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From: Danny Harris <dr_harris_81@hotmail.com>
Subject: Max's Boys 01 (MMM/t, leading to oral, anal, incest, pedo, ws)
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===================

MAX'S BOYS 01
Danny (Ch. 01-03)

by DannyR
Copyright 2005. All rights reserved
Story codes:  MMM/t leading to oral, anal, incest, pedo, ws

	Acknowledgment: As I said in the Introduction (your loss if you didn't read 
all the fascinating bits) this story and the others almost done wouldn't 
exist without Damian, the Brit with the wicked sense of humor and wicked 
mind, who, come to think of it, maybe really is the son of Satan, what with 
all the perverted ideas he put in my head that made the words just sort of 
spurt again and again and again (ohbabyohbabyoh!) onto the computer screen. 
Hey, yeah, that's it. The Devil's kid made me do it! Instant absolution. No 
guilt. Bless-me-father-for-Damian-has-sinned. <snicker>  It's probably his 
fault you're reading this, too. And doing whatever wicked, perverted things 
you do while you do.

Disclaimer: Some folks apparently have trouble distinguishing between 
fantasy and reality. This story is a fantasy. It didn't happen. Never will. 
And anyone who attempts to do in real life all or any of the things depicted 
in the story needs to be hanged, then drawn and quartered, and then turned 
over to the local cops for the harshest penalties the law allows. Now that 
we're clear on what's what, and what's not, read on.

DANNY

Chapter 1

I'm a fucking cuckoo!

No, I don't mean crazy or something. I mean like a cuckoo being left in 
somebody else's nest for other birds to raise. That's what dad yelled at mom 
during their last big fight before he stormed out of the house. Well, it's 
what he meant. I had to ask mom. I know she was feeling really bad, I mean 
she was crying real hard, and dad had called her some pretty bad names, too. 
But, well, he was just so hateful when he said that about me, I had to know.

Mom didn't want to tell me. She said she had to protect "her baby boy." 
C'mon. I'm fourteen, and I'm not a baby. And it wasn't like I'm big like dad 
and could threaten her or something, but I can be pretty determined, so 
finally she told me. "Dad" isn't my real dad. Yeah, yeah, I was born right 
at nine months after they were married, but "dad" wasn't the sperm donor. 
Shit, I should've figured it out, but I don't know anything about biology 
and genetics and stuff, I hate that crap in school. So, yeah, there've been 
a few people who sort of raised their eyebrows looking at the three of us. 
Dad, hell, I can't keep calling him that since he isn't and doesn't want to 
be, so, okay, Tom is tall, with real thick, wavy black hair, and these 
ice-blue eyes. Kinda dark-skinned, 'n always in need of a shave. He's hairy 
everywhere, and he's got a really big dick, too. I mean, not that I go 
perving after him, but I've seen him in the locker room at the pool or the 
gym or something, and he really is damn hairy all over. It even looks kinda 
soft.

Well, anyway, then there's mom. She's on the short side, a natural blonde 
with bright blue eyes, kinda cornflower I heard somebody say once.

And then there's me. Danny. My hair is just like mom's. I like it long, so 
it's almost to my shoulders, and it's real curly. I'm 5' 4", 120 lbs if I'm 
carrying a couple of barbells. I swim a lot, including the school team, so 
I've got a pretty decent build if I do have to say so myself. Not all the 
big thick muscles like da...Tom, but well, maybe a four-pack? No hair on my 
chest, some curly blond hair in my pits, a little trail down to my pubes, 
which are kind of bright gold like the hair on my head. Not a lot, but okay. 
My eyes are blue, too, but a different blue than Tom or my mother. Darker. 
Then there's my dick. That should have been kind of a clue, even though 
there's all that crap about I've got a while to grow yet and stuff. Just 
after the fight, I measured it. I'm about two inches soft, and just barely 
five inches -- okay, one measurement said five and a half -- when I'm hard. 
Which is a lot. Hard a lot, I mean, not a lot of dick.

So there's the picture. I always thought I was different than my...damn 
it!...than Tom, just because I took after my mom. I sure did. And apparently 
after my real father as well. She says I'm the spitting image of him. Yeah, 
great, just fucking great. I'd like to spit on him, too. Small-dicked 
coward, and leaves me with a tiny dick, too. With the way my life has gone 
to fuck-all right now, I probably won't grow another freakin' inch, 
dick-wise or otherwise.

So Tom shouts he doesn't want to go on raising a cuckoo in his damn home, 
and mom screams back at him about cheatin' on her, which he swears to god 
he's never touched another woman since they were married. Yada, yada, yada.

Bottom friggin' line, they're getting divorced. And while we aren't Bill 
Gates rich or even close, there's a lot of money and stuff involved, and 
guess fucking what. I can't go live with Tom, even if I wanted to because he 
doesn't want me around. And mom says she's too stressed by all of this to 
take care of me properly. So they're sending me away. Yeah, that's right, 
sending me the fuck away.

Right before school starts. To my freakin' Uncle Max. I mean, I hardly knew 
I had an Uncle Max. Once mom mentioned him, I remembered, sort of, maybe 
meeting him when I was real young. I'm not too clear on it. I have this 
image of big hands, kinda callused, but gentle on my skin, and big arms 
holding me kinda close. And that's all. Right. Really good bonding 
experience for someone you're getting dumped on.

And yeah, it's freakin' weird, but my Uncle Max is that Max. Max Harris. The 
guy with more money than God, people say. He's my fucking not-father Tom's 
older brother, and they've been on the outs for years, but he's kept in 
contact with mom, quietly. I'm not sure why he bothered, since it's pretty 
damned clear he knows I'm no blood relation to him. Fuck, with all his money 
he probably had a DNA test done to be sure. But mom says I have a college 
fund I didn't know about just waiting for me. Enough to pay for wherever I 
want to go to school. And he's got this big estate in Florida, with all 
kinds of servants and staff and tutors and stuff, so I'm gonna live with him 
until mom and my son-of-a-bitch not-father get things sorted out. And I'm 
leaving tomorrow freaking morning.

SHIT!


Chapter 2

I don't know whether these are really chapters or not. 's not like I'm a 
regular writer or anything. But at least I've got my laptop. And I 
downloaded all my good stuff from my computer to the laptop, and then erased 
the regular computer. Re-fucking-formatted the hard drive. See, mom said I 
had to leave the computer and everything. Well, not quite everything. She 
did let me pick out some things that she was going to ship to me. But she 
said Uncle Max just wanted me to get to his place in a hurry. And I didn't 
need to bring any clothes or my computer or anything. He'd provide me with 
all new stuff.

Yeah, well, so how come nobody asked me if I freakin' wanted new stuff? 
There's lots of my stuff I want to keep. Besides the porn and things on my 
computer. Really. Only, well, I guess it was because I was leaving in such a 
hurry that I couldn't think of much. Oh, and yeah, there's that whole thing 
about most of my stuff being bought by my not-father, so I really don't want 
to keep any of that even if some of it is kind of cool. Whatever.

