Date: Tue, 14 Jul 2015 13:14:18 +0000 (UTC)
From: Koos Smit <kooss@rocketmail.com>
Subject: KRIS

Kris

Chapter 1

It is a lazy summer Sunday on my farm at the foot of the Magaliesberg
mountains in South Africa.  I am sitting in a comfortable cushioned wicker
chair on the wide front patio of my house, naked and wet from having just
got out of the swimming pool.  My bare feet are up on an ottoman as I suck
at a cold beer.  I watch my 13 year old son, Kris, as he cavorts
boisterously in the sparkling blue pool set in the great expanse of lawn
surrounding the house.  He seems to be trying to empty out all the water by
dive-bombing the pool repeatedly and is making enough noise for a whole
rugby team in the process!

Apart from house servants and farm employees Kris and I live alone together
on the farm.  His mother was a cute young backpacker whom I met in a pub
when I was young and stupid and on holiday in Cape Town.  Though I am now
firmly settled in a gay sexual orientation, in those days I was still
experimenting and in that pub on that night I thought that if I was ever
going to be straight it was going to be with that stunningly sexy blonde 18
year-old.  We spent the night having passionate sex in my hotel room, both
of us too pissed to think about protection.  In the morning, before I woke,
she left without saying a word ... but with my wallet.  Her name was Erika.

One night, eight years later, she pitched up at the door of my apartment in
upmarket Sandton in Johannesburg.  I did not recognise her at first: She
was painfully thin and she looked haggard and tired.  It was a great shock
when recognition finally dawned on me.  In one hand she held a scruffy old
canvas rucsac and in her other she held the hand of a sturdy barefooted
little boy about eight years old.  His eyes were bright blue, like Erika's,
and his mop of hair was almost white blonde.  His eyebrows were light tufts
of silvery down against the golden brown skin of his face.  He was almost
breathtakingly beautiful and by contrast with Erika he looked healthy and
happy, if a little grubby.  He seemed a friendly and confident little
fellow who had clearly inherited his mother's former Nordic beauty.

After having something to eat and drink she perched uncomfortably on the
edge of the sofa and, while the boy settled down to watch the cartoon
channel in another room, she told me her story.

She started by apologising wryly for having stolen my wallet eight years
before.  She still had it and she fished it out of the rucsac to hand to
me.  It was how she had found me, she said.

After she had left me eight years before she fell in with a group of
hippies who had bought an old Toyota minivan which they used to tour the
seaside towns over the next several months.  At some point she realised
that she was pregnant.  She gave birth to Kris in a government hospital in
Durban.  She had run out of money.  She had no family and no support.  She
took to prostitution to feed herself and her son and put a roof over their
heads.  She got into using hard drugs.  She finally reached the point at
which she realised that she could not provide for Kris anymore.  She was on
the point of surrendering Kris to Child Welfare to be placed in foster care
when she recognised me in a television news interview about one of my
business projects.  She realised that I was financially well placed to care
for Kris and within a month she had tracked me down in Johannesburg.

I had seen at once where she was going with this and I laughed out aloud.

`Next you will be telling me that Kris is my son!', I said.

She looked at me in surprise.

`He is your son!', she said, `Can't you see the likeness?'

`He is a beautiful boy, but that's all yours, not mine!', I replied.

`He's your son!', she repeated, `Like it or not!'

`How can you be sure?', I asked, `We were one night of fun and I am pretty
sure there were others you slept with in that time!'

`There were others on that trip, before you and after you, but a woman
knows ...', she replied.

`You can do a DNA test if you don't believe me!' she added.

`Well ... we can talk about that later', I said, `There are bigger
problems, though ... I am a single guy and I am gay ... How am I supposed
to look after and bring up an eight year old kid?'

`I've always known you were gay', she said, `It's the main reason I did not
come to you earlier ... but now Kris needs you.  Would you be happy knowing
your son is in foster care somewhere?'

`What do you mean, you have always known?  How could you have known?  I
barely knew myself!'

`A woman knows ...', she replied.

