Date: Sun, 7 Jun 2015 01:25:17 +0000 (UTC)
From: kevin Donovan <letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com>
Subject: Business of Pleasure, gay male incest, chapter 5
The following is a work of gay erotic fiction. Any resemblance to any real
person or situation would be entirely coincidental and wildly improbable.
In fact, the author has no clue in real life of what he is writing about.
The story does involve, it is to be hoped, vivid descriptions of sex acts
among adult males, including male relatives, who are unlikely to produce
deformed offspring as a result. All characters are above the age for legal
consent to sexual activity, and all are eager participants. Do not read
this if you are underage in your locality or if downloading homoerotic
material would be illegal. This is masturbatory fantasy material, guys,
not to be attempted at home. In real life, be faithfully monogamous, or
wrap it up! And slide me an email to let me know someone is out there!
letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com
Please send a contribution to Nifty to help keep this site hot and wet--and
available.
THE BUSINESS OF PLEASURE
By Kevin Donovan
CHAPTER FIVE
"ROSEBUD"
"Tell me all about it," demanded Cooter, as soon as Ditto opened
his eyes. Cooter's pale blues were blinking right in front of Ditto's
nose, and his breath bathed Ditto's face in warmth.
Ditto stretched, mentally checking out how his ass felt inside. It
felt fine. He smiled, leaned in, and kissed Cooter on the tip of his nose.
"Didn't I tell you last night, or this morning when I came in?"
"Details, man, I want details."
"Well...it was weird sucking Coach's dick, but you know that. And
his dick doesn't taste very good. And it's only about six inches. After
Deuce, I could hardly tell he was in me, mouth or ass. And he got off on
sliding around in Deuce's fresh cum in my ass. He is one seriously sexed
up dude, Cooter. Brace yourself, Coot—Coach paid $1,000 to fuck me last
night."
Cooter's jaw dropped. "A thousand bucks?"
"Deuce set the price at $750, triple my usual asking price for a
session, for the special night. It will stay up at $500 the next week.
But for last night, he took bids, because there would only be time for
three johns. They bid on how much they would tip. Those three each bid
$250 on the tip, for a thousand total. They also have to pay sales
tax—that's how we keep the state off our asses.
"Coach said he was glad to do it. He did Deuce back in the day,
then Benji, then two of my cousins, Ray and Michael, now me-—and he has
a fund set aside for the twins and Pooch down the road. He says he's
determined to have the whole set, on our eighteenth. He asked about you,
too. I think you can count on it.
"Wow," was all Cooter could say.
"That second guy was Ken. Kind of sweaty, and bad breath. But
hey, he paid big, too, and it didn't take long to do him. The third guy is
named Leo. He's older than Deuce, but in good shape, friendly, smells
nice—I think he's going to rent me for a whole day and night pretty
soon, for a real date. I'm OK with that, it should be fun. Dinner,
theater, and all, in D. C."
"Damn."
So, Cooter, I got $3,000 for the three men, plus for the shows,
$1,500 each, that's $3,000 more. It's usually $1,000 for a show, but last
night was a special edition. So--$6,000 for the night. The house takes
25%, gotta figure that in—so I take home $4,500 less taxes. Just for
having sex for, basically, four hours. Now, if it was a regular night,
like it will be a few weeks from now, as a dancer, I'd only get $10 per
hour, that's $80 for the shift. But Deuce says tips run, just on average,
$150-$200. Then, an average of three johns afterward could be another
thousand, with tips. We're going to make some money, Stud. And the
average dick is only five or six inches long, man that's nothing compared
with what we're used to. It'll be a breeze."
"You feel like giving me a freebie?"
"I'll put it on your account."
Cooter's lips closed around Ditto's left tit, and his right hand
began to stroke up Dit's big dick. There was plenty of slickness in
Ditto's rectum already. He slid his boner inside smoothly. He was just
achieving a most satisfactory orgasm when Benji walked into the outer
sitting room with a tray of breakfast for the fucking birthday boy and his
companion. Cooter didn't miss a beat.
"Don't think you get this service after every work-night, Bub, but
happy birthday," Benji said, smiling.
Cooter was in mid-ejaculation, and Ditto was still groaning at the
nice prostate pounding he had received. "Yeah, happy birthday, `Ho,"
rasped Cooter, with a post-ejaculatory grimace.
"I'll just leave this here," said Benji, setting the tray on the
table beside the window. He left whistling as Cooter finished draining the
lizard into Ditto's bowel.
"You're better than Coach," Ditto declared.