So Uncle Max has money and wants to buy me stuff? Well, let him. From the 
freakin' skin out, okay? So when we left this morning for the airport all I 
was wearing was a tee shirt, some really worn, really soft jeans with the 
knees out -- kinda like I'd worn 'em out down on my knees sucking dick. 
Yeah, like I've ever had a chance of that. But I can dream. And damn, I sure 
do. Lots. Oh. And sandals. No underwear. I think mom knew about that, 
mom-radar or something, but she didn't say anything. And even though the 
jeans are tight, it isn't like I've got anything down there to make a bulge 
that anyone would notice. My laptop. Wallet. Mom gave me a couple of hundred 
for emergencies. No freakin' keys since I probably wasn't coming back to 
that house. (Mom doesn't know I heard her talking to some lawyer about 
selling it.) And my cell. Gotta have that. But since it was a gift from Tom 
on my birthday, well, soon as I get to Uncle Max's place, if it's on the 
ocean, or the Gulf, well, I'm going to go to the beach and throw it so hard 
that, well, it's either gonna hit Mexico or Europe, depending. And Uncle Max 
can just buy me a newer and better one.

Yeah. Sure. Like I'm really gonna tell my almost-brand-new uncle that I 
expect him to spend a shit-load of money on a nephew instead of one of his 
own kids. He's probably just doing this because he has to. All my 
grandparents are dead, mom's an only child, so that just leaves Uncle Max to 
have the kid dumped on. As for that "determined" crap up above, well, I'm 
sort of determined when I'm dealing with mom, since I know I can pretty much 
get her to do what I want. Rarely worked with Tom. Well, truthfully, I don't 
think I ever got him to do anything he didn't want to do, not after he said 
"no" the first time. But outside the house, well, hell, I'm still a virgin.

Not that I want to be. I know just what I want. I just don't have a clue how 
to get it. I mean, I'm smart, high IQ and all that, but it's all books and 
the Net. Nobody has written a how-to manual, or a "Queer Sex for Dummies" to 
let me know how I can get to have sex with other boys. Or, well, men. You 
know, adults. Men with big dicks and balls that I can suck on. Men who'll 
want to suck on me, even if I don't cum a lot, and maybe fuck me. Or fuck 
them. Oh, yeah. A lot of fantasies fueled by all the stories on the Net, but 
never anything in real life.

Of course, anybody who'd write a book on the other part of what I dream 
about would be arrested when he sent the manuscript in. How to sex boys. Not 
somebody say thirteen, or fourteen or fifteen. But younger. Lots younger. 
Six, seven eight. Or, well, hell, might as well be honest. Even younger than 
that.

No idea why I feel this way, but the thought of playing with tiny boy dicks, 
and hot tight little-boy assholes gets me harder than anything. Not that 
I've done anything there either. I've seen a couple of really young boys 
naked at the swim club, in the locker room. I tried real hard not to perv on 
them so nobody (like their dad) would notice and beat the shit outa me. But 
I had to hold a towel in front of me to hide my hard and as soon as they 
were gone I went to a stall and beat off.

I'm not stupid enough to go to some kiddie-porn site, even though I've got, 
or well, had, access to credit cards to pay for it. But I did find some 
nudist places, and some newsgroups where they have old black and white 
photographs of naked people. Most of it is women. Don't ask me why, unless 
it's because the straight men outnumber the queer teens by several orders of 
magnitude. (See, I told you I wasn't all that dumb. And I even know what it 
means.) But there are some pictures of naked men, a few of naked teen boys, 
and when I'm really lucky, some naked very young boys, including some who 
have to be really young. Like maybe two or something. And if you know what 
you're doing, you can crop those pics down to just what you want to keep. So 
that's part of what I made sure to put on my laptop. Password-protected, 
too.

All of which means that I'm too shy to be of interest to anyone. And too shy 
to try to get anyone interested in me.

I really don't want to do this, go to Florida, I mean. Really. If I can say 
one damned word to Uncle Max the first time I see him it'll be a miracle. I 
mean, sometimes I get so nervous around other people, I can't speak at all. 
And I don't want to leave my school. Okay, sure, it's not like I have any 
real friends. Who makes friends with a pretty-boy who looks like a queer and 
never meets anyone's eyes? And they've only put up with me on the swim team 
because I'm fast and I'm good and I win a lot. Just individual competitions, 
though. No team stuff. But still, leaving means I'm being deprived of my 
only real place to frequently see real naked flesh and not just the stuff in 
the porn pics or in my head from reading. Not that I stare, but I've learned 
to look quick and sorta remember for when I'm jacking off later.

And it sounds like I won't get much chance of even that with Uncle Max. All 
this stuff from mom about a big estate with tutors and stuff and an Olympic 
pool (or two or something) I can use, makes it sound like I'm not going to 
be going to a regular school. Which might be okay, but odds are I'm gonna 
see my cousins naked sometime and I don't think they'll think it's real 
great to have me getting a hardon from seeing nude little boys, or a teen 
boy, up close. Well, we're almost at the airport, so I'll have to shut this 
down.


Chapter 3

A private fucking jet.

I'm going to ride on my Uncle Max's private fucking jet. Oh sure, he has to 
have it up here for some fancy business reason, but still. Wow.

It's not like as big as Air Force One or something, but pretty freakin' 
unbelievably big for a boy who's never flown anywhere before. Okay, whoa, 
you don't know that yet.

Well, not that there's really a "you" to talk or write to, but it's kinda 
fun to pretend that I'm tellin' all this really private and personal shit to 
some guy I trust. Has to be a guy, though, not a little kid, 'cause while 
the kid might understand gettin' fucked and suckin' my dick, I couldn't, 
y'know, talk to him. So "you" out there are probably some man that really, 
really likes me, and okay, maybe that's only because I give great head and 
you can like fuck me real hard 'n stuff, but at least you care a little bit. 
The best "you" would be a boyfriend, but it's not freakin' likely anybody 
would want to be a boyfriend to a sicko perv like me.

So anyway, I was writing the last of the stuff up above while we were 
driving. Not like mom could see what I was doing, or cared. She was used to 
me typing on the computer.

So here's what happened. When we got to the airport my mom got a call on her 
cell just when she was pulling up in front of one of the drop-off doors. She 
handed me some papers which I thought were my tickets, since I'd checked the 
flight schedules last night and figured there'd be at least one layover, 
since the departure time was nowhere near one of the non-stop flights on any 
airline. She told me I was to go to Gate 47H, and then she looked at the 
number on her phone. "Fuck! It's your dad, I mean, Tom."