She looked at me a moment, hesitating as if unsure whether to say something
more, and then said:

`And anyway ... Kris is also gay ... so ... there is a lot you can teach
him and help him with ... you know?  You should get along fine'

`He's only eight years old for crying out aloud!  What could he possibly
know about sex?'

She rolled her eyes:

`When you grow up in a one room flat on Point Road with a mother doing
tricks you learn plenty about sex, believe me', she said bitterly.

`Even so, how can you say he's gay?', I insist.

She looked at me pityingly.

`Okay, let me guess!' I said, `"A mother knows"?'

`That's right ... a mother knows!', she replied.  After a moment's thought
she added:

`You know you don't choose to be gay, right?  You're born that way ... some
guys only know it later and others know it from early on.  Many know but
never accept it.  But mothers always know almost from the start.  You only
came to know it later but Kris has known from an early age.  And I have
never discouraged him or made him feel it was abnormal.  It's important
that you know this if you are going to be his father'.

By then my head was ringing, so I suggested we discuss it further in the
morning.  Erika accepted my offer to sleep over in my guest room.

I should have known better.  When I woke early the next morning, Erika was
gone and she had left Kris behind with the canvas rucsac containing all his
worldly possessions.  Also in the rucsac I found a brown official envelope
containing Kris's birth certificate.  My name was given as Kris's father on
the certificate.

I sat a long while on the bed with the birth certificate in my hand,
looking down at the sleeping boy.  Erika had spent a long time tenderly and
lovingly bathing and shampooing him, clipping his nails and brushing his
hair before putting him to bed.  She obviously knew then already that she
would not be seeing him again.

As I watched him, Kris rolled over onto his belly, kicking the covers off
as he did so.  I smiled to see that, like me, he slept in the nude.  From
his deep golden all-over tan it was evident that he was not a fan of
wearing clothes at all ... again rather like me, and I wondered if such
preferences could be genetic.  Given what Erika had told me about his
sexual orientation it was certainly looking that way.

I reached out and lightly stroked his warm brown back.  He seemed to purr
for a moment and then stretched himself out like a cat before rolling over
and opening his eyes to smile at me.  He had a morning woodie that was
really cute ... actually quite impressive for his age ... and I smiled at
the thought that passed through my head that here was yet another
indication that Kris might actually be my son.

Kris fingered his woodie openly and without embarrassment as he looked up
at me.

`Mom says you're my dad', he announced matter-of-factly.

`Would you like that?', I asked.

`I dunno", he replied.

`Well ... fair enough ... how would you know?', I said.

And that was how Kris came into my life.  He crept into my heart on that
first morning when he woke and smiled his beautiful wide smile at me.  With
his blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful golden brown body and charming smile,
he was the personification of childlike innocence.

Later I would discover that Kris was far from being an `innocent' child in
the conventional sense.  I realised then that it was Providence that had
brought him to me on that day.  He would never have been able to fit into a
so-called `normal' family.  He would have been regarded as irremediably
perverted and would have spent his childhood in care.  But that need not
concern us at this stage of Kris's story.

I decided then and there to accept the birth certificate at face value.  He
was my son from that moment on.  I never did get a DNA test ... partly
because I was afraid it might prove that I was not his natural father
... but mostly because I knew it would make no difference.

We never saw Kris's mother again.  At one time I hired a detective to find
her.  He reported that she had died of a drug overdose not long after she
had left Kris with me.

I bought the farm a few months after Kris came to live with me.  Living the
life he had been with Erica, Kris was disconcertingly streetwise at eight
years of age.  I wanted to take him as far away as possible from those
influences and I thought that life in the country would be the ideal
environment for any young boy.  I enrolled him in the local primary school
where all the farmers' kids went and he flourished there.  He was a natural
leader who did well academically and who was good at sport.  Big for his
age, strong and extremely good-looking, he was a great favourite among both
teachers and schoolmates.

I am putting these memories through my thoughts as I watch Kris playing in
the pool, the bright sun glinting off his naked body as he twists and
tumbles in the water.

