by it.
"How could we get ahold of one of those?" Jack inquired.
"You could certainly pick one up in Omaha."
"We don't even own a car: Omaha's a long way off."
"You could order one to be sent here through the internet."
"Could we really?"
"Sure."
"We'll think on it. We'd have no idea how to make it work."
"Oh, there's all sorts of books and instructions. Any one of you could pick it up with a little practice, and with your three heads together, it would be a cinch."
Kitty called us to dinner.
"I owe you guys for another night and meals," I said.
"Settle up when you leave. The foods on us: we got more'n enough," Joe said.
"Fine." I wondered how I might broach the subject of the evening's entertainment, if any: my appetite had returned. The boys ate in silence, chowing-down on Kitty's home-cookin'. It was delicious. I was hungry, too.
Over coffee, Jack broke the silence. "One of us gets to entertain you by himself tonight," he said. "We drew straws, and Jay was the lucky winner."
"Mmmm. I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but you sure you wanna saddle your little bro with this old codger?"
"Man, stop puttin' yourself down!" Joe exclaimed. "You're only as old as you feel. You held up your end of things last night just fine. B'sides, I'm looking forward to fucking Jack silly tonight." He left no doubt of his intentions.
I glanced at Jay: there was a glint of lust in his eye. "Come to Unit 5 tonight about 7: I'll be there."
"I can hardly wait."
"You'll have to: I gotta get outa these stinky clothes and shower up."
We stood up together with much scraping of chairs on the wooden floor. Three corn-fed boners were more than apparent under their filthy overalls.
I showered up as well. My luck was holding: Jay was really my favorite of the three boys, though I would be hard-pressed to explain why. He was not a pretty-boy: quite average in appearance, really. But he had a certain charm that was difficult to put my finger on. His biggest charm I had already put my hand (and my mouth) on!
The cabins seemed to be numbered randomly: just before 7 o'clock I set out to find unit 5, which turned out to be the last cabin in the row, far from the road. Biggun joined me as I walked, wagging his long tail as friendly dogs do. He was large, short-haired, very dark brown: some sort of mix. I didn't have to stoop far to pat his head. Jay met us at the door of his cabin, which was a bit smaller than the duplex units, but otherwise similar. Biggun went in ahead of me and curled up contentedly as Jay and I hugged each other in greeting. A six-pak was on the little table.
"How ya doin', Bruce?" Jay asked.
"Just fine, now," I replied.
"Want a beer?"
"Sure, why not?"
Jay was back in tight jeans and a tee-shirt: he filled out both very nicely. It takes a certain kind of body to do justice to jeans; taller guys like myself often don't look good in them, but Jay, only an inch or two shorter than me, had that "certain kind of body": he looked delicious. Of course, I already knew what lay beneath those clothes, but removing them was something I hoped to do when we got going. Undressing a cute guy never fails to raise my blood-pressure - and my cock.
But Jay was in a talkative mood. I learned a lot about the farm, what part each of the boys played in its operation, and so forth. I did my best to steer the conversation toward sex.
"I'm really glad you got the short straw, Jay," I said. "I like you a lot."
"Like you, too, Bruce. But I have a little problem I want to discuss with you."
"From my perspective, seems like you guys have no problems at all," I said.
"Oh, it's a fine arrangement for sure. Only, I have a little quirk even my brother doesn't know about, and of course I have no idea what you might think about it.
I patted his leg affectionately. "There's nothing you could come up with that's too quirky for me, Jay: I've been around a long time; I've seen it all."
"Yeah, 'spose so." He took a long drink from his bottle of beer. I did the same, and waited. I knew some confession was about to come forth, some- thing that was hard for him to talk about. I knew I should be a good listener.
"Well, you see, I really do like to get fucked. It doesn't make me cum the way it does Jack, but I like the feeling of a big cock up my ass."
"So I noticed."
"As you could see tonight, Joe spends most of his time fucking Jack."
Hmmmm: sibling rivalry? "Yes, he made that clear." I didn't think we were quite to the real confession yet.
"So, I satisfy my desire to get fucked in another way."
Ah, we're getting close! "You shouldn't worry about that: lots of guys use dildos. Some even use vegetables, even bottles."
"What's a dildo?"
"Uh, usually, it's a cock made out of rubber. They come in all sizes."
