Date: Fri, 15 Aug 2014 11:06:49 -0700
From: bend.sinisterdc[at]yahoo[dot]com
Subject: The Way Home - Part II

The Way Home - Part II

Wonderfullife

Note: This is a fantasy. If you are not legally, mentally, morally,
emotionally/etc. equipped for fantasy, don't read this. If you are under
18, definitely do not read this.

More to come, though it might get dark. If you enjoy this, I encourage you
to get in touch at bend.sinisterdc[at]yahoo[dot]com.

The crowd pushed and shoved their way off the plane and I was one of the
last people to make it into the airport. The noise, the crowd, and all the
hours of travel made me dizzy, and when I saw a sign with my name on it -
Mr. Jesse Tinney-Khan - I made my way towards it like a drowning man
swimming for a raft.

The man holding the sign could not have been my father. I was eighteen - he
was thirty at most, a few inches taller than my 5'11", dark-skinned and
clean-shaven, wearing what looked like a uniform - pressed khaki pants, a
short-sleeved button-down against the heat.

"Mr. Jesse?" he said. I nodded, and he handed me a piece of paper.

"Jesse baby," it said. "I probably shouldn't call you that anymore, but it
was what I called you the only time I ever saw you - right after you were
born - so let me use it for now. I am sorry I cannot be there to receive
you; something came up urgently and I've had to go away, but I will be back
at the house by the time you arrive. Khalid is one of our drivers. He
doesn't speak any English but he will bring you home.

I want you to know that this is your home. You might have never come here
before but it is your home for as long as you need it.

I am looking forward to seeing you again. When you were born, I got to hold
you for a minute. It wasn't long enough and I hope you'll let me hold you
again.

Love,

Your father"

Khalid let me finish the note and then, when he saw me fold it back up and
tuck it into the pocket of my blazer, took me by the arm and led me to the
front of the line. I couldn't follow what was happening, but just followed
his lead and sooner than I would have thought possible, we were out, into
the hot, thick night. I hadn't thought air could be so thick, it was like
walking through water.

He was all smiles, walking me over to a jet-black SUV and lifting my
suitcase into the trunk with a pantomime of effort - it was light; I hadn't
known what to bring, and had been too distraught to worry about something
like packing. He offered me a smile and I smiled back before getting into
the front seat.

"How long till we get there?" I realized I didn't even know where my father
lived exactly in his country. It turned out Khalid didn't speak any English
at all, but by pointing at my wrist, at the watch on his wrist and at the
car, eventually he held up four fingers: Four hours. He mimed sleeping, and
I nodded, leaned my head against the window and fell asleep.

*

When I woke up it was completely dark outside, without even streetlights,
and Khalid was driving with the low lights barely making the road
visible. He smiled at me when he saw I was awake and indicated the
backseat, where a cooler held a few bottles of water and a small basket
held fruit and some snacks. I took a long drink of water and then grabbed a
banana.

I felt his eyes on me as I unpeeled the banana, bringing it to my
mouth. Almost without thinking, I flicked my tongue over its tip and let
myself moan slightly. There was the briefest throb in his khakis. I closed
my eyes and let the first inch of the banana enter my mouth, tightening my
lips around it and sucking in my cheeks.

Khalid took one hand off the wheel and kneaded the lump in his crotch. It
had been a readjustment: Now I could see the length of it snaking down his
thigh, like a long, blunt pipe. He indicated where it ended, showing me
that it was longer and thicker than the banana I still hadn't taken a bite
of. All of a sudden, I didn't want fruit anymore. I wanted what Khalid had
between his legs. It was as if Mr. Gutierrez had unleashed some dark part
of me I had denied even to myself for years, and now it was free, looking
for its next victim.

I put the banana aside and undid my seat belt, moving as far over in the
seat as I could, and reached for Khalid's zipper. It came down slowly. He
lifted his hips a little and let me undo his belt, the buckle on his pants,
and pull them down far enough so that I could let his dick out into the
chilled air of the car. The cold made it shiver for an instant but then my
hand brushed it and it hardened again into solid brown metal, the
circumcised head flaring and almost purple, it was so engorged.

Still driving, Khalid used his free hand to stroke at my mouth, tracing the
outline of my lips, and then slipping a finger inside to show me what he
wanted. He didn't need to make it clearer. I bent over the gear shift and
as I breathed out his cock rose up to greet me. It was easily as big as
Mr. Gutierrez's, but stronger somehow. Maybe it was the smell: It was clean
but in that weather he'd been sweating and I could smell it on him, sharp
and slightly sour, the smell of sweat caught in the dense mat of his pubic
hair, the thick black hair that covered his balls.

A hand on the top of my head: Khalid was losing patience. I parted my lips
and used my tongue to graze the cleft in the massive glans of his cock,
tasting the clear drop of precum that oozed out of it like a gift. He
trembled and for an instant the speeding car veered as though it would
crash. He quickly righted it and his cock brushed my cheek as though
apologizing for the scare. Khalid said something his language, harsh and
guttural, full of expectorating sounds, but I didn't need to speak it to
understand what he meant.

I opened my mouth and a few inches of thick brown cock entered my mouth. It
tasted incredible - it had all the richness and depth of the meat I had
given up years ago. I couldn't stop myself from moaning and I heard Khalid
chuckle, but I was too caught up in the taste of his cock to hear the
sudden darker edge his laugh had acquired.