Suddenly Kris stops and pulls himself up on the side of the pool to stare
down the long tree-lined gravel road that leads up the house from the road
gate.  I sit up and turn to see what he is looking at.

A teenage boy is trudging up the road toward the house.  The boy is a
stranger, so as he comes up to the veranda I pick up a towel to wrap around
my waist.  The boy greets me with a little wave of his hand.  He looks
nervous, as if he expects me to chase him away.

`Hello Uncle', the boy says.

I recognise him then as the boy Kris and I have seen a few times lately
doing odd jobs around the petrol station down the road; sweeping the
forecourt, stacking old car tyres, washing car windows and the like.  Like
most of the boys in the area he is always barefoot, but what struck Kris
and I as odd was that, despite the heat, he always wears a black fake
leather lumber jacket that is too big for him and a tatty pair of jeans
that are too small for him.

Today he is wearing exactly the same clothes.  I am sorry for him.  He must
feel like he is in a sauna. He is slightly bigger than Kris but looks about
the same age ... thirteen or fourteen would be my guess.  He has a hunted
look, almost feral, and I notice that his fists are balled, as if expecting
to have to defend himself at any moment.  Under the scruffy clothes I can
see, though, that he is sturdily made.  His legs and his butt fill his
jeans tightly and his body is well-proportioned.  A shaggy mop of dirty,
sand-coloured hair, now spiky with perspiration, frames his head.  Deep
blue eyes look out warily from a broad and handsome face though just now it
is flushed with heat and exertion and streaked with grime and sweat.

`Hello', I reply, `What brings you here?'

`Uncle, my name is Nik, and I'm looking for work and a place to stay', the
boy says.

By now Kris is out of the pool and is standing on the cool tiles of the
patio, quite unabashedly naked and dripping a puddle of water as he eyes
Nik.  Nik is unfazed by Kris's nakedness but I detect a flicker of
admiration as he eyes Kris's generously endowed crotch.

`How old are you, Nik?', I ask.

`I'm sixteen, Uncle', he replies, tearing his eyes away from Kris's sex
tackle.

`Really?  I would have said you were thirteen or fourteen'.

`I know you got to be sixteen to get a job Uncle ... Don't you?', he
replies

`Ah ...', I say, `Okay ... I understand'.

I look into his troubled eyes a moment.

`Look, Nik', I say, `Honesty is very important to me ... Don't tell me
you're sixteen if you are not ... Be straight with me.  Every problem can
be solved, but we have to have the right information to start with,
otherwise we are trying to solve the wrong problem.  Understand?'

Nik blushes bright red.

`I understand Uncle ... I'm sorry ... I'm really fourteen'

`Okay, that's better ... Where are you from?', I ask.

`I'm from the West Rand', he says vaguely.

`But why are you not at home?  Shouldn't you be at school rather than
looking for work?'

`My mom chased me out the house, Uncle, an' I haven't got money for school
fees an' books an' uniforms'.

I ponder this for a moment.

`But where are you living now ... I've seen you at the petrol station the
last week or so'.

`Uncle I been living in the oil store at the petrol station but the owner
chucked me out.  I been walking and calling at the farms to ask for a place
to sleep and for work, but the farmers chase me away.  They say I look like
a skelm!'  (good-for-nothing), he says, indignantly.

I smile, thinking my neighbours have a point but I refrain from saying so.

`Why are you always wearing those clothes in this heat?  Aren't you hot?',
Kris interjects.

Nik blushes.

`It's all the clothes I got, he says, defensively.

`Ja, but why you wear a jacket?  Why not just wear a shirt!', Kris insists,
ignoring me as I shake my head at him.

For answer Nik unzips his plastic jacket and opens it to expose his
shirtless torso, smooth, white and wet with perspiration.

`I haven't got a shirt!', he says, defiantly.

Nik leaves his jacket hanging open, giving us tantalising glimpses of
rippling abs and well-developed pecs as he shifts his weight from one
leathery heel to the other.