"Never seen one." Another pull at the beer, and another silence. I waited.
"Aw, shucks, Bruce, I dunno why I'm telling you this, but the fact is, I let Biggun do me all the time."
A thump of a tail on the floor let me know Biggun had heard his name. So there it was, Jay's big dark secret! I knew I would have to formulate just the right answer, if I was to put Jay at ease. I smiled.
"How's he hung?"
Jay relaxed visibly. I'd found the right answer. He must have thought I was going to accuse him of being some sort of weirdo. But bestiality was just another page in my book.
"Well, he ain't Jet, but parts of him are bigger than I am. Bigger than you, in fact."
"We had a cocker-spaniel when I was a kid. One of those dogs horny all the time, you know, humped your leg at every opportunity? I usta jack him off, even sucked him on more than a few occasions. Doesn't seem to have stunted my growth. Frankly, I'd love to watch that hound fuck you! But you gotta promise to save your load for me."
The beer was taking effect. Jay stood, his pants bulging, and sat in my lap. He threw his arms around me and kissed me passionately. "I figured you'd think I was whacky. Sometime I think I'm whacky." My hand found the lump in his pants.
"Not at all. You'll find as you grow up that when it comes to sex, the sky's the limit. If it can be done, someone, somewhere is doing it. Sex with a dog isn't so far-out. You can find pictures of guys, and gals, getting it on with dogs on the internet all the time. Horses, too." I popped the top button of his jeans and pulled the zipper down.
"Horses?" he sounded incredulous. I reached inside his fly and fondled his rigid cock through his shorts.
"Sure. They got dicks even bigger than Jet. For folks that dig size, you can't beat a horse."
"Could you beat a horse off?" I nuzzled the nape of his neck.
"Sure! Been there, done that. Animals enjoy sex just as humans do. There was a kid in my grammar school who jacked-off his horse regularly. I used to go over to his place and watch. How long since you got fucked by Biggun?" Another thump of the tail.
"'Bout a week."
"He should be rarin' to go: frankly, so am I!"
I pushed Jay up and to his feet. I already had his pants undone, so I pushed them down to his knees. His boner strained his shorts. I stood, grasped his tee and lifted it up over his head. He held his arms up, and as his pits came into view, I bent over and licked first one, then the other. His nervousness about confessing had generated a trace of sweat, the whiffs of which I got were an aphrodisiac. He kicked off his shoes, and I helped him out of his jeans. He started to remove his shorts.
"Leave those on a while," I said, "you look so sexy in 'em." His dick threatened to burst them, and there was a greyish wet spot beginning to show.
"Now you're over-dressed," he said. I corrected that immediately, with a little help from him. By now we were both into our second beers, and fully relaxed. I called:
"Biggun! Here, boy," and patted my leg. Biggun sprang into action: he sniffed at me, then put his muzzle into Jay's crotch. Jay pulled his shorts aside, freeing his beautiful prong, and Biggun licked at it eagerly. His tail wagged enthusiastically. Jay sank down on his haunches and reached under the faithful dog: in a trice, he had Biggun's prick out of its sheath. Bright pink, in girth it was certainly as big as my cock, though it tapered to a point, as dog dicks do.
"I've never been able to get the big part inside me," Jay explained, "but I've always wanted to."
"Perhaps I can help, though it seems to me it might be more than you can take." Biggun continued to lap at Jay's cock. Jay moved forward on to his hands and knees: Biggun knew what to do and quickly moved around behind him. He needed no encouragement from me to put his big paws up around Jy's middle and begin humping. He was squirting some fluid already: I slid Jay's shorts down, reached beneath the dog and aimed those spurts at Jay's rose-bud, then grasped Biggun's cock behind the knot and held it in the correct position. No stranger to this, Jay backed up and with a nudge from me that huge dog-dick slid into Jay's hole as far as the knot.
Biggun went wild! He humped Jay as if there was no tomorrow. But I could see no way to get that knot inside Jay: the dog's thrashing was too violent, and the expanded portion of Biggun's dick was very large.
"He'll slow down in a few minutes," Jay said breathlessly. "Then he goes kinda soft. That's when I try to get the knot in, but even with my long arms, in this position I've never managed to do it."