She never swore in front of me. Yeah, things had really changed. She 
listened to Tom, and listened and listened, until I was beginning to worry 
about Homeland Security types coming charging out to arrest the suicide 
car-bombers loitering in the drop-them-off-and-freakin'-move-on curbside 
lane. I could tell mom was fuming, and just when I was about to interrupt to 
ask what airline, since the papers weren't tickets and that meant I'd have 
to get one at a counter or a kiosk (I do research well), when she suddenly 
screamed at him, "Well, fuck you, and the fucking horse you rode in and off 
on! I don't give a shit what you think of your brother. He's been damned 
nice to me for years, ever since the one and only visit you'd allow. Oh? You 
didn't know we kept in contact. Well, boo hoo. Maybe that's because I didn't 
tell you. Your brother cares a hell of a lot more about Danny than you do, 
that's for sure.

"Yeah, right! Like you're gonna take Danny to stay with you while all this 
crap between us is going on? Didn't think so. Where else is he going to go 
except to Max? I know what kind of hell you're going to put me through, and 
I don't want him around while you're doing it. In the eyes of the law, he's 
your son, and if you didn't want it that way you could have had a paternity 
test done within two years of his birth.

"Damn right I had my lawyer check things out. You didn't bother, so right 
now you're shit outa luck claiming he's not yours and you don't have to 
support him. And I'm going to get every single dime, nickel, penny, condo, 
stock and bank account I'm entitled to. You think I've been a bitch 
recently. Honey lamb, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

I could hardly see her through the tears in my eyes. I was even stammering 
when I managed to interrupt her and ask what airline. She didn't even look 
at me. My own mom. All she did was tell Tom to wait a fucking minute, shut 
her eyes and tilt her head towards the roof of the car, with this "Why me, 
God? Give me patience!" look on her face. "Honey, just go inside and show 
them the papers and tell them it's Gate 47H. Now, scoot."

The "honey" to me wasn't quite like the one to Tom, but to my ears right 
then it sounded awfully fucking close. I got out and slammed the door really 
hard. Okay, childish, but I'm fourteen and sometimes I get to act like I'm 
five and having a temper tantrum. She didn't even notice. Just put the car 
in gear and drove off, narrowly missing somebody and obviously still 
listening/yelling, listening/yelling on her cell. Naturally there wasn't 
anyone in sight when I walked in. I was there plenty early, but I still 
wanted to know where I was supposed to go.

I walked around a little and finally found a security guard. I had a vision 
for just a second of telling him about this madwoman endangering hundreds on 
the highway while she was screaming into her cell, but I kept my mouth shut 
about that and just asked him where to find Gate 47H. He didn't look too 
pleased to be interrupted from his really alert, taking-a-nap-standing-up, 
I-must-protect-my-country-from-terrorists-with-a-barely-above-minimum-wage 
job, but all that changed when he read the papers. He suddenly had a 
friendly smile on his face, pointed back in the direction I came from, told 
me that 47H was Mr. Harris' gate, and told me how to get there.

My Uncle Max has a gate? His very own freaking gate at a big airport where 
planes fly in and out from all over the world? What the fuck?

It took me a few minutes to get there. But first I had to go through a 
security checkpoint. Now I've seen all the stuff on the news about airport 
security and I've read stories about them, and seen pictures of what they 
do. Curiosity one day a while back, urgent need to know last night. These 
guys didn't look anything like what I was expecting.

Two of them. Both big men. Imagine twin Arnold Schwarzeneggers, you know, 
that kind of build and muscle, only younger, really hot looking, and without 
that weird one-of-my-close-friends-is-a-"former"-Nazi accent. Crisp, black 
uniforms that looked more military than Homeland Security even though they 
were wearing suits. A badge that said "Harris Security Services." A very 
visible, very large gun. And both of them had really big dicks. I checked. 
Well, hell, who wouldn't? It's not like you could have missed them, since 
they bulged out so much from their tight pants. I think one of them might 
have caught me staring, but hopefully I looked away quick enough.

There wasn't any metal on me. And I put the cell and my wallet and the 
laptop (the carrying case had a couple of paperbacks for me to read, but I'd 
been planning on getting something more at the first layover, since there'd 
be plenty of time) in the tray. I mean, it's not like there was anything 
dangerous or explosive in there. Not even a pair of cuticle scissors, or a 
paper clip that might be opened into a weapon. So according to my research I 
should have just walked through the metal detector, beepless, picked up my 
stuff after it all went through the x-ray, and then headed on down to the 
gate, which was only about a hundred feet away and visible.

Wrong. Major wrong.

They turned my cell back on and made a call on it, and checked it with some 
other gadget. They checked every pocket, slot, crack and crevice in my 
laptop bag and flipped through my paperbacks. They took out every scrap of 
everything in my wallet and made sure they saw me put it all back where it 
belonged, including all of the money. They turned the computer on and didn't 
settle for that but did something while it was on. Thank God for passwords. 
Then it was my turn for a closer look. Even though I had indeed been 
beepless in going through.

A much closer look. You might say kind of an intimate close look. They had 
me stand with my legs spread, arms out (me playing naked Michelangelo guy 
except I wasn't naked), and then they went over every damned inch of me with 
a gadget that didn't look anything like the detectors I'd seen pics of. Just 
a silver wand about like a nightstick on one of the cop shows, with a ribbed 
hand-grip, and nothing I could see on the rest of it to "detect" anything. 
When there were no beeps, grunts, moans, screams or noises I figured I was 
good to go.

Nope. Not yet. Hunk 1 puts his hand on my shoulder after allowing me to put 
my arms down and stand up straight. It made me shiver. I pretended I was 
just dizzy a little from standing that way, but I was lying. His hand was so 
big and so warm it just spread through me. "Come with me, young sir," he 
said, and guided me off to the side where there was one of those portable 
screens.

"I need you to strip for me, young sir."

I tried to tell myself he was kidding. Just a weird joke at the expense of 
Uncle Max's young nephew, and I had to figure they knew who I was. But one 
really good look at his face and I knew he wasn't. Joking, I mean. He really 
meant for me to take off the only three items of clothing I had on, okay, 
four if you count each sandal separately, and stand there stark frigging 
naked in an airport terminal where anybody could come walking down and in a 
couple of steps see the naked teen with the fire engine red skin color. So I 
did. Maybe someone else would have argued or questioned, I just did what I 
was told.

I pulled the tee over my head and handed it to Hunk 1, who handed it to Hunk 
2, who began examining it as if there was a pipe bomb between the threads. 
The sandals followed and Hunks 1 and 2 did the same thing. Which left me 
standing there topless and barefoot, wiping out the air conditioning for 
five gates in either direction with my body heat, nervously holding onto the 
button of my raggedy 501's.

Hunk 1 somehow managed a softer tone, even though his expression 
(last-action-hero-on-earth tough) didn't change. "All the way, young sir. 
Mr. Harris is quite serious about security, and especially so with his loved 
ones. And even more so with family."

I popped the button and started on the next one, and then it hit me. I know 
my voice was kind of soft and weak, probably disgusting to a stud like him, 
when I asked, "Y-y-you mean if I fly with Uncle Max I have to do this every 
time?"