Now it is Kris's turn to look interested and I have to confess that I feel
a little flicker of interest myself.

`Dad, you know I need a stable boy to look after my ponies and do stuff for
me.  And when Ryan goes back to college you're gonna be short-handed in the
stables anyway', says Kris.

Ryan is an 18 year old agricultural college student on a bursary provided
by one of my companies.  He has been spending part of his summer vacation
working in my stables to earn some extra pocket money.  He is also expected
to attend to some of my more personal needs - it is not for nothing that I
personally choose the bursary candidates in a fairly rigorous and unusual
selection process and it is no coincidence that the successful candidates
are always exceptionally attractive young gay men.  Soon he will be going
back to college.

`Do you know anything about horses?', I ask Nik.

`No Uncle, I'm sorry', he replies.

`Ryan can teach him, Dad', says Kris.  Kris is obviously keen that Nik
stays and, knowing my horny son as well as I do, I am pretty sure it has
nothing to do with his concern for the staffing of the stables.

`Well, there you are Nik ... if you want it, you can work for my son as a
stable boy', I say.

The relief in Nik's face is immediate and joyful to behold.  Unable to
contain himself he jumps forward and throws his arms around me.

`Thank you, Uncle!  Thank you!  Thank you!', he says fervently.

I gently prise him off me.

`Don't thank me, thank Kris ... he's the one who hired you!'

Nik shakes Kris's hand a little awkwardly.

`Thanks, boss!', he laughs.

`Let's see if you're still thankful in a week's time', I smile, `Kris can
be a tough master to please!'

`I'm tough too, Uncle, I can take anything!', says Nik.

`I'm sure you are ... you look it', I say, and then I go on: `Okay Nik
... first things first ... I want you to take those clothes off right here
and now.  They are filthy, they smell bad and they are and they don't fit
you anyway.  They need to be burned.  You will get some work clothes for
the stable tomorrow but you can borrow some of Kris's things in the
meantime ... if you need any, that is ... we mostly go about kaalgat
(naked) on the farm.  Anyway, the most you will need in this heat is a pair
of shorts '.

Nik seems more than happy to comply, peeling off his plastic lumber jacket
and his greasy jeans in two fluid motions and dropping them on the floor.
He is not wearing underpants, so he now stands before Kris and I completely
naked.  As I had suspected, he has a well-proportioned, nicely muscled
young body.  Because he is always clothed, he has the oddest tan lines that
I have seen on a South African boy for a long time: His face and neck, feet
and ankles, hands and forearms are a dark dirty tan colour while the rest
of his body is a grubby white.  His skin is smooth and hairless and he has
a long thick white uncut penis that hangs down between his muscular thighs
like a firehose.

The familiar glint in Kris's eyes and the fact that his own equally
impressive penis is suddenly behaving like a filling hosepipe signals that
his interest in Nik has rapidly changed from curiosity to lust.  Having
spent the first eight years of his life in the home of a working prostitute
and the next five under the influence of my own pretty open sexual
lifestyle, Kris has never had any hang-ups whatsoever about his body or any
of its functions.  He has known everything there is to know about sex since
he was about six.  To him, sexual activity of any kind; whether gay,
straight, bi, solo, or kinky, is as natural as breathing.  This is an
approach that I was quick to assimilate and it has given me much happiness
and freedom since I embraced it.

`Dad, I'm gonna take Nik to my bathroom and get him cleaned up, okay?' says
Kris.

`Is that all you'll be doing?' I ask with a wink.

`That depends on Nik', he winks back.

`Just remember "the Rules"', I say, reminding him of the rules that we had
agreed for sex with strangers.

`Yes Dad! I remember!'

`I know you remember now, but I want you to remember when the little head
takes over!'

Kris rolls his eyes at me.

`You worry too much!' he says, `I still got those rubbers you bought me
when we went to that party on Dr Adrian's yacht'.

`Ja, well you never know', I reply.