I could not resist: I straddled Jay's head and put my cock at a level with the panting dog, who licked at me ferociously. It certainly took me back to my days on the farm! Licking me, though, seemed to distract Biggun; his humping slowed down.
"Now!" Jay shouted.
I quickly bent over and found Biggun's knot had shrunk to something manageable: I pushed his sheath back as far as I could, squeezed him mercilessly, and shoved: Jay pushed back violently, and it was all in! Biggun let out a yelp.
"Hold him, Jay: tighten up all you can!"
The dog yelped again: he was stuck. His knot, following nature's orders, had swelled up again, and he and Jay were locked together. Biggun humped and humped, but he could not pull out. He panted, his tongue hung far out and flapped from side to side, flinging saliva everywhere. He was in a frenzy of cumming in his master's backside. For his part, Jay seemed to have reached some sort of Nirvana as well. He looked up at me, a mixture of rapture twinged with fear on his face. "Will it come out?"
"Oh, yes, but it may be a while. Is there a pail of water around?" I said, laughing.
"Eh?" Poor Jay: he was so naive, he had no idea what I meant.
I got myself down into a position where, with some difficulty, I could slather Jay's face with kisses. "Don't relax, yet, Jay," I said: "you wanted Biggun's knot inside you, and you got it. Make it last - for him, for yourself, and for me."
Biggun's frenzy was subsiding: his eyes were cloudy, and he still panted heavily, spraying foamy saliva all around. I massaged this into Jay's back, and got enough in my hand to reach under and grope Jay, whose prick was as rigid as a flag-pole, though pointed straight down.
"Don't," Jay said: "I'm near cumming."
"Stay put: Biggun's gonna change position in a few minutes." I held Jay's sweaty head in my lap, waiting for Biggun to make a move.
Sure enough, the hound tried to get off Jay's back. But he was still inside Jay, and with a typical howl, he swung himself around until they were ass-to-ass, his knot still swollen and captured. Somehow, a dog's prick is designed to swivel around and stick straight out the back, though apparently it's a bit painful, hence Biggun's continued whimpering.
"I can't believe it, Bruce: I'm completely relaxed, but he's still inside."
"That's what you wanted."
"Oh, yes! It's terrific. I thought I might shoot, but I remembered my promise."
"Thank you!"
We waited nearly half an hour before Biggun finally lost his hard-on. As his knot shrank, he slipped out of Jay smoothly, came around in front of us and curled his head back to lick his still-protruding dick.
"Help him, Jay!" I ordered.
Jay fell to his belly and swallowed Biggun's prick: The dog seemed thankful for the help and stretched out, one leg up, content to let his master assist with the clean-up. Before long, Biggun's cock shrank back into its thicket of fur to await another time. He curled up in a corner and was soon fast asleep.
Jay struggled to his feet. He was flushed with excitement. He hugged me fiercely and kissed me passionately.
"Bruce, you're really special! We're nearly strangers, but you helped me with my little problem, and I can't thank you enough."
"Oh, yes, you can!"
"I'll probably never be able to do that again, but it satisfied a desire I've held for a long time."
"You'll need help to do it all the way like tonight: I expect Jack or Joe would be willing."
"No, I know each of us has a little secret. I wouldn't want either of them to know mine."
"I expect you're right. But I have a feeling you could get Kitty to help: she seems a very understanding girl."
"Naw, she can't keep a secret for a second. But Jet: now, there's a possibility; he's tight. I'll hafta think on it. But right now, I need to clean up: that dog slobbered all over me."
"Just as I'm going to do in a few minutes, but first I have to pee: that beer has run through."
"Yes, me too!" We headed for the bathroom, and Jay went for the toilet.
"No, Jay: in the tub," I said.
"In the tub?"
"Here's my little secret, Jay: I love to get pissed on."
"Well, why not?" He stepped into the tub. I followed, and stretched out in it as best I could. He really needed to go, for almost at once a powerful warm stream emanated from his half-hard dick. He aimed it all over me in wild abandon, apparently enjoying himself. For my part, I cut loose as well, and by pinching the head of my dick was able to spray up into his crotch and all up and down his legs. He didn't seem to mind. I damn near came, it was so exciting to see him hose me down with his salty marinade. When he was finished, I stood and embraced him.