This time the left corner of his mouth gave the tiniest twitch. I guess that 
was a smile for him. "Not always, young sir." I really couldn't tell again 
whether he was joking. "If you are leaving from the estate, there's no 
question of your being secure. But you are going to the estate for the first 
time, so Mr. Harris requires us to be very careful. Now, please, the rest of 
the way."

No more stalling. I unbuttoned the rest of the way, tugged them down over my 
hips, well, not too hard a job since I don't have much in the way of hips. I 
got them past my knees and then bounced on one leg and then the other to get 
them all the way off. Still blushing, I didn't look up at either of them as 
I just held out the jeans. One of them took them out of my hands. I also 
made sure I didn't look at the bulge in Hunk 1's crotch. I sure as hell....

Oh well, too fucking late. My humiliation was complete. Out in public, naked 
in front of two strange men, oh fuck, three, there's another one in a 
uniform coming out of a door near the counter, walking straight for us with 
a clear view of naked little me, and I've got a full, glorious (not!) 
hardon. Hunk 1 had me do the spread-'em thing again, and then the wand moved 
over my body about a micron above my flesh. He brushed my left nipple with 
it, just barely, and I thought I'd been hit with an electric shock. Sure, I 
know a guy's tits are supposed to be sexual and all that, but I've tried it 
and all I've done was hurt myself. This time I could actually feel my dick 
getting harder. He was finally done with the wand bit -- I mean, what the 
hell was it going to detect, a bomb in my bowels? -- and I was thinking that 
the way things were going for me a cavity search was next.

Yep. Well, almost. It might have been kind of exciting. One of the hunks 
having a rubber-gloved finger up my hole. But the one possible moment of 
pleasure was denied me. Hunk 1 had me put my arms down, spread my legs a 
little wider yet, and then bend over with my hands braced on my knees. I 
kind of teetered a bit, and the new guy stepped in front of me and held my 
shoulders to balance me. Hunk 1 came behind me, dropped down on his knees, 
and used his callused palms to spread my butt cheeks. He must have had 
really bad eyesight or something for a guy in security, 'cause he was so 
close I could feel his warm breath on my pucker. I moaned. Just a little. 
And only to myself. I'm sure they didn't hear me.

Hunk 1 breathed on my hole again and said, "I don't think anything has been 
up here, do you?"

I guess he shifted to one side, because I could tell it was another pair of 
hands spreading my cheeks, only this time a thumb was right over my asshole. 
I know from all my, well, research, that if I'd been fucked by a man it'd be 
my cunt or my pussy, but I was still a damned virgin. So all it was was an 
asshole. And that thumb felt, well, like, if I'd had enough balance, or more 
importantly, enough courage, I could have thrust my hips back and his thumb 
would've gone up my ass. More warm breath on my hole, and then Hunk 2 said, 
"Yeah, you're right."

One of them patted my ass, although in my imagination I made it a little 
fondling, and Hunk 1 told me everything was fine and I could get dressed. 
They handed me my stuff. For a second I couldn't decide which was worse, 
having them all look at me and my stiff little dick while I got dressed, or 
watching my definitely cute (hey, that's what my mirror says) but on the 
scrawny side butt. I opted for the ass view of life. When I was put 
together, and I'd run my fingers through my hair to sort of get it in place 
again, I turned around. The hardon was still there, and where I wouldn't be 
noticeable soft, the tent effect was still visible. I resolutely didn't look 
at any of them while I picked up my cell, put my wallet in my back pocket, 
and then hooked the laptop bag over my shoulder.

I had to look at the third man, though, when he asked, "You need to use the 
toilet before we go?"

I remembered what toilets were supposed to be like on planes and how cramped 
they were, so I decided I'd better piss now. And then maybe get a quick jack 
off in a stall before I had to go find the other passengers and get on 
board. Third man offered to show me the way. While we were walking he 
introduced himself. He was Captain Morgan, no relation to the rum guy, and 
"my" pilot. Weird. He made me feel really kind of grown up. You know, 
expecting me to know about the Captain Morgan/rum thing even though I'm just 
a kid of fourteen. And being "my" pilot like I could tell him what to do or 
where to go.

When we got there I thought he'd wait outside but he followed me in. I'd 
been in public johns before, you know, malls, theatres, stuff, but there was 
something more, well, expensive about the place. I couldn't put my finger on 
it. Probably because I was wanting to put my fingers elsewhere. So there 
were several sinks and individual mirrors on one wall, and then a divider 
wall with a door in it. Captain Morgan was tall enough to reach over my 
head, push the door open and let me go in first.

On the right were four urinals with a bit of space between them, sort of 
European looking and kind of low, though not as low as those little-boy 
urinals a lot of places have now. On the opposite side were four toilet 
stalls that looked wider than the usual public ones. I went to the last 
urinal, set my bag down, unzipped and pulled my little dick out, trying to 
think all sorts of disgusting, sick-making thoughts so I could get soft 
enough to piss. The pilot took the urinal next to me!

Weird. But for a minute I concentrated on trying to piss, and then I 
couldn't take it any more. Checking out the dick next to you was just a guy 
thing, right? A quick peek wouldn't hurt. He wouldn't even notice, since 
he'd be concentrating on pissing himself. Except I hadn't heard any piss. I 
took a look and no way could I stop myself from gasping. His cock and balls 
were out of his trousers. All, what, 6, 7, 8, 37 inches of it? I'd never 
seen a man's cock hard before in real life, and it was huge. Or at least it 
was to me. And he wasn't just standing there, like he was waiting for it to 
get soft to piss. He was slowly jacking himself with his right hand and his 
left arm was definitely out of the way so I'd have a clear view.

Damn. I was with the first man in my life who was hard and I guess wanted 
sex with me, and we were in a public toilet and he had to drive the fucking 
plane across the fucking country in a very little while. Shit, shit, shit. 
Not that I said anything. I just looked up at him -- and realized he wasn't 
looking at my face really, but at my dick, which he couldn't really see 
'cause I was holding it with my right hand. "I think you need to take care 
of that, son." And he nodded at my little stiffie.

Compared to him I might as well have the dick of a ten-year-old or 
something, even with hairs and all. And he called me "son," which kind of 
made me short of breath.

"How about dropping those jeans again, son? Let daddy see that nice prick 
and balls."

"But...but what if...."

"Don't worry, boy. Everything's fine."

I didn't know how he could know that. And I sure the hell didn't want 
airport security or my uncle's security people arresting him for molesting a 
teen boy. Even though I really, really, really wanted him to molest me right 
then. But he sounded so sure, I just popped the buttons real quick, and 
shoved them right down to my ankles. When I straightened up he asked me to 
pull my shirt up so that the bottom was around the back of my neck, and that 
way he could see all of me. I did what he said.

My dick was aching. He had me turn toward him and he did the same. He told 
me to play with myself, and he kind of sighed when he told me what a 
beautiful dick I had. He oozed some clear precum out of his piss slit, and 
he used it to slick up his knob end.