I look at Nik.  If he understands what we have been alluding to he gives no
sign of it.  In any case his attention seems to be wholly focused on Kris's
lively sex tool, which suggests a strong possibility that that Kris may
soon get lucky.

`In the meantime I will drive down to the petrol station to fetch Nik's
things and let Mr Patel know that Nik will be staying with us', I announce.

Nik is visibly startled by this and his face seems to pale underneath its
grimy tan.

`Please Uncle, there's no need', he pleads, `I got no things there and that
old bastard already chased me away there!'

I look at Nik in surprise.

`Is there something you are not telling me, Nik?'

`No Uncle, I just don't want anything to do with that man!'

`Well ... okay then, I'll leave it for now', I say.

Nik is clearly relieved, and with Kris impatiently tugging at his wrist, he
turns to follow his new boss into the house.

As Nik turns away, I see his back for the first time.  For a brief moment
the only thing I notice is the sculpted marble-like beauty of his brawny
back, his firm round buttocks, his perfectly shaped thighs and his bulging
calves.  Then my eyes are drawn to the latticework of thin purple welts
that overlay his back and buttocks, some fading and others more fresh.
There are few things I enjoy more than a little BDSM from time to time, and
the sight of Nik's whip-welted back and buttocks makes my belly lurch.

I call Nik back.

`Uncle?', he asks.

`Why have you got whip marks all over your back?' I ask him.

At once Kris comes around to look at Nik's back.

`Oh cool!' is his response.

Kris is also open to a little bondage and discipline when he is in the mood
and I can see the wheels turning in his head as his fertile sexual
imagination thinks up scenarios that will allow him to discipline his
stable boy.

`Oh, that's nothing, Uncle', Nik replies, `Mr Patel beat me nearly every
day!'

`But what did you do to deserve a whipping?', I press, `If you're a bad
worker maybe I need to re-think whether I should be hiring you!'

`Mr Patel is just a hard man to work for, Uncle!', he replies.

`Yes, Dad, just leave him be now, we're gonna go bath', Kris says
impatiently.

By now Kris's cock is standing up straight and hard and Nik can't seem to
take his eyes off it.

`Okay, off you go', I say.

The two boys race off to Kris's apartment, practically falling over each
other in their haste.  I know it's not because they are just so keen to
have a bath.

I resolve to speak to Patel about Nik when next I go to fill up my SUV.  I
have never liked Patel.  He seems altogether too shady a character for my
liking and I do not like the way he screams at his employees and
continually demeans his wife in front of his customers, so I am inclined to
give Nik the benefit of the doubt on this.  But I had better chat to Patel
all the same and find out what the story is.  In the meantime I refresh my
beer, drop the towel on the floor again and stretch out naked on a sun
lounger to enjoy the peace and quiet of the farm.

It is fully two hours before the boys emerge from Kris's apartment.  Both
boys are still naked but Nik is now clean and glowing.  In fact Nik's
transformation is quite remarkable.  His untidy thatch of hair is actually
a beautiful yellow blonde ... the colour of ripe wheat .. now that the
grime has been repeatedly shampooed out of it.  His wide face and thick
neck, his big strong hands and forearms, and his broad square-toed feet
have changed colour from the grimy chocolate colour that they were to a
lovely honey brown tan.  The rest of his body is startlingly white, with
the exception of his inordinately large penis, which is still semi-swollen
and has the healthy, glowing, reddish look associated with recent vigorous
sexual activity.

Nik seems to be walking a little uncomfortably, though, which suggests that
his anus may be a little bruised.  He sits down on the wicker couch next to
Kris and I notice that he does so a quite gingerly, further evidence that
my horny son has given him a really hard ride, probably several, in between
all the washing and shampooing!

`Wow, Nik!' I say, `You really cleaned up well.  Those two hours in the
bath really did the trick, hey?'

Nik blushes deep red and squirms like a worm on a hook.  He doesn't know
where to look or what to say.

Kris rolls his eyes at me.

`Don't get embarrassed Nik, he's just teasing you!' Kris assures him, `He
knows we've been fucking'.