"I bet Jack would like that," he said as he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. With the curtain pulled, he put the water in the shower head, handed me a bar of soap, and I washed him all over: then he washed me. Once again, it was all I could do not to come, there in the hot shower with that lovely boy!
We toweled off; I made him put his shorts back on and we stretched out on the bed. I could tell Jay was sleepy, so I cuddled him and we dozed off. Some time later I awoke to admire his sleeping form. I could not stop myself from running my hands over his lovely body, and before long I had carefully pulled his dick through the fly of his shorts; I sucked it into my mouth and marveled as it slowly came to attention. Taking a prick from soft to hard is always exciting, no matter how it's done, but mouth action is my favorite way.
"Mmmm: that feels good!" Jay was awake.
"It's supposed to!"
"I'll cum if you keep it up."
"Please do!" I went back to work. Now and then, when I thought he might be about ready, I stopped and licked various parts of him: his legs and thighs, under his balls, his belly and chest. Then I returned to that marvelous straight shank. I kept him on edge for nearly an hour, then picked up the pace.
"Gawd, Bruce!" I'm going to..."
His leg muscles tightened into ropes, and with a yelp that woke the dog he launched his load in my eager throat. He grabbed my head and thrust it up and down in concert with his orgasmic explosion. It was a super ejaculation, the kind I particularly like because it resulted entirely from my efforts: Jay hadn't touched himself in any way.
"Man, you do know how to suck cock!" Jay said hoarsely.
"Years of experience, my boy. When you've had as many as I have, you learn how to do it really well."
"So, how can I help you?"
"Ah, well: you know my problem."
"Didn't bother Jack last night: shouldn't bother me tonight."
"Stop me if you have trouble with it."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and beckoned me to stand before him. I stabbed his face, grabbed his head and moved him on me as he had done, shooting spurts of piss with almost every thrust. He took it in stride, and when my bladder was finally empty I came wildly with an intensity I had not felt for a long time.
"I thought you said you can't shoot a load."
"I can't."
"But you sure did! See?"
He opened his mouth. My gosh! There really was cum in there: not a whole lot, but enough to convince me it was really mine.
"And it's delicious," he said as he swallowed vigorously.
"My doctor said I never would again, but I guess he didn't reckon with a handsome youngster like you willing to give it the old college try."
"I'm glad I could make it happen," Jay said. "You made something happen for me tonight, so we're even."
I kissed him fervently: "You are such a nice guy, Jay: thank you for everything. Now, we must sleep. You have chores tomorrow, and I'm exhausted."
But he was already asleep. I pushed him back onto the bed, pulled up the covers, arranged his cute bod against mine and drifted off to the rhythmic thumping of Biggun's tail on the wooden floor.
He and the dog were both gone when I awoke the next morning. Farm chores seem to start before daybreak. I remained in bed for a time, reviewing the night's activities. I hoped I'd convinced Jay he was not some sort of freak because he enjoyed the attention of his canine pet. He certainly was not the first, nor the last, to do so. I also reviewed my schedule: I was expected by friends in Kansas City in just a few days. I could not linger here another day, much as would have liked to. Taking leave of these lusty lads would be a heart-breaker.
At length I dressed and returned to my unit, where I took care of my morning ablutions. I was getting hungry, so I went over to the office. Noises in the rear led me to call to Kitty: "Morning, Kitty."
But, it was Jet who appeared. "Mornin' Massah Bruce!" he greeted me effusively. He was clad, almost, in what might have once been a smart Maitre uniform which was tight in all the right places. It was, however bespattered with gobs of this and that as if he'd had a bad day in the kitchen.
"Kitty's ailin': female trouble, ya know. She bleedin' like a stuck pig. I hasta be cook today, an' I don' know nuthin' 'bout cookin'. Gets more food on me than the plate, seems like."
"Let me give you a hand. I've been cooking for myself for years."
He led me back to the kitchen, and stood aside appreciatively as I whipped up a batch of bacon and eggs, enough for us both. We repaired to the table and ate and talked.
"I guess it must be difficult for you when Kitty takes sick," I said.
"Sho is! But she so good to me mosta th' time, I cain't hold it agin' her. Tain't her fault being delicate-like."
"No indeed. Besides, you know how to relieve yourself, as I've had the good fortune to observe."