He kept staring down at my cock, and my moving hand, while his dick got even 
darker-colored. He kept his voice soft, almost like he was hypnotizing me, 
and I was just off somewhere and so fucking horned I thought I'd explode. 
"You sucked on a man's cock before, son? Had a man suck you?"

I closed my eyes and imagined all that and said "no" just as soft as him.

"How about your cunt, son?"

God I was loving his dirty talk.

"Any man shoved his big cock up your pussy and filled it full of cum?"

Exactly what I wanted, but had never had. I had to tell him the truth. I 
opened my eyes and looked at him and told him I was a virgin. There was a 
flicker of -- something -- across his face, so fast, I wasn't really sure I 
saw it. But I thought I did and I thought I knew why. He wasn't interested 
in a virgin for a quick one in a public toilet. He wanted one of those 
experienced boy sluts I'd read about and dreamt of being. My eyes started to 
tear up and he must've noticed. He stopped jacking and with his right hand 
reached up, cupped my cheek, and used his thumb to wipe off one little tear 
that got away.

"Hey, son, don't worry. Being a virgin is a good thing. You get to pick some 
nice man and let him have the privilege of fucking you blind."

I whimpered. I put my left hand behind me and kind of fingered my hole.

"Yeah, son, play with that virgin cunt. And beat off for me. Let me watch 
you cum, and you do the same."

I just nodded my head as I did what he told me. We were staring in each 
other's eyes, and then looking at our jacking hands, and then eyes again. He 
crouched a little and moved closer to me so his fat cock head was resting on 
my tummy. "Son, let daddy rest his dick on you, and cum all over your teen 
boy belly. And then you can cum in daddy's hand. Would you do that for 
daddy?"

So I wasn't gonna suck or get sucked, or fuck or get fucked. I was still in 
seventh heaven and I don't mean the TV show. My "yes" was more whimper than 
anything else. We both started jacking harder and faster.

"C'mon, son, work that cock. Watch daddy jerking his meat, pay attention 
boy, 'cause I'm just about to...." And with that his piss slit just opened 
wide and he started shooting out freakin' cannonballs of hot slimy cum, 
spattering my tits, my navel and my pubes and every freakin' point of the 
compass in between.

He was panting real hard, but no harder than me and the feel of my first man 
cum on my skin sent me over the edge in no time at all. I barely got my left 
hand up in time to catch my sperms in my palm. And just like that I was all 
-- so to speak -- fucked out.

The captain stroked his cock so that the last of his cum oozed out on me and 
then dropped to his knees. He held me by my butt cheeks and then proceeded 
to very rapidly lick every bit of cum off of me. That was a turn on and I 
really wanted to get hard again, but I couldn't. Then he very gently took my 
left hand, turned it palm up, had me open my fingers and licked up all of my 
cum, too. I shivered and sighed loudly.

He dropped back on his haunches and looked at me. There was, what, something 
nervous in his face? Well, shit, yeah. We'd just had a quick jack-off 
session in a public toilet and someone could walk in any second and fuck us 
both over big time. "Please," he said, "don't tell anyone about this."

I just said "hell, no," as I bent forward to get my tee-shirt back in place. 
Still bent over I went all the way, grabbed my jeans and started pulling 
them back up. He stood up, too, tucked his still impressive prick back in 
his trousers and zipped up. He went through the door, over to a sink and 
washed his hands. I did the same, and we walked out together. Two cool guys. 
All fine. If you didn't notice how flushed my skin was, and it wasn't the 
embarrassment blush. It was the I just had sex with my first man flush.

He guided me back to the gate, introduced me to a younger man, maybe in his 
twenties, who was going to be "my" flight attendant. I was still puzzling 
that one over when "my" flight attendant led me down the walkway, through 
the door and into the plane.

Only it wasn't a plane. It was someone's home. A rich someone. Very rich. 
There was this huge living room like space with big soft leather chairs that 
looked like they could swivel, and all of them with seatbelts. A big flat 
screen TV. A computer. All sorts of other stuff. Even a bar. I just stopped 
and stared until the attendant nudged me forward.

"Once we are airborne, you may use all of the facilities, young sir." He 
gestured toward the obvious ones I could see. "Further back you will find a 
toilet, and a shower if you need one, although it can't be a long one. And 
there is a bedroom, if you would care to nap while we're in the air. And 
now, young sir, if you will take this chair -- " he pointed toward a large 
grey leather one off to one side, "and fasten your seatbelt, we'll be taking 
off very shortly."

I walked over, sat down, and started to buckle up as I asked, "But what 
about the other passengers?"

"Oh, there are none, sir. Mr. Harris sent the plane for you."

Holy fucking shit. Uncle Max did send a freakin' private jet just for me. 
Damn, my first airplane flight and I'm not traveling first class, I'm 
traveling first class freakin' squared, cubed, to the nth degree. Holy shit! 
I laughed out loud which just made the attendant look at me from his equally 
comfortable chair and smile.

Once we were in the air, the attendant went...uh...forward, yeah, forward 
toward the cockpit and a couple of minutes later came back with four 
nine-by-twelve envelopes, each one hand-numbered. "Young sir, these are from 
your uncle. He asks that you read them as he has numbered them. Once you are 
finished, you can proceed to...move about the cabin, as they say. Any 
questions about whatever is in the envelopes, and I have no idea what that 
may be, will have to wait for Mr. Harris. All right?"

I nodded and he handed them to me. I opened the first one. It had a single 
sheet of paper, really thick, expensive stuff. The handwriting was in black 
ink. Very bold looking, almost calligraphy in a way. Really easy to read. 
Even without focusing on the actual words I somehow knew that Uncle Max had 
written this himself.

"My dear Danny,

"I have waited a long time to see you again, and it won't be all that many 
hours now, before I do. As I write this, I don't know how many envelopes 
were given to you. The number of envelopes depends on various things, and 
Captain Morgan has given you certain envelopes according to my instructions 
to him. There should be no more than four envelopes.

"If this is the only envelope you have, you must not feel bad. You haven't 
done anything wrong. All it means is that events didn't develop the way I 
expected them to. On the other hand, I really don't think I'm wrong -- I 
rarely am about people, well, other than my brother -- so I fully expect to 
hear from you that you had four envelopes.

"As you open them and examine the contents, please remember that unlike God, 
who can't or won't act directly to accomplish anything, with money, all 
things are possible. I know your mother has told you I have more money than 
God, which is entirely possible, but we haven't exchanged financial data to 
determine whether that's true or not. I think what you will see in the other 
envelopes will surprise you, indeed, I know it will, but I think you will 
also be pleased and even, I expect, excited, too.

"Regardless of whether you open any more envelopes or not, please believe me 
when I say that you are coming to me because I wanted you to do so, very 
much. I believe you are going to enjoy living with all of us, and will fit 
right in.

"I look forward to welcoming you soon.

"Your loving uncle."

And then there was this big signature of "Max."

