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There were eight of them surrounding me on the bed. I was naked. I lay on my back with my hands tied to the railing. My legs were free. I could hardly believe it. Dad had run the ad in the sex personals and gotten eight guys to show up at our house. Now they too were naked, or naked from the waist down at any rate, and were flanking my narrow bed. Ideally there would have been a ninth guy at my feet, but eight was plenty good enough.
The two flanking my head had paid fifty dollars each for the privilege, and they were allowed, if they wanted, to put their cocks in my mouth, or to even masturbate in it. Two paid forty to flank my chest, while the remaining four, flanking my hips and my legs (my thighs) paid thirty each. The mythical guy at my feet would have only paid twenty, but if he could masturbate far enough he could shoot his load on my genitals. I lay there doing the math: $300 total. Dad and I would split it netting me $150. $150! For an hour's work! And all I had to do was lie there and maybe suck a cock or two! Mom and dad gave me a $20 weekly allowance, and for that I had to keep my room clean and mow the lawn. This was unreal! In a month's time I could make $600! At a minimum. Dad had already told me several of these men had told him that if things were as advertised (in the sex personals), they'd like to come back for more. Dad referred to them as repeat customers. And he referred to other men who these eight would tell about their experience as "referrals." Repeat customers and referrals. Plus running the ad every week. Dad claimed that in no time at all he'd be cutting guys off and putting them on a wait list. Nine was the absolute limit. But for now, this first time, there were eight of them and they were surrounding my bed holding their cocks in their hands. Some still seemed to be in a state of disbelief.
"Is this for real?" one of them asked.
"Believe it."
"How old is this kid?"
"His dad told me he's eleven."
"Looks younger."
"Just jerk off on him and enjoy it."
One of them addressed me: "Kid, is this, like, consensual?"
My head nested in a stack of two pillows, I nodded. "Yes."
"You get paid for this?"
Dad had told me not to talk to them. "Just lay there and let `em do their thing." Nevertheless I again replied, "Yes."
"You better be," the questioner said.
I looked around at all the guy's cocks. They came in all shapes and sizes. Up to this point I'd only seen one man's cock in my life. My dad's. It was larger than all but one in this group. Dad had taught me to suck his cock and he also liked to rub it against my buttocks in this same bed. He would straddle me. When he came he would shoot his semen on my lower backside. We would do this on Saturdays when mom was volunteering at the church. It was after one of these sessions, while the two of us were sitting up side by side and naked on my bed, that dad told me about his idea. It wasn't fully formed yet but it was obvious dad had put a lot of thought into it. Or fantasized about it a lot while alone in the guest bedroom, where he now slept. He and mom were on the outs. I overheard mom tell dad recently that if it wasn't for me she'd "divorce [his] ass." Mom was very religious. She rarely swore. It was rumored, though not proven, that she was banging the church's youth director.
After dad laid out his plan I said, "So they'd all take turns rubbing against me?"
"No!" dad replied emphatically. "No. No touching. Or very little. They'd masturbate on you. On your body. You'd have to be," he added, "tied up."
"Tied up?" I asked warily.
"Your wrists. To the headboard. It would enhance things. A young boy's body tied to a bed?"
"Would you be in the room?"
Dad thought about this a second before saying, "I could be. But no. Downstairs. But I'd be monitoring things. There'd be strict rules. No touching," he claimed at the time. As I say it was still all in the early planning stages.
"Where would mom be all this time?"
"Where she always is on Saturdays. At church. Nine to five. They'd [the men, the customers] would come over at noon. Sharp. Be there or be square. They'd pay their money and then join you in the bedroom. We'd clean up afterwards and mom would be none the wiser."
Dad and I then discussed sharing the proceeds. At first he floated the idea of a 60/40 split. With me getting the forty. When I protested he said to me, jokingly, I think, "What are you a little communist?" At any rate we agreed on a 50/50 split. It was my first taste of business.