He chuckled. "Yassah, but I gets horny so quick. Today's my day off, so the boys won' get no p'fomance tonight."
"Hmmmm. You could perform for me?" I uttered it as a question.
He seemed doubtful. "Well, I usually hafta watch them boys gettin' it on for a while to get in the right frame o'mind. Hafta admit, though, I liked what you wuz doin' to me t'other night." I tried to remember what I'd done.
"Suppose I help you clean up this mess, and then we can go over to number 9 and see what happens. If I can't get you worked up, there's no harm done."
"Mighty nice o'you, Massah Bruce. I's surely willin' to try."
I whipped through that batch of dishes in gig-time! All the while, I tried to think what I might pull out of my bag of tricks that could turn this stud on. For sure, he was activated by images, but I couldn't connect my lap-top to the internet over there, so that approach was out. I'd just have to play it by ear.
As we prepared to leave the kitchen, he wet down a large rag and wrapped it in a dry towel. "Got's one lil' chore ta do, Massah Bruce 'fore we get started."
I followed him, admiring his form from the rear. He headed not for number 9, but for number 5. "Made a big mess over here las' night: gotta clean it up."
"Last night?"
"Yassah. Was watchin' you and young Massah Jay an' the dawg though the windah. Got riled up an' shot one o' ma big loads on the side o' the buildin'."
"So, you know about Jay and the dog, then."
"Oh, yassah! Done watch those two many a night. Get tired o' watchin' the other two: mos' all they ever do is fuck, and fuck and fuck, but seein' young Massah take that dawg gets my juices flowin'."
"So you saw how I had to help Jay to take all of Biggun?"
"Yep! Seen him try by his-self lotsa times, but he nevah could do it."
"And you've never told anyone about it?"
"Oh, no Massah. Ain' no bizzness of mine. I peep aroun' here alla time, I sees lotsa things, but I keeps 'em to m'self. No point stirrin' up trouble."
"If Jay asked you to help him, like I did last night, would you do it?"
"Oh, yassah, if'n he asked. I seed how much he 'joyed it, an' who am I to deny his little pleasures?"
Sure enough, below the window in bungalow five there was a huge stain where splotches of cum had landed and run down the paint. Jet applied the wet rag vigorously, dried it off neatly and stood back to be sure he'd got it all. "There! I done lef' lotsa these messes 'roun here, but I alluz clean 'em up good."
We walked back along the bungalows toward number nine.
"Kitty tells me she sucks you off a lot."
"Dat girl talk too much. But it's true, she does, an' she good at it. She puts her little han's round that thing o'mine and gets her pretty li'l mouth over the head of it and goes to town. Feels mighty good!"
"Does she take your loads?"
His face darkened. "Naw, tha's one little failin' she got. When I's ready ta shoot she gets outa the way: say she don' like the flavah o'cum. I gets it all ovah her, though: she hasta clean herse'f up after'ds."
We arrived at number nine and went inside. "I wouldn't get out of the way. Do you do it standing up or in bed?"
"Chil', we done it ever which-way! In da shower, on da bed, on da sofa, in the kitchen, in da Massah's kitchen, in the chicken coop; you name it, we done it!"
"Any way you like it better than another?"
"Seems like I get off bes' standin' up. Tha's how I perform for the boys. Poor Kitty, she us'ly gets a face-full when we do it that way. She don' care, long as it don' get in her mouth."
Jet might have been into imagery, he might have been largely straight, and he was certainly a voyeur, but it was clear he also liked to talk about sex: his meat snaked down the inside of his pants, and clearly wanted out. And I knew he was into having his body worshiped. I thought he might be an oil freak, but I didn't have any. But I did have a big bottle of lube: I carried it hoping for an occasion to use it, and this was it. I quickly dug it out of my things, then helped him out of his jacket and shirt. His gorgeous chest exposed, I went to work licking every square inch of it, and down along his arms. Pretty soon he unzipped his pants with some difficulty and dug out his dick. It wasn't yet fully hard: it hung down from his fly, fleshy and pulsating.
I quickly stripped to my boxers, then helped him out of his pants. He didn't wear shorts, probably because there weren't any made that could hold all that meat. There was a full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and I placed him in front of it so he could admire himself. Then I began to apply the lube, reaching around from behind to slather it over his chest, first one muscular pec, then the other. Another big gob got spread around his abs. Combined with his glabrous skin, the slickness was amazing, and began to have an effect. Tentatively, he touched a hand to his chest as I applied lube to his arms and his back.