At this poor Nik blushes even redder.

`What?', I say in mock anger, `I take you into my home and you repay me by
having sex with my son!'

`I ... I... I'm sorry, Uncle, I'm sorry ... I said we shouldn't but Kris
said it's okay.  I'm sorry ... you can punish me any way you want!' Nik
wailed, on the point of tears.

Instantly regretting my prank, I put my arm around his neck.

`No man, I'm only joking with you ... of course it's okay!  Sorry, I didn't
mean to upset you'.

`I told you my dad is cool with it, Nik, now do you believe me?'

`Yes ... sorry!' says Nik, `I feel such a poephol (arsehole)now!'

`No problem', I say, `Don't worry about it'.

`And he's a really good fuck, Dad', says Kris, `You should try him!'

Nik looks alarmed at this and blushes again, but he squints at me from
under his eyebrows with what looks like a flicker of interest.

`Well that's up to Nik', I say with a wink, `In the meantime, I think you
should take Nik in the pool for a swim so he can make a start on developing
a decent tan'.

The boys jump up at once and head for the pool.  I call them back so that I
can put sun block on Nik's virgin white skin.  Kris is deeply tanned and
never uses the stuff.  Like most South African boys and men he thinks that
only babies, girls and wusses use sun block.  He says so now.

`Just you keep your remarks to yourself, Kris!', I say, `You are used to
the sun, but you can see how white Nik's skin is.  He will go bright red
and blister in less than half an hour of that sun.  If he uses sun block
and takes it slowly he will be as brown as you in a week or two.  You will
thank me tonight when Nik can play with you instead of being out of action
through sunburn'.

As Nik turns his back to me I see his arse now bears several new parallel
welts: the straight and double ridged welts of a cane.

`Kris!', I call to my son, `What the hell have you done to Nik now?'

Pretending not to hear me, Kris dives into the pool and splashes about.

`Ag, Uncle, it's nothing', says Nik, `We were playing a game and it was
just a bet that I lost!'

`What was the bet?', I ask.

`It was to see who could last the longest before cumming'.

`I knew it, that's an old trick of Kris's.  Well, just take a tip from me
for the future', I say with a grin, `You're never going to win that bet ...
Kris is a master at holding back his spoof'.

`Ja, Uncle, I can see Kris likes to win ... he likes to be the boss!'

`Yes, he does.  But you don't have to let him win when you're playing
games.  It isn't good for him.  Play hard and try to win every time.  As
for being the boss ... well I suppose he is your boss now, so you have to
do what he says ... can't do anything about that!  And as you just found
out, he won't be shy to punish you!'

`Will he always punish me by beating me', Nik asks.

`In this house a punishment is nearly always a beating.  A beating is
painful and it leaves marks on your body for a while, but it is over
quickly and then we forget about it and move on.  If you have a problem
with that you need to say so now'.

`I'm tough, Uncle, I'm not scared of a beating'.

`Well that's good, Nik, because you are sure to get one now and again and I
don't want you to say I didn't warn you.  If you really think Kris is being
unfair, you can always appeal to me before he punishes you'.

`Thank you, Uncle, I'll remember'.

`Just remember that if I don't agree with you, your punishment will be
doubled ... so think very carefully before you appeal!'

Nik nods wryly.

I have fun massaging the creamy sun block into every square centimetre of
Nik's beautiful body.  I get him to bend over and spread his butt cheeks so
I can massage the cream into his crack and his pucker.  I am glad of the
excuse to get a good look at his bumhole.  I am going to take him to my
doctor friend, Adrian, for a check-up during the week, but I want to see
for myself if there are any obvious problems that may hinder sexual
activity until then.  I doubt that there are any as Kris would normally
have reported it to me.  But I just wanted to be sure in case Kris was too
horny to care or too hasty to notice.

`You don't want your pucker to get sunburnt now, do you?  Makes it very
painful to push anything up there!'