"Better than Deuce?"
"Let's not push it too far. Deuce is special."
The boys got up and whizzed, washed, and sat down to a pancake and
sausage breakfast.
Benji returned for the tray in an hour, but he also informed Cooter
that he should excuse himself and enjoy residency in his own home for the
remainder of the weekend. After lunch, Ditto was to commence his training
with Deuce and would be indisposed through Monday morning.
"He has you booked to work tonight, though, Ditto. No shows, because
the girls are up, but five appointments at the Rose."
Cooter looked at his friend admiringly. "Dude, you rock," he said.
"You should take me to dinner next week, with all this money you're
making."
Ditto and Deuce spent the afternoon and evening in Deuce and Benji's
bed, with just a short break for the dinner of roast chicken and vegetables
Benji brought up. Deuce gave Ditto an instructional fucking in every
imaginable position, showing him how to position himself for greatest
comfort and ease of entry for his john. While he was at it, he included
tips on how to present his crotch and asshole to best advantage for a
camera, when the time came for that, which would be soon, he promised. By
ten o'clock, Ditto was topped off with five loads of Deuce-cum.
Deuce kept up a running lecture, as he fucked, on how to handle the
myriad weird requests tricks would come up with, which to go along with,
and which to refuse. He was particularly adamant that Ditto must never
allow a trick to tie him up: other way, fine, but never allow yourself to
be made helpless. For that, they'd have to pay security extra to
supervise.
The two men went out to Deuce's truck and drove, nude, down to the
Rosebud, where they shared a duplex cabin. It was a comfort to Ditto to
know his dad would be right next door in case of some bizarre emergency.
But the tricks scheduled for tonight were a tame lot, well known to Ditto.
And they got checked out by security before they reported to the
cabin-—no weapons or drugs allowed, ever, and they had to be
functionally sober.
First was the town police chief, whom Ditto had known for years, most
recently for the warning he had gotten for doing 45 in a 25 mph zone.
Chief Laney, like many men in macho careers, felt the need to have a large,
hard cock stuffed up his slightly pudgy exhaust pipe. He also was more
interested in sucking Ditto's dick than having his own puffed on. In his
fifties, he seemed to have some erectile difficulties. He was cordial and
even deferential to Ditto, though, treated him like a celebrity. Ditto
wondered if the Chief might not like to have him assume a dominant role
with him one day. He parked that idea for further exploration later.
Tying up and spanking the police chief might be kind of a lark.
The other four customers were less interesting, and Ditto began to
realize, this soon into his career, that boredom would be the negative side
of it. He fucked two more guys, and got fucked by two, none of them
memorable experiences, though he tried his best to fake passion and
arousal. His dick, fortunately was, as ever, cooperative by being
eternally hard.
He found Deuce curled up asleep, having finished his last client
ahead of Ditto. Deuce no longer had to work a lot, because he was always
in the high rent bracket, as a famous porn star. He made most of his sex
trade income on the film revenues and on personal appearances around the
world. He woke from his nap, and the men returned to Deuce's bed back up
the hill for one more fuck and a cuddle. Benji was sleeping in Ditto's bed
for the weekend. Father and son slumbered peacefully in one another's
brawny, quarterback arms.
The late morning brought another breakfast in bed, this time bacon
and eggs, with Benji's fluffy biscuits, learned from Emmitt's old family
recipe. Benji joined them for breakfast and a leisurely shower in the big,
glassed in marble shower stall, where they tenderly and erotically washed
and dried one another.
"I'm turning you over to Benji for the morning for cocksucking
class," Deuce announced. He took the tray of dishes off to the kitchen and
departed to read the Sunday paper and then catch up on some farm chores.
So Ditto spent the next three hours sucking his uncle's cock, with
much encouragement, positive comment, and the occasional suggestion. Benji
came in his mouth three times, quite remarkable, he said.
"Because usually, I have perfect ejaculatory control. I hardly ever
cum if I don't want to. I've had to work all day without cumming many
times, you know. But you have a real knack—I think you could ejaculate
a corpse, Dit. That will come in handy when you want to satisfy a john and
get him to move on."
"I wish every man's cum tasted as good as yours, Benji. One of those
guys last night was kind of bitter."
"Yeah, you gotta wonder what some men eat to get their cum tasting so
nasty. Even some cute young guys have bitter spunk. It's sad.