Double, triple, wow!

I didn't waste any time opening the first envelope. Another hand written 
letter.

"Dear Danny,

"Of course you remember what you just read a moment ago (or at least I think 
you have since I do expect you to be reading this) about money.

"If you have no money, you can't do a thing unless someone else provides you 
money, by gift or by earning it. Personally, I prefer earning it. If you 
have some money, you can live a decent life. More money, and a better life. 
A vast amount more than that and an extraordinary life, and with that 
extraordinary life comes the ability to do things 'ordinary' people, those 
with less money and therefore less power than you, can't do. Beyond that, 
there is a realm of wealth where little if anything could be denied you if 
you really wanted it. The latter is the kind of wealth I have, although 
there are comparatively few who really know or understand that.

"My family does. Not Tom, he left all this years ago. But my boys certainly 
do, or are growing into that knowledge. Now you will have that knowledge as 
well. And as they say, knowledge is power. And I know a lot about you, 
Danny.

"For example, I know that you want to turn your tight little asshole into an 
easily-fucked boy cunt, and have a man open you up. I know you want to turn 
your mouth into a cum dump able to deep throat just about every dick that's 
shoved down it. I know you want a man to suck you -- frequently. I know you 
want to know what it feels like to plow a man's ass, too. In other words, I 
know that you're a faggot slut at heart, even if you're not one yet in 
reality."

My hands were shaking so hard, I had to shut my eyes and get control of 
myself. How? But nobody could. But. I forced my hands to still and loosen 
their grip on the now slightly crumpled pages. I forced myself to read.

"I know about all the stories you've downloaded from Nifty and Perverts 'R 
Us and other places. I'd already read most of them myself, and enjoyed 
reading the ones that intrigued you that were new to me. I know about your 
pics, and the ones with all the men, white, black, Latin, Asian, big cocked. 
I know about your computer diary and how much you want to become a slut, and 
how afraid you are, and how shy when you're out in the world.

"Sluts aren't shy, Danny. And if you really want to achieve that goal, 
you'll have to overcome that shyness. Of course, I'll be there to help you.

"You're probably wondering how I know all this. Money, Danny. I had someone 
hack into your computer and I suspect there are very few things now on your 
laptop that I don't already have a copy of. Invasion of privacy? Certainly. 
But I needed to know who you really were, and are, before inviting you to 
come live with me. I had to be reasonably certain that you would like what I 
have to offer, and since I am confident you are reading this second letter, 
then I was proven right.

"Are you hard right now, Danny? Does the unknown make you wonder and feel 
sexy, when it's coupled with the knowledge that if you work hard, you'll get 
what you really want?

"Here's your first lesson in being a slut, Danny. If you truly want to be 
one, you'll unbuckle your seatbelt if you haven't already, get out of the 
chair, open your pants, and get out your stiff cock and balls so that Eddie 
(that's your flight attendant's name) can see them. Then ask him, very 
politely, if you can jack him off. All Eddie knows is that you may or may 
not ask him to do something. If you do ask, I've told him to agree to 
whatever you request.

"It's up to you. Eddie has also been told, and I know you're aware he's 
watching you, that if you don't ask him to do something before you start to 
open the next envelope, he's to take the other envelope(s) away and give 
them back to the captain. One more thing, if you go ahead, you are to jack 
Eddie off so that he cums all over whatever you are wearing. I selected 
Eddie because he cums more than just about any man I know, except perhaps 
me, and eventually, your oldest cousin. When he's done, tell him to leave 
his cock and balls hanging out and to go sit down again. You are not to 
clean yourself up and neither is he. And you are to leave your own prick out 
in the open when you sit down again to continue reading.

"Well, Danny, what's it to be? One small step for a boy, one large step for 
slut-kind?"

I inhaled sharply. I thought the sex in the toilet was a turn on. I sure 
didn't know what being sexed up was. And all I've been doing so far was hand 
jobs. If actual sex, sucking and fucking kind of sex, was any more intense 
I'm gonna make medical history. First fuckin' fourteen-year-old to have a 
freakin' coronary during sex.

I put the second letter and the envelopes on the table beside the chair. I 
unbuckled, stood up, popped my buttons yet again and hauled out all five or 
so inches of my achingly hard cock. I was beginning to think that maybe my 
size wasn't so bad after all. Eddie gave me a huge smile, and a wink, and 
then said "Nice meat, guy."

Fucking Christ. Two adults who liked my dick. Okay. Next step. "I'm gonna 
jack you off." Oops. Not a request, more of a, well it actually was, an 
order. I opened my mouth to make it a question but Eddie forestalled me.

"Hell, yes," the attendant said and immediately unzipped and tugged his cock 
and balls out into the air. Nice meat. Seven inches, I guess, but what the 
fuck do I know about cock sizes on men? Or teens. Or little boys. Thicker 
than me, for damn sure, but not some huge thing no one could ever take up 
the ass or down into my mouth. I guess.

I gestured him to move closer and then tried to figure out how to do this. 
Well, I've never jacked off anyone else, much less a man, but I know the 
damn mechanics, and Uncle Max wants me all cummed up. I played with Eddie's 
dick and balls for a minute, getting the feel of them, the heat, the 
hard/soft feeling of his cock. Then I sat down and told Eddie to straddle my 
legs, bend at the knees to brace them on the chair, and then drop back a 
little so that his cock was basically thrust out above mine.

"You cum a lot?" I asked, rather than repeat what Uncle Max told me.

"Oh, yeah, kid. A whole fucking lot."

Great. Apparently I stop being "young sir" when I'm jacking someone off. 
What kind of names am I gonna be called when/if my pussy is all opened up 
and I'm getting fucked? I smiled and reached my hand out and started 
stroking. It was a little bit awkward, but I told Eddie -- this "telling" 
thing was kind of fun -- to tell me what worked, what didn't, since I'd 
never done this before and I wanted Eddie to like it. The idea of a virgin 
jacking him off obviously made Eddie hornier than ever considering the 
sudden spurt of precum.

Okay, I was nervous, I was awkward, my strokes were uncertain, but stroke by 
stroke, paying attention to what Eddie liked, I adjusted what I was doing 
until Eddie was moaning, and reaching up to twist his own tits through his 
shirt, and starting to gasp for air and then he shouted out he was cumming 
-- and did just that. Keeping a just-right hold on the spewing cock, and 
still continuing to stroke, I made sure my tee and jeans were thoroughly 
spattered. And when Eddie finally touched my hand and said, "Wow, thanks, 
kid. But enough. Please," I let loose.

Eddie stood up on wobbly knees. I looked down at myself. Cum, cum, 
everywhere and not a drop of cum to taste. Hell, there was even a glob on 
the end of my dick. Then I looked at my hand, which had several thick blobs 
on it. What was I supposed to do with that? Uncle Max hadn't said what to do 
if I got cum on myself.