As he drove, I sucked, unable to get more than a few inches in because of
the angle and my own inexperience. He was more gentle and patient than
Mr. Gutierrez had been - aside from that first touch to get me started, he
let me do the work, bobbing on his cock, occasionally taking a break to
catch my breath. I could feel the engine thrumming and the road rushing by
under us, but all I could really focus on was the thick dick getting closer
and closer with each movement to my throat.

All of a sudden we hit a bump, and the jolt broke whatever resistance my
body had put up and sent his cock slamming into my throat. He moaned,
brought his hand down to hold me in place for a second, even as I
struggled. Then he let me up for a moment to breathe before going back to
my original rhythm, even though now my throat felt a vacuum where his cock
had been and all I wanted was to get it back there.

Khalid used a hand to pull me up so that only the tip of his cock was still
in my mouth. I felt the car speed up and his hips bucked once, twice, three
times: And then he was unloading in my mouth, thick semen spurting into
me. I hadn't tasted Mr. Gutierrez's, but Khalid's was warm, salty - the
first man's cum I'd ever tasted, and I swallowed it all down.

I rose up off his cock and looked at him for the first time in what felt
like hours. Something had changed about his smile, even as he watched me
rub the place where the gear shift had dug into me. He let me drink a
bottle of water but then slid his seat backwards, so that his long legs
were stretching out to reach the brake, the accelerator, the clutch. His
cock was still out, still hard, almost fully vertical as it brushed against
his shirt. He pointed to the suddenly deeper seat well in front of him and
brought the car to a screeching halt.

"Now," he said. His accent was thick but he pointed again, giving his cock
a few quick tugs with his other hand and then brushing the slick wetness
onto my face. I understood what he wanted and crawled over him before
getting onto my knees in that well, my hands balanced on his thighs and my
mouth once again on his cock. Khalid pressed the accelerator, his knees
brushing my shoulders, and quickly picked up speed.

The drive went on for hours and Khalid didn't let me off his cock once. He
wasn't rough with me, like Mr. Gutierrez had been - he seemed fine with me
there, bobbing on his cock, occasionally choking and gagging, without his
putting a hand on me. But when I lifted my head, the car stopped moving. If
I tried to climb out of the seat well, he held me in his place between his
thick, muscular thighs. And then he would stare down at me with those dark,
smoldering eyes until I took his cock back in my mouth. It was inexorable
and I felt degraded and filthy, but also - somehow - grateful. As though
Khalid had somehow, just watching me peel a piece of fruit, discovered the
place where I belonged, which had taken me 18 years to figure out.

It seemed like it took him only a second to recover between orgasms - or,
at most, a few minutes of my nose in his balls, the thick hair scratching
at my skin. Five loads of cum, each barely smaller than the last, went down
my throat, until I felt as full as though I actually had eaten that banana.

*

I hadn't noticed but we had been rising for a while, the turns and circles
of the road noticed only for the way they changed the position of Khalid's
cock in my throat. But finally he stopped, pulled me off of him and pumped
another load quickly into my mouth. Then he handed me a bottle of water and
some mouthwash as he used a cloth to wipe my face clean. He spritzed me
with some cologne and then nodded, let me suck his finger for an instant,
and then we continued.

A few minutes later we reached a massive black gate that slowly opened to
let us through. We continued climbing until we reached a big stone house,
as imposing as a castle, but I only had eyes for the roof, where a
helicopter had just landed and someone was climbing out of it. No, not
someone: With that size, it was barely human - it was like watching a giant
ape draped in white cloth standing in the sunlight.

Khalid helped me out of the car and led me up a flight of stairs that led
to the roof. Then he went back down and left me there, facing the man who,
eighteen years and nine months before, had made me.

He was wearing the local outfit, loose and white and billowing in the
breeze from the helicopter blades. I didn't know what it was called. If he
had been a few shades darker he would have looked African, rather than what
he was. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen: Thick black eyebrows,
his hair and close-cropped beard tinged with white. The hands that poked
out of his cuffs were covered with black hair, too, and through the white
cloth in the sunlight I could see it on his arms, his chest, his legs, his
feet. A gold watch on his wrist was almost lost in that forest. A black
leather cord held an amulet around his neck, but that was completely buried
in the thick black hair that rose up out of his collar.

It was strange to see even from a distance that there was something of this
mountain of a man in me. I was far paler, smaller and thinner, but we had
the same thick lips, the same ears, the same hair - I was nowhere near as
hairy as he was, but it was clearly from him that the down on my chest, my
legs, my ass had come from.

"My baby," he said, and then he was upon me. I had been too stunned to
notice how big he was: I was almost six foot but he was closer to seven,
broad in the shoulders and thick throughout, muscle and strength making him
several times my size. I had been right - it was like looking at a massive,
silverback gorilla, or a bear, something that could eat me, kill me or
destroy me in an instant. When I was too stunned to move he wrapped his
arms around me and pulled me close to him.

"Your mother told me what happened," he said. "I had to go take care of
that bastard. But you're safe now. You're safe. I promise."

My head barely made it to his chest, but somehow my arms wrapped themselves
around him and before I knew it I was weeping into the white cloth of his
long shirt. "I broke," was all I could say. "I broke, I broke, I broke." I
was thinking of Mr. Gutierrez, who had let whatever sickness was inside me
loose, and of Khalid, who had known it was there the moment he saw me peel
that fucking banana.

His hand stroked my back. "I'll fix you," he said. "Cry all you need to,
I've got you. Then let me show you your new home."