"Don't tell Deuce," and with that, Benji swung around and engulfed
Ditto's hard cock into his warm, wet mouth and began to suck. It was a
great lesson in cock-sucking. Benji's expert use of tongue and lips, his
careful sheathing of teeth, except when he wanted to provide a little extra
light friction, his just-right level of suction and pressure, even his warm
breath bathing Ditto's crotch and scrotum, all combined to bring the young
man to abundant, spasmodic ejaculation in just minutes.
"Whew! I don't know if I'll ever be able to control it like you,
Benji. I couldn't have held that in if my life depended on it.!"
`"Youl'll learn, Laddie," Benji laughed. "Just stick with me. We
have more practicing to do."
And they did practice, all morning long. When Deuce returned with
ham sandwiches, chips, and drinks at noon, they were still working away at
sixty-nine technique.
"Just what I like to see—dedication to a work project," he
declared. "But come over and have some lunch. The other boys are fed
downstairs, Benj. They're wondering where you are."
"Nosey bastards. Well, I'll go down and put them to work on chores.
That'll teach `em."
"Let me handle that, would you? Could you stay here this afternoon
and continue to work with Ditto? I'd like him to move on to fucking ass
this afternoon, then back on the bottom with me tonight. That sound OK?"
"Sounds divine to me," Benji responded. Ditto nodded eagerly in
affirmation.
That would be a project Ditto could get into happily. They ate their
lunch, then Deuce departed for parts unknown, while the other two went back
onto the rumpled sheets to practice fucking with Ditto on top. Benji was
still the teacher and director. He put Ditto through his paces, every
imaginable position, every conceivable angle, and some Ditto never would
have conceived of. Benji coached Ditto in concentration, so not to spew
his nut until he was ready to do so. By mid-afternoon, he had the
youngster ejaculating on command, and holding his load for thirty or forty
minutes at a time. Those were minutes of active, very exciting and
sensitive fucking, too, and Ditto enjoyed every minute of it. By the time
he did let his cum go, it was a torrent of thick white man-goo, a porn-star
load.
Ditto was mind-blown at the very idea of this activity as home-work,
with parental help. What a thing to work on all afternoon with your uncle!
But what amazing fun!
"Good show!" cheered Benji. "You're doing great at this. No doubt
at all, you're a natural. Heredity will out, you know." Ditto was driving
his big rod in and out of Benji's slickened asshole, in side to side
position. As the time closed in upon the dinner hour, he deposited his
fourth nice serving of baby-starter batter into Benji's lower colon. Benji
rolled around and kissed him.
"I'm giving you a `pass' on this one, Buddy. You're ready to roll."
They got a quick shower together and went downstairs to enjoy, with
the family, the pot roast and vegetables Deuce had popped into the slow
cooker right after breakfast.
"What in blazes have you two been up to all day," Peyton wanted to
know.
Ditto shrugged. "Work stuff," he answered.
After dinner, he was back in bed with Deuce again, who fucked him
most of the night, basically a repeat run-through of the earlier Kama Sutra
list. Again, Deuce came three times in his ass—but only when he chose
to do so, for their mutual pleasure. He was a sexual machine, in perfect
running order. They finally slept, from about 2:00 A. M. until ten.
There was no rest for the weary, however. Benji breezed in with a
light breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, and soon he was at work touching up
Ditto's body trim. He even worked on finger and toenails. "Every inch of
you is going to be on display tonight, and in the spotlight, so you have to
look great from every possible angle. This is your first night, and there
will be a full house, even though it's Monday. You'll have a lot of tricks
to do, too—three johns after your last number at one, plus a gig between
your ten-twenty and eleven-forty numbers, plus blow-jobs between the
others. For the blow-jobs, just go to the dressing room and your cousin
Andy, the entertainment manager, will take you to your man in one of the
small private rooms."
"How much do I get for a blow-job?"
"A hundred. These guys want to blow you, not the other way around.
Hundred and fifty for that way."
"Do I cum for them?"
"Sure. We give value for money at the Tom Kat, Dit."
"So Benji, when will you be down there next? Don't you go to work,
too, sometimes?"
"How about tonight? I'll be on for my first number right after
yours, at 9:20. Then I do 10:40 and midnight, and go over to the Rose to
meet some old friends. And Deuce is doing a special performance at 11:00.
Then he'll be at the Rose for a couple of hours, too. It's `Family Night,'"
he laughed.
"Yeah, I hear Eric is not happy. He says the money goes to the big
dicks, and his seven inches won't draw the tips with us hawgs there," added
Deuce.
"Well, it's a special occasion. He'll catch up next week."