Well, hell. What would a boy slut do? Wipe it off on his tee or his jeans 
and add it to the other stains, or lick it up and see what a man's cum 
tastes like? I just had to see if it was finger-lickin' good.

It was. Thick, slimy, only slightly warm, faintly bleachy, but still kind of 
sweet. Oh, yeah, I definitely loved my first taste of cum other than my own. 
After licking up every last drop, I told Eddie to leave his cock and balls 
out and to go sit down again. I picked up the letter, and continued to read.

"Well done, Danny. I'm sure you did what I said. And I'm equally sure that 
if you got any of Eddie's cum on your hand, you sucked it off, rather than 
wipe it on your clothes. Just what a good slut would do.

"Now, you have one last thing to do in this letter. If you're reading this 
it's because you had sex of some sort with Captain Morgan in the airport 
toilet. I think you're a virgin, but it wasn't always possible to have you 
watched 24/7/365, so perhaps you did slip out and have your asshole opened 
or your mouth fucked. If you have, then Captain Morgan had permission to do 
whatever had already been done to you. So before you got on the plane, you 
may have been swallowing his cum -- it tastes quite good -- or having his 
meat shoved up your hole and letting him fill you that way. But if you 
were/are a virgin, he was to find out if you would jack off into the urinal 
while watching him do the same thing.

"So, tell Eddie now what you did, if anything, with Captain Morgan in that 
toilet."

Another great big shit fuck damn hell. It sounded like Captain Morgan and I 
were just supposed to jack off into the urinals, side by side, watching each 
other. But fuck, we did more than that. So that's what the nervous look was 
for. Captain Morgan did more than what he was supposed to. That's why he 
asked me not to say anything. Now what the fuck was I supposed to do? This 
was Uncle Max, and I didn't want to screw up by lying to him, well, hell, 
all boys lie to adults, but I wanted to have my own reason for doing so, 
sometime down the line, not right at first. But still, I'd promised the 
captain. Shit fuck shit!

Okay. How about this. "Eddie, when Captain Morgan and I were in the toilet 
at the airport we jacked off. Not each other, just doing ourselves, until we 
both came."

Eddie just nodded, but his hand squeezed his dick, which twitched and 
plumped up a little.

I looked back at the envelope. That last line told me to open the third 
envelope if I had been given one. Another bold signature.

As I did so, I noticed Eddie was kind of jacking lightly again, and was just 
putting down an empty bottle of water. Which reminded me that I was thirsty, 
but then, I was supposed to have something to eat or drink after I was done 
with the envelopes.

Another letter. No greeting this time. Just words that hit me like a punch 
in the gut.

"How does it feel to be a pedophile, Danny?

"How does it feel to be a disgusting pervert who wants to sex little boys? 
Not boys your own age, but younger. What? Five, six, seven? Would you go 
lower than that? According to those pics, you've been fantasizing about much 
younger than that, in fact, a great deal younger. How old is that naked 
little baby boy in that old black and white picture, sitting on his daddy's 
knees picture with his tiny plump legs spread wide? Is he two? One? How many 
times did you look at that pic on your screen and jack off in the almost 
dark, like you figured you'd get caught if there was a light on, even though 
your door was locked? At last count, you've jacked off more than a hundred 
times with that pic on the screen as the last one you looked at when you 
were cumming."

At last count? Uncle Max knew how many times I jacked off in front of my 
computer? And what I was looking at? Oh, Christ. And he thinks I'm 
disgusting. I started to sob, but realized I couldn't let myself go. By 
taking the envelopes I pretty much agreed to look at whatever was inside, 
and obviously I'd been doing what Uncle Max wanted so far. So I had to 
finish this letter, no matter how much it hurt. And oh Jesus did it ever 
hurt.

"I won't even get into the stories you jacked off to. Though 'Three Men and 
a Baby' seems to have been a recent favorite. Were you imagining that the 
baby girl in that story was a baby boy, and you were one of the men sexing 
her?

"I told you money made things happen. So I know that unless you've had sex 
with a little boy unknown to me, you're a damned pedo wannabe. You can't 
just be content to be a cocksucking, fuck-my-ass boy slut for teens and men, 
you have to perv on little kids and want to do the same things to them that 
you want men to do to you.

"Is that really what you are, Danny? A fucking pedo just waiting for a 
chance to fuck some tight, hot, tiny little boy ass, shove your teen dick 
down his young throat? If that's what you are, then you have to tell Eddie 
just what you are. He knows that when you're through with this letter, if 
you don't tell him something about yourself, you don't get the last 
envelope.

"Tell Eddie, Danny, tell Eddie what you really are. Or don't. What happens 
is up to you."

And another signature, but somehow this one seemed darker, wider, blacker.

I couldn't help my tears. I just couldn't. I thought maybe things were going 
to work out for me after all, but it was pretty clear that while Uncle Max 
would probably have been okay with me having sex with other teens and men, 
wanting what I wanted with little boys was really disgusting. So he was 
probably gonna turn around and send me right back to mom, and let her deal 
with me.

I sniffed back some tears and looked at Eddie. "Uh-uh-uncle Max told me to 
tell you what I am. I, uh, oh Jesus, I'm a pedophile, Eddie. I don't want to 
just learn to have sex with men like you or other boys my age. I want to 
have sex with little boys. Very young boys. Maybe even babies. I want to 
fuck their tiny asses and their tiny mouths, and get as much of my dick 
inside as I can before I cum. I even thought how hot it would be to have 
teens and men watch me, and maybe fuck me while I was doing a kid, or make 
me suck them off, or cum on me, or whatever. So, so now you know."

I wasn't really seeing Eddie until I stopped talking, and then my mouth 
dropped open. Eddie was hard again, and he was jacking his cock furiously 
and twisting his left tit really, really hard. He looked right at me. "Max 
said it was okay to jack off if you told me something that turned me on. 
Christ, did that ever fucking turn me on. Oh yeah, kid, I want to be one of 
the guys watching you sex a little boy, fuck his hot little ass, fuck your 
hot hole while you're doin' it, fill you with, oh shit, oh Christ, I'm 
fuckin' cumming!" And with that he spewed another load of cum 
every-fucking-where. His face, his clothes, the floor, his hand. When he 
finally stopped pumping spooge, he slumped back in his chair.

"Damn, kid, but you're gonna be good."

He must have seen the confusion on my face because he just gestured at the 
last envelope.

I was so nervous I partly ripped the letter that was inside. There was also 
a smaller sealed envelope.

"My dear Danny,

"If you're reading this, you just told Eddie, as he will later tell me, in 
somewhat graphic detail that even though you're still a virgin, you're a 
pedo and a fag. You want sex and lots of it with men, teens and very young 
little boys.

"Welcome to the family.

"Your Uncle Max is a pedo, too. So is your grandfather Jonathan. Yes, I know 
my brother always told you he was dead, and told your mother, too. Another 
of his lies, and Dad and I just decided to leave it that way until the time 
was right. Like now.

"So there are just two more things for you to do. First, look at the 
pictures in the envelope, and then start the next page of this letter."

