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Marty reckoned Danver's as a bitch. Not in the way that term is usually applied, but in his own way the old guy was a bigger bitch than his son Eric. Sure, it had been Eric that put out for him, but Danver's showed a special kind of bitchiness. He hadn't accepted lightly an employee interfering with his kin and had thrown him out of a job. Marty should have known better of course. He was wise enough to foresee the risk he was taking the moment his boss's son appeared on the scene - a cute kid getting experience in daddy's business while on a break from college -but Marty was never one to let want go to waste, and the moment the horny teen started to roll his sweet young butt around the office he'd taken an interest. It hadn't required a lot of effort. Whatever it took to attract a guy Marty had in spades, and he couldn't resist making use of it. A little friendly banter by the water-cooler and a couple of near-the-knuckle remarks over a sandwich, and Eric was his. By the end of the first day the college boys trousers were drooped around his ankles and Marty was giving his beautiful fundament the benefit of seven inches of solid meat over his daddy's desk. His dick had been moving like the piston-rod in a steam engine and the juice was flowing when old Danver's burst in. That was the end of a nice well-paid job in accountancy for Marty, and although the old guy was too feeble to beat him up on the spot he'd told him if he didn't get out of Chicago quick he'd have a couple of professional thugs with iron bars make a visit to do it for him. And Danver's meant what he said. He was that much of a bitch. Marty had taken plenty of risks in the past and got clear away, but this time the cards hadn't fallen right for him. Gone were his job and his Company car, he had no supportive friendships, and although he had a brother and sister in Ohio he'd insulted them years ago and they'd both disowned him. Luckily while he was panicking about what to do next he'd received a wire from his Aunt Matilda inviting him to take a trip south. Great-aunt Matilda had invited him to spend a vacation at Pitterpeetee Grove, which was the name of her home in Florida. He'd never met the woman and he didn't know an awful lot about her except for a fractured mixture of hearsay and myth that had circulated among relatives since he was a boy. He only knew she was the distant, wealthy end of the family who had never courted close contact with anyone in the past, so it was a surprise to be asked to spend time with her. He wondered, why an invite out of the blue right now? Then he recalled being told that she'd been a widow for years and all her own kids had died off, and since she was getting old herself maybe she was scanning round to find some other relative to lay her fortune on. The thought of receiving a present in the form of a large unearned income had him licking his lips, but the flight down country gave him a chance to mull a few things over and talk some sense to himself. It was vital to be acceptable. Old women could be hostile to folk who didn't fit with their own ideas of a respectable life, and any hint of an alternative sexual preference to the normal man-woman thing could be lethal to maintaining an old dears goodwill. That was reason enough to make a resolution, and he decided he wouldn't try to lay anyone while he was staying with his aunt. He was twenty- eight, handsome, in good shape and with a commendable prod, and it was a shame to deprive all the randy young bucks in the world of his assets for any length of time. But it was probably wise to hold off for a while. In fact a few days of celibacy would probably do his soul good. He did the final stretch of the journey by rail, which was a mistake. Just a single track led to the dead-end town of Unction, south of Lake Okeechobee, and only three trains a day went in and out of the place. The day was long and irksome and there was nothing much to see when he arrived. The low roofed station building summed it all up. A concrete box surrounded by a clutter of palm trees that gave it the appearance of a desert outpost abandoned by the French Foreign Legion. He was the only passenger to climb down from the train when it ground to a halt, so there was no chance of going unobserved and he was greeted by an old, lean, white-haired negro called Abraham whom his aunt had sent to meet him. The crumpled black suit the fella' wore looked as old as the ancient Ford convertible he was driving. "Aunt Matilda not here with you?" Marty asked. The negro shook his head as he loaded bags into the back of the car. "Nah, Missy Matilda don't travel these days, but you'll meet her as soon as we git to the house." They missed out the town, which Abraham said offered no more than two drug stores and three saloons, and they were soon driving down a long, straight dirt road. The landscape on each side was flat, with wide stretches of land bearing pine trees and scrub oak, then when the car steered off along a side road a delicious perfume filled the air and Abraham grinned when he noticed Marty breathing deep. "You can smell the oranges Mr Martin. Sweet ain't it? That honey-scent wafts on the breeze around here long before pickin' time." "I heard Aunt Matilda did some business with oranges." "She sure does. Got the biggest plantation here-a-bouts. It'll be her fruit yu sniffin'." Big plantation! mused Marty, quickly interpreting that into dollar bills. Big property of any kind meant big money. There was no sign of orange trees before they reached their destination, instead the scrub woodland thickened and they seemed to enter a jungle of oak trees hung with dripping moss that were so densely packed they shut out most of the daylight. Then at the end of a rising path appeared the front porch of the house called Pitterpeetee Grove. It was big but it wasn't the kind of old colonial mansion he'd