Cooter rejoined them at lunch time, and afterward they worked, under
Benji's supervision, with Deuce looking in occasionally, on their JO show
routines. This time, the object was to move with the music, no need for
actual dance steps, but stay hard and actively jacking, while not cumming,
for twenty minutes at a time. The first five was generally spent
stripping. Ditto was doing much better. For Cooter, there was some work
to be done, since he was not yet past the idea that the object of jacking
off is cumming.
Ditto dressed in his performance clothes, left Cooter playing video
games with Pooch, who was taking a very lively interest in Ditto's new job
and even his boyfriend, and clocked in at the Tom Kat before eight. He had
decided to wear artfully ripped, saggy jeans, with a baggy white sweat
shirt, its sleeves ripped off and great tears in the body and neck of it,
over flip-flops. Underneath were white boxers, and under that, a red jock
strap. He had time to meet and chat with the other dancers before the first
one, Tony, went on stage at 8:00. There were usually four boys dancing each
night. Deuce didn't count, since he was doing only one routine, so that
left two besides Ditto and Benji, and the other was a cute dimpled blond
named Eric, the one with the measely seven-inch dick. He would sit out the
show Deuce was taking, but he was OK with that, as he had a couple of
tricks lined up over at the Rose during that time.
Tony was a medium-height, gym-muscled, hairy and deeply tanned
Italian hunk, with a good seven and a half hanging, and big nuts.
It seemed complicated, but with Andy stage managing, everything went
smoothly, and there was someone stripping or naked and jacking on stage all
the time. On Friday nights, there would be two performers on at a time.
Most of the time, after their show, the boys would remain on the floor
among the customers, naked and hard, to get felt up, kissed, flirted with,
and—most importantly—tipped. If a man wanted a private session, he
was directed to Andy, a handsome man in his thirties who was one of Uncle
Carl's sons, who had been a show-boy and escort himself until he turned
thirty and moved to management. He set up the appointment, which had to be
paid at the time of booking. The boys themselves never handled money,
other than their cash tips.
Deuce had given Ditto a lacey black garter to wear on his calf as a
tip strap. After his first time out on the floor, Ditto checked it and
found it contained. $125. He knew that was partly because he was young and
new, and it would not always be that good, but shit! He was thrilled with
that for twenty minutes work doing something—jacking off—he'd loved
for years, plus a few more on the floor with the men kissing up. And he
had two more sessions to do, plus the tricks!
There were challenges, of course, like keeping guys from trying to
get a free suck on his dick or to kiss him with deep tongue, grossly. Some
of the men were half-drunk (though the bouncers were attentive to allowing
that to go too far). Some were outright trolls. For the most part, he
enjoyed the men for their sense of ribald fun and their raunchy good humor.
He responded to them, and they were generous with him.
Andy directed him to a tiny, doctor's examining-room-size cubicle for
his blow-jobs. It contained a bar-stool. A thin, shy young man and a
husky, thirty-something farmer type blew his pipe for him at $100 a pop,
plus $40 more in tips. He had to will himself to cum for both of them, and
as early as possible to get out of there in a timely manner, but he
managed, and they were happy with their savory mouthful. The young guy,
though not handsome, was kind of sweet, and positively star-struck. Being
such an object of reverence was not altogether new for Ditto, since he had
been the high school starting quarterback for three seasons, but it had a
different character to it. He hustled over to the Rose to meet an
executive-type in his forties named Steve. Steve wanted to be debased and
fucked. Ditto dogged him like an Army drill sergeant, then abused his
tight ass, and the man loved it.
While hob-nobbing among the audience, Ditto kept an eye toward his
fellow performers, especially Benji and Deuce, for pointers. They were
remarkably relaxed and composed, yet focused on pleasing the men in the
audience. Nothing was bored or blasé about them at all, and Ditto
realized, especially after watching Eric as well, that those qualities
likely made all the difference. Poor Eric thought his tips were lower
because his dick was smaller: actually, it was because his showmanship
sucked. (Ditto later found out that Deuce took him aside the next day and
gave him a tough lecture on that subject, and scared hell out of the young
man. He was notably improved when Dit saw him perform the following week.)
After his last JO performance, Ditto headed back over to his room at
the Rosebud to meet his remaining tricks. The first was there waiting as
he arrived—actually, two guys. They were a father and son, from a city
a couple of hours' drive away. The father (Frank), was about
forty-five—tall, rangy, angular, strong-jawed, with huge feet. He had a
basketball-player look about him, with short brown hair, and a ruddy
complexion. The son was about six feet tall, but much more medium in
build, weight, and general looks. His hair was darker, and he had a
definitely resigned, but hesitant look about him. Frank did the talking.