"Wha'zat stuff, Massah Bruce?" he asked.
"Just a harmless lubricant. Slick as snot."
"Feels right good." I squirted some on his hand, which went immediately to his hardening tool. He ran his fist up and down the shaft.
"Oh, my!"
I knelt and lubed his legs, making sure I got plenty of the gooey fluid up under his balls and along the inside of his thighs. It was working: not only was he beginning to do his posing routine, he was responding to the sensation of my hands rubbing his body all over, so slick, so sensual. I avoided no part of him, except his cock and his face. I pulled his free arm up to make his biceps bulge, and licked off the lube, nibbling at his flesh here and there as if I would take a bite out of him (it certainly crossed my mind)! And in the mirror I watched him stroke that incredible baton of a dick: I made sure it got a shot of lube now and then to keep it really slick. I worked on his firm glutes, nibbling at them as well, and slowly worked my tongue in between them. To my astonishment, he bent over, allowing my tongue to find his anus. I tongued it enthusiastically, and he made no move to stop me. But I also had access to his massive pudendum, which I slathered with my tongue, from as far down along it as his fist would permit, right up to his ass-hole, and back.
"Lawd, Massah Bruce!"
Slowly, I rotated myself around: with my head back at a painful angle, I could continue these ministrations to that much of the under-side of his dick as I could reach, and by turning right or left, to the insides of his thighs. He moved his legs further apart, and went back to an upright position. I could no longer see his reflection, but he could, and I felt again his movements as he posed for and admired himself. Who could blame him? If I had a bod like his, I'd have mirrors lining every wall!
Then came the signal: "'Bout ready, Massah."
I pushed myself back to my haunches, added both my fists to his, shoved what I could of his dick in my mouth and sucked! For once, his right hand left himself and went to the back of my head, pulling me on to that massive muscle; his left reached under my chin to feel my adam's-apple. There was lube everywhere, so he spread it around my throat; my saliva ran down to mingle with it. His paw on my head set the pace, which accelerated quickly, thank goodness: I could not stay with that thing for long, and I fought back the tendency to choke and gag on its mass.
Then, with the same grunt I'd heard before, I sensed the arrival of his load, first a drop or two, then a mouth-filling gush, then a forceful blast I actually felt at the back of my throat. He held me motionless as he came, allowing me to feel his ejaculation, to swallow his copious flow, and to sense the peristaltic action beneath my fingers. Everything about it was absolutely perfect. We remained essentially motionless for what seemed like an eternity: I didn't want to let go of him, and he seemed reluctant to release me. But, after some time, his erection began to subside. More cum flowed, and as his dick began to shrink, I was able to swallow every last drop before finally letting him go.
"Lawdy, Massah Bruce: Lawdy!" He sat down wearily on the bed. I stayed put and watched his meat shrink further between his legs. His endowment, soft, was larger in girth and length than most men's equipment, hard.
"I know she's small, but I can't imagine Kitty letting that go to waste," I said, licking my lips. My jaw was sore, but it had been worth it to get his massive load where I like it best.
"Ya liked that load o'cum?"
"Manna from heaven, far as I'm concerned. I'd drink it any time I could from you."
"Nevah cummed in a guy's mouth before, but I gotta say, it fel' mighty gooood."
"You need to give the boys the thrill sometime: I'm sure they'd love it as much as I did."
"Jus' might! Now I gotta git all this stuff offa m'se'f."
"There's the shower: just be careful: the tub will get slick when you wash it off, and you could slip. If you don't mind, I'll watch."
"Don' mind 'tall, ya know that Massah Bruce."
He got into the tub, but before turning on the water he aimed at the drain and pissed. I sat on the toilet and watched, transfixed: I could not have imagined he would let me see him do that, but he was utterly unabashed and pissed with complete abandon, the golden stream splashing loudly as it hit the drain. It was a glorious sight to watch this handsome stud cut loose like a fire-hose. Then he turned on the shower and began to wash off the slick lube. When he got down to his dick, I was amazed to see it rise up once again, responding to the warm water, the residual slickness, and my prying eyes. He closed his eyes, stroked himself quickly, and in a miraculously short time fired yet another load, a big blob of which landed on my leg. It didn't go to waste, either.