I opened the envelope. A bunch of color five-by-sevens came out. Jesus 
fucking Christ. They were pictures of a young boy wearing a loose shirt, and 
shorts and tennis shoes and socks. The face was blurry, but he couldn't be 
more than four or five. It was a series of photos, and as the photos 
progressed a man's hand became visible removing each item of clothing until 
the boy was naked. And obviously enjoying himself, since his tiny little 
dick was hard. Barely visible, but still definitely hard.

Then a man's face appeared. I couldn't tell who it was, but it was clear 
from the sequence that he was sucking on the boy's little dick and balls. 
Then a couple shots of this huge cock in the boy's face, and the boy held 
onto it with both hands and was slurping on the knob end. And then it was 
just the little boy, with a man's hand fondling him, and holy fucking 
Christ, the man's finger was up inside the boy's hole. And the boy was still 
enjoying it. There were a couple more shots of the boy with the man's 
forefinger in various in and out positions inside the kid's ass. The last 
shot was of the boy sort of sitting up, most likely with that finger in his 
hole, and spewing little boy piss in the man's face. That was the last one. 
Shaking, I set them down, and picked up the letter again.

"Do you remember when I came to see you when you were almost five, Danny? We 
had a really good visit, and you really enjoyed the time we spent together. 
That's you in the pictures. And me. Father Paul, your cousins' tutor, took 
the photos. Good, isn't he?

"So now the last thing for me. You may not remember pissing on me, but I do. 
And since I'm sure you're thirsty by now, and since I can't be there, Eddie 
is going to substitute for me. Go into the bathroom, sit on the toilet fully 
dressed, with your dick out of your pants, jacking off. Eddie is going to 
piss on you, Danny, and give you your first taste of man piss. And I want 
you to cum for me while he does. You can even put your lips around his dick 
and be his own private urinal if you want.

"And when you're done, come back to the main cabin. Don't clean up. I want 
you just the way you are when you get off the plane. You can relax, eat, 
have something to drink for the rest of the trip, but a slut doesn't clean 
up until he's told it's okay. And that is what you want to be, isn't it, 
Danny? A pedo fag slut?"

No signature.

I looked through the pictures again, wishing like hell I could actually 
remember it happening. I stood up, with my dick sticking out still. I told 
Eddie I needed him to piss on me and to lead me to the toilet. He had a huge 
grin on his face.

Eddie added some stuff to doing it in the toilet, though. It woulda been 
nice if he did it because he was really hot for me, and 'cause he wanted to, 
but I know he was just doin' what Uncle Max told him to do. But fuck me it 
was hot.

Before we left the, well, what the hell, the living room, he asked if he 
could look at the pics. Uncle Max didn't say anything about keepin' them a 
secret, well, at least not on his own freakin' plane, it's not like I'm 
gonna run through the airport wavin' the damn things and yellin' for people 
to come look at my uncle finger-fucking me when I was five, and suckin' on 
me, and drinkin' down my boy-piss.

Naturally I was watchin' Eddie's dick when he started lookin' at the pics. 
Damn but he got hard fast. Which made me wonder how he was gonna piss 
through a stiffy. I never could but maybe that's an adult thing. Anyway, 
y'know how when you're horny you get this, this feeling in your crotch and 
you kinda pull your hips back and you reach down and grope yourself if no 
one's lookin'? That's what Eddie did. Then he just put the pics down without 
a word and took me to the bathroom.

He had me stand in front of the toilet and he leaned over me and played hard 
with my tits.  Had me moanin' and groanin' right away. And he kept talkin' 
to me, hell, all the way through it.

He told me how fuckin' turned on he was by the pics of a young boy getting' 
sexed. How he liked boy sex. Especially when the little boy was gettin' 
sexed by a relative, like a daddy, or a grandpa, or like here, an uncle. How 
Max had told him once about having "good" pics of his nephew, so he had to 
figure that the pics in the envelope were me and Uncle Max. How fuckin' hot 
that made him to be doin' tit work on a teen version of the boy in the pics.

He took my tits I guess past the pain to where it was just turnin' me on 
like fuckin' crazy. 'n then he stopped and almost shoved me down on the 
seat.

He told me to start jacking and then shut his eyes, I guess so he could 
think of somethin' to help him piss. Must've worked 'cause it wasn't very 
long before a little bit of piss spurted out on my chest. He told me to look 
up at him. And then he started pissing on me. Talking, too.

I guess he hadn't pissed in like a year or something.

"You're a fuckin' pedo slut wanna be, aren't you, boy. Fuck, you admitted it 
to me, real proud of it, too. Probably been finding porn pics on the Net of 
little boys and jacking off to 'em. You got that laptop of yours filled with 
hot kid porn?

"Oh yeah, boy, I know you've been jackin' off to that pedo filth. Imagining 
you putting that boy cock into the mouth of some six or seven year old, 
letting him, making him suck you off. Turning him on his belly and ramming 
your teen cock up his tight tiny hole. Turning him over again so you can 
watch his face while you fuck him hard and he gets all those dry cums in a 
row until you fill his ass with teen boy slime."

Jesus. He soaked my clothes, my hair, my face, my cock and balls, all the 
while I was frantically beating my own meat and listening to him spew all 
that nastiness at me.

Then he stopped pissing, just held his half-hard dick.

"I need a urinal, kid. A teen toilet. Lean forward and put your fucking 
pouty slut lips on my cock. Oh, yeah, kid, feels fucking good. Now swallow 
every fucking drop down."

He started pissing again. Hard. It was bitter. I'd tried tasting my own piss 
before but it wasn't like this. The smell and taste made me want to puke, 
sort of, but I still wanted it. Wanted to be his toilet. I was in this haze 
when he kept on talking, sucking down piss, balancing myself with my left 
hand on his thigh, jacking my little cock really hard and fast. "Drink my 
fucking piss, you pedo slut. Filthy teen whore. You'd probably stoop to 
suckin' off a little baby, wouldn't you, if anybody gave you half a chance."

I had my eyes open and I guess he saw that kind of "fuckin' Christ yes" look 
in them. "Yeah, pedo boy, thought so. Now cum, you fuckin' slut."

I did. My first time to be a toilet for a hot stud man and I just started 
cumming. Lots. I mean a fucking lot. It was almost like I hadn't already cum 
however the fuck many times it was since the jack off in the airport.

When I was done cumming and he was done pissing, I kept my mouth open like a 
good toilet while he shook off the last few drops onto my tongue. At least 
there wasn't any cleaning up to do. Stinking of piss and cum, stained 
everywhere, and very, very happy, the empty part all bright, I went back to 
the main cabin. Eddie pulled out a cover for the leather chair so I didn't 
mess it up. And suddenly I was "young sir" again, as if all this hadn't 
happened.

A little while later, as I took the first bite of this humongous steak and 
onion sandwich, I thought, "How long this time?"

_________________________________________________________________
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