He had booked Ditto specially for his son, Sean, who had also just
turned eighteen. The kid had come out to his dad just prior, but had
confessed, under grilling, that he had never actually had gay sex. He just
knew he was gay. The father didn't believe it, saying he couldn't know if
he hadn't tried it. So the fool had arranged for his son to have an hour
with a pro, at a safe distance, to find out. He was thrilled that Ditto
was the boy's own age, and new at the job, while still knowing what he was
doing, as he'd been assured by Andy in making the booking. Meanwhile, he
himself, a divorced, single dad, was booked with one of the girls a few
doors down the row of cottages.
That was a relief to Ditto, and it proved to be for Sean, too.
Neither wanted the old man hanging around while they had sex together, or
worse yet, getting involved in it. So Ditto dismissed Frank as if he were
the teacher and Frank the student, and he locked the door behind him, duly
noted by Sean. Then, they sat down to chat together for a few minutes.
Sean was truly an innocent, sexually, by his accounting. He'd been
afraid to try anything with anybody, because of the extreme homophobia of
his home, school, and community. He actually did want to give guy sex a
try, but would have preferred not to have Frank tag along. However, it was
an expensive trick, and Frank was paying, so they had to make the best of
it. They stood, at Ditto's lead, and undressed one another. Sean wasn't
half bad looking. He just needed some attention and some confidence.
Ditto got Sean down on the bed, and then he swiveled around so they
could do sixty-nine. Sean had a nice enough six-and-a half incher, and
Ditto went to work on it. Sean loved his workmanship. After a few
minutes, Ditto felt him take a nibble at his own big unit. He had some
pree going by then, so there was something to taste. Sean worked the head
of his cock gamely.
Ditto took care not to let his trick cum in his mouth, because he had
a plan to give the guy a good ride for his first time. He put a condom on
Sean's dick, lubed his own ass quickly, and sat down on the boy's lap.
Sean's eyes just about popped out of his head. Ditto rode him like a
Brahma bull. Then, when Sean could hardly stand any more, he lay face down
on the bed and directed Sean to climb atop him and stick his cock in that
way. In a few strokes, Sean was done and the condom was well-filled.
Ditto pulled his partner up on all-fours, got another condom, and
began to lube and finger-fuck his prospect gently but progressively. Soon
enough, young Sean was prepped for The Monster, as it no doubt looked to
poor Sean. With a bit of finagling, he worked it up the pipe. Sean was
sweating and panting, but hanging in OK. Ditto began to fuck him slowly,
building up momentum as his partner relaxed and gave signs of enjoyment.
Once he finished, the boys had maybe five minutes to talk quietly
before Frank was back knocking on the door again. Sean slipped into his
clothes quickly, but Ditto didn't bother. Sean thanked him for the
experience, and Ditto opened the door.
"So—that hurt like hell, didn't it, Boy?" Frank challenged right
off the bat, eying Ditto's body stealthily.
"I can't say it did, Dad."
"You mean, even after that, you still think you're a queer?" Frank
was not too pleased with the outcome of his little experiment.
"Definitely. Now I'm sure of it." Sean turned and winked at Ditto,
then stepped outside. Frank, looking bewildered, followed a few steps
behind.
`I won't see that one again,' Ditto thought, `but SOMEbody sure
will.' He sat down, naked to wait for his next appointment.
That one was a car dealer in his sixties. He wasn't attractive, but
he offered his pudgy ass for fucking, and Ditto rose to the occasion.
Last for the night was Freddie Valentine's dad, Ernie. Ernie was
actually not bad looking, but he had once helped coach the boys' pee wee
football team, when they were eight years old. Now he was here to fuck
Ditto's ass for money. Ditto gamely assumed the position and allowed
himself to be used. Ernie acted like it was the best fuck he ever had. He
left another fifty on the night stand when he left.
Ditto had completed his first normal work shift, and it was not so
bad. He hopped into his Civic and drove up the hill to join Cooter in bed.
While Cooter fucked him that night, Coot asked, "Who was the last one in
this ass before me?"
"Ernie Valentine."
Cooter stopped fucking for just a couple of strokes, then resumed.
"Maybe I ought not to ask that question."
"It will hardly ever be an exciting or sexy answer, Dude."
"Got it. I appreciate that you're willing to tell me, though."
"Well, I wouldn't if you were not going to work soon, too.
Confidentiality, you know."
Cooter shot sperm into his gut with a grunt.
"Very professional," he commented.