Now, on this first occasion, with the eight, I was tasting one of the men's cocks. The guy to the left of my head had told me to open my mouth and he'd bent over, slightly, and inserted the head of his cock. He made a slight, short fucking motion, while I remained still, my lips tight around him. His partner, on my right, said, "I want some of that," and the first man pulled out and I turned my head in the other direction.
"You do that so well...," the second man claimed. Although in fact he was doing all the work. I wasn't doing anything. Just lying there. He then pulled back, pulled out and resumed masturbating. He instructed me to keep my mouth open. He was the first to cum. He ejaculated in my mouth (some of it got on my face) and I swallowed it, just as dad had taught me, every last drop. Dad could never understand why some, like my mother I presumed, would spit it out. Wouldn't swallow. It was delicious! Afterwards the stumbled backwards so forcefully he hit the nearby wall. That was that. One down.
Now the man on my left wanted his turn, again. And he inserted about half his cock in my mouth. The floodgates had opened and now streaks of warm sperm were lacing my body--my chest, my belly, my thighs...Meanwhile the remaining man flanking my head continued fucking my mouth--until he ejaculated in it, and I, again, obediently swallowed. He pulled out quickly and immediately began getting dressed, muttering something about fifty dollars. It didn't sound like he'd be returning, though dad told me afterwards that most men lose interest, and even get depressed, and feel guilty, after they cum. "He'll be back," dad confidently predicted.
The last of the eight to cum was down at my legs, and he aimed for my genitals. He was younger, and had good range, and his sperm struck my limp penis and my little balls. I could feel the impact. It was like being hit with ping pong balls (we had a ping pong table in the basement).
I waited for the front door to close for the last time and a few minutes later dad came upstairs and into my room. By now the sperm of seven men was liquefying and running down my cheek, my chest, my belly, my thighs and my balls. It tickled in places. Dad declared, "What a mess!" and brought back a towel from the bathroom and mopped some of it up.
"Are you going to untie me?" I asked. My arms were dead.
"Oh, right." And he undid his slipknots. "Our customers seemed very pleased."
"Did they?" For the last five minutes all I'd heard were muted moans and cries and that thinly veiled complaint by the guy to the left of my head.
"One guy thinks you're nine."
"I'm eleven!" I protested. I was sitting up now but covered with drying sperm.
"Several said they want to come back next week."
"That's cool."
"I've gotta get that ninth man in here." Dad seemed obsessed with maximizing our profit. He said this with gritted teeth. "Free enterprise is a wonderful thing."
"Yeah," I agreed, in a lackluster sort of way.
After rinsing my body off in the shower, and tossing my bedsheet and the towel in the wash, dad led me into mom's walk-in closet. I thought for a moment he was going to tell me to get down on my knees and suck his cock. I'd already sucked two today. Instead he opened a drawer. It was full of panties, many of them surprisingly colorful, and lacy.
"I'm just wondering...," he mused. "Would they prefer you naked or dressed in a pair of your mother's panties?"
"Panties?"
"Panties."
"Naked," I was quick to inform him.
"You're probably right. Still..." He pulled out a pink pair, a bikini cut, with flesh (Caucasian-flesh, that is) colored lace. "Try these on. Leave em on till your mom gets home. It's an experiment. A trial. We'll see. I may have you wear em next time out, and then not wear `em in two weeks' time."
I pulled them on. They were a little big for me--with my narrow boy's hips. But they felt great on my body--my genitals. As I wandered around the house that day, and future days, dad would reach out and squeeze my pantied ass or fondle me in them. He certainly liked them.
The men who came to our house, week in, week out, not so much. A couple of the regulars said to me, the following week, "Pull `em down!" But I was helpless. My hands were tied. The experiment had failed.
I still wear panties, however, to this day. In fact I'm wearing a pair at this moment. A leopard-skin pattern. And of course I still suck cock. I've sucked hundreds. A thousand, maybe. Who knows?
The rumors turned out to be true. And mom ran off--suddenly--with the music director. Or was it the youth director? They quit the church, in a scandal, and moved two states away. I stayed with dad. And we plied our trade. It went well, for a while.
In mom's haste she left a lot of things behind. Including a drawerful of panties.