He stripped his cock of its last large gobs of cum, rinsed it in the warm, soothing water, then killed the shower. I toweled him dry, grateful for more time to admire and feel this incredible, super-sexed hunk: he purred, equally grateful for yet more attention paid to his splendid form. When he was dry, I tossed him a pair of my jockey thigh-huggers.
"Try these on," I said.
He struggled into them: the brilliant white fabric against his inky black skin was stunning. With some effort he managed to coil his meat inside the cloth. He admired himself in the mirror.
"Look mighty nice, Massah, but I cain' keep m'se'f cooped up in these things." So saying, he fumbled with the fly and let his fleshy manhood hang out. The effect of this, too was stunning. He sat in the chair, his cock resting on the shiny wood.
"So, you see everything that goes on around here, eh Jet?"
"Sho do Massah. We gets some odd folk hereabouts, I can tell you."
"Like?"
"Oh, I seed guys dress in their womens' clothes; I seed guys stick their hands up their women's hoo-hoos; but mos'ly I seed guys treat they's womens like sheeit: slappin' 'em aroun', beatin' on 'em. An' fuckin' the holy be-jesus out of 'em."
"Some women like that sort of thing, Jet."
"Won' catch me treatin' mah Kitty thataway, no Sir! She take good care of me, I take good care o' her!"
"You watch the boys, too?"
"Sure do. They all got their little quirks. That Joe, he a fucker: fuck anything. I seed him fuck a calf more'n once, and come watahmel'n season, he pluggin' those too. Jack, he like a little slappin' aroun' once in a while, an' he'll put anything he can fin' up his butt. Candles, vegables, rake-hannells, you name it."
"Has he taken on Biggun like Jay does?"
"Don' rightly think so. But I seed him lookin' sideways at a horse more'n once. I'm sure he would if he could, but he knows they can be pretty mean."
"You're right about that."
"Well, Massah, I needs to get dressed and take some nap: my day off, you know."
"Would you like me to cook lunch for the boys?" I glanced at my watch.
"Naw, they's over ta 'nuther farm down the line helpin' with chores: won't be back till aftah dinner."
"Oh, dear! I won't be able to say good-bye. I have to move on today."
"Sure they'll be sorry to know that. I'm sorry, too: we all had a lotta fun."
"None more than I did, Jet. I appreciate your being so nice to me this morning. Let me help you dress. You can keep the shorts."
"Thankya Massah Bruce!" He stuffed himself back into the faded uniform, bid me farewell and strutted into the sunlight.
I went right over to the office and fired up my lap-top. On-line, I ordered a really nice computer outfit and a bunch of instruction books, all to be shipped to the boys after I was gone. I left a hundred-dollar bill on the counter with a note of profuse thanks for a wonderful stay, then went back to unit 9 and packed my things. I was on the road by one o'clock. Between there and Kansas City I jacked off three times, driving along by myself. I had a wealth of fresh memories to help, and of course, there's no fuss, no muss, but a whole lotta bother.
EPILOGUE
A few months after I got home, I received the following e-mail:
From: JJJ@midweston-line.com
To: "Bruce" organs@backdoor.com
Subject: Hello!
Date: Sun, 13 Oct 2003 234604 +0100
Hello, Bruce. This is Jay at the 3-J's Motel.
Remember me? I'm writing to tell you how grateful
we all are here for your wonderful gift of this
computer. It took us many nights to figure out how
it works, but we're getting the hang of it. Hope to
have a web page soon.
I'm afraid we've gone on a buying spree. This on-
line market-place is great! Jet ordered some frilly
things for Kitty, some sexy shorts and a gallon of
LooLube for himself. Joe ordered some hybrid giant
watermelon seeds (no idea what he wants with
those). Jack ordered a bunch of dildos. He shares,
and we've had some fun with them. (!) I ordered an
electronic camera: I think we can have some fun
with that, too, and we can send you some pics.
We're all fine, and sorry we didn't get to say our
good-byes.
We all hope you might return.
Much Love
3-J's, Jet & Kitty. And Biggun :-)
(C) BRUCE BRAMSON 2002