Nik's only response is to blush again, but he submits quite willingly to
the intrusion.  His pucker looks a little raw and puffy ... further
evidence of having been just fucked hard and long ... and he seems to enjoy
the cooling touch of the sun block cream.

There doesn't seem to be any cause for concern.  Of course Adrian will do a
thorough examination and run some tests, and until then Kris (and
hopefully, I) will just have to use condoms.

As my fingers gently stroke around his rim and massage the cream into his
pucker, his anus actually flexes open a few times and I notice his cock
lengthening and thickening in evident enjoyment.  It is quite obvious that
Nik has had his arse fucked before, probably quite often.  No wonder Kris
thinks Nik a `good fuck'.  And Kris, who knew everything there was to know
about man sex before he reached his eighth birthday, is a good judge!  I am
already looking forward to hearing the rest of Nik's story.

When I turn Nik around to do the front of his body, I see that his cock is
erect and, stimulated by the sex he has just had with Kris, is already
dribbling pre-cum.

`I can see from your cock that you must have given Kris a good rogering
too?', I remark.

Nik blushes again.  He is obviously not used to having a frank discussion
about his sexual activities with an adult.

`Yes uncle, I did', he mumbles.

`That's cool', I say, `And how was it?'

`It was the Best, Uncle ... the Biggest Best ever!', Nik enthuses.

`You mean it was the best fuck you ever had?'

`No, I ... I been fucked before ... but I never fucked anyone before.  Kris
is the first ... and ... it was just the best feeling ever.  Way better
than wanking.  A girl sucked me off once ... but Kris was just way better.'

`That's great, Nik, I'm glad you had a good first experience'.

`And he's a great fucker too, Uncle ... He fucked me really hard and it
felt good.  I cummed while he was fucking', he adds proudly, `Kris said he
didn't see that before!'.

`Ja, Kris is a good fucker ... he's had a lot of experience', I say

As we chat I work my way slowly down his chest and his belly.  All the
while his cock pulses and bobs with anticipation.

 When I finally close my fingers around his swollen cock to slather it with
sun block, he involuntarily starts fucking his cock into my fist.

By now my own cock is rock hard and leaking precum copiously, but I say to
Nik:

`Whoa, easy, boy, I'm just putting on sun block for you!  Plenty of time
for cock fun later!'

Once again Nik blushes scarlet.

`Sorry, Uncle, it just feels so lekker (nice)!'

`No problem, Nik, it feels lekker for me too!'

Nik grins broadly and I move on down to massage the cream into his brawny
thighs and calves.  His leathery brown feet don't need any sun block but I
get him to lift each foot onto my knee and I rub the cream thoroughly into
his sexy feet.  His feet are hard, high arched and well-formed and I just
want an opportunity to rub my hands all over them and run my fingers
between his cute toes.  I resist the strong temptation to take those toes
into my mouth and suck on them one by one.  Time enough for those pleasures
later.  I also love the rough hard feel of the thickly callused yellow skin
on the souls of his feet.  I can tell from the renewed vigour of his
erection that Nik loves having his feet played with and he is obviously
disappointed when I finally slap him on his meaty thigh and send him off to
where Kris is waiting impatiently in the pool for his new boy toy.

Nik waddles off with his sore bottom and his big stiff cock swaying
ponderously from side to side as he walks.  He flops into the pool and Kris
jumps onto him at once.  They wrestle and splash but, predictably, their
grappling quickly turns to grabbing and groping and, before long Kris is
once again banging his long thick cock into Nik's arse as Nik bends over
the swimming pool steps.

`Thank goodness for chlorine and pool filters', I call out in jest.

They are too busy to answer, although I see Kris rolling his eyes.  He
knows that I am the last one who is likely to be bothered by the cum and
anal detritus of male sex in the pool.

Finally I am aroused enough by the boys' lustful rutting to head up to the
stable-hands' quarters above the feed store to find Ryan.  As I mount the
wooden steps leading up to the bedrooms I lift a horse whip from its peg on
the wall.  I have remembered some work infractions that I need to take up
with Ryan before I fuck his beautiful 18 year old arse ...