imagined. It was built of wood which had been painted white and was lifted up on stone piers. Sitting bolt upright under an awning set above a long, wide verandah sat his Great-Aunt Matilda, a rangy woman, very old, with features that would be best described as embattled. She was dressed head to foot in white, except for a flat wide-brimmed straw-coloured hat with a low crown. The way she wore her grey hair pinned back behind her head gave her a sort of 19th Century appearance and made her look even older than he'd expected, but although she was running a bit to seed she was still elegant and she still transmitted the fiery, tangled sort of fecundity she'd always had a reputation for. A lace frilled sunshade lay unopened in her hand and she was gripping its handle like a cudgel. "How long will you stay?" she asked at once. "I thought maybe a week." Marty replied. The old woman sniffed. "A week! That's preposterous. No one comes here just a week. I expect you to stay for a month at least. Abraham will show you to your room. Dinner's at seven. I'll see you again then." "Best wear a jacket an' tie at dinner, sur," the old retainer whispered as he led the way into the house, "Missy Matilda's a bit old fashioned an' fussy about that kind o' thing. She likes to keep up values." He chuckled. "Them's her words, not mine." The house was big and its owner doubtlessly wealthy, but Marty reckoned no money had been spent on undating facilities for visitors since the time it was built. His room was small and the furniture all old wooden stuff; a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a little wash stand that held a tin bowl and a white enamel jug. "There's a bathroom at the end o' the landin', sur," Abraham told him as he dropped bags on the end of the bed, "If'n yur needing anything in yer room, press the bell-button on the wall an' someone'll come-a-runnin'." Marty smiled whimsically. A bell-button! Well at least the house was wired for electricity. On his return from the bathroom he noticed a door adjacent to his own room, and out of sheer curiosity he opened it. Inside the curtains on the window were closed, and the gloom that met him as he entered at first prevented any appreciation of the size of the room, but as his eyes became accustomed to the poor light he saw it was three times the size of his own bedroom. A large four-poster bed draped with heavy blue curtains stood on a dais against one wall, and a rocking chair, upholstered in black buttoned leather with a white antimacassar stood near it. A triple mirrored kneehole dressing table with glass knobbed draws occupied the wall adjacent to the bed. "Can I help yu sur," Abraham's voiced droned at his back. "Who's room is this?" "It's the master-bedroom. No one sleeps here, not anymore, not since Missy lost her man more than fifteen years ago. Now it's just a quite place where she likes to come an' sit sometimes." Marty stepped back through the door. "Like a goddamned chapel of remembrance, huh!" he commented without any compassion. Abraham closed the door quietly and offered a soft smile. "If'n you say so, sur." All too aware he was there to curry favour with his aunt he did as Abraham had suggested earlier and dressed up sweet and sharp for the evening meal. The ancient negro, now immaculate in a white coat and white cotton gloves, met him at the bottom of the stairs when he went down and guided him to the dining-room. There was plenty of other help scurrying about the house, but the old retainer seemed to slot into whatever role his aunt needed, be it chauffeur, butler or general handyman, and strangely enough the man appeared to relish being so useful, because he happily parked himself against a wall in the attitude of a major-domo. The dining room was ornate, heavy and detailed with a highly polished wooden table that could seat ten, but was only laid for three. Old fashioned lamps burned in wall brackets and beneath them his aunt occupied a high-backed chair at the head of the table which could have been a bishops throne. Her thin fingers were heavy with rings, her wrists with bracelets, throat and chest with necklaces, all gold and glinting in the lamplight. Marty would have laughed if he didn't have a need to be so careful with his manners. The dotty old girl was hanging onto the crumbling trappings of past glory. The whole set-up was a remnant of bygone days and long departed social status. His aunt was a picture of past times. Her hair was piled high on her head in an elaborate style that accentuated the regal tilt of her head and the high angle of her chin. Years ago, she must have been magnificent, he thought. Even now, at an indeterminable old age, the boned bulge of her bosom suggested a smothered sexuality. The slant of her eyes, her high brow and arched cheekbones were a reminder of a beauty that in its heyday had probably rocked fella's on their heels. "You'll find Unction dull," the woman said without smiling, "It's a town of orange-growers and cattlemen who talk about work all the time. I 'spect you'll find staying here at Pitterpeetee Grove pretty dull too." "Oh, I don't reckon that," Marty replied lightly. He was attempting to be ingratiating, but instead of accepting his politeness she turned a pair of gimlet eyes on him. It was difficult to believe she was eighty, maybe ninety years old. "Why do you say that. Do you know something I don't?" Marty squirmed uncomfortably. His aunt hadn't evolved with the times, she looked and still behaved like one of the feisty matriarchs who had dominated southern communities a century ago. "What I mean is, running the business you have here. It must be pretty hectic at times and hardly dull." "It ain't easy either." the woman scowled. "Frost in the orange-groves near bankrupts me every second year. Most of the other growers around here sold out to big corporations years back an' it's difficult competing on yer own agin them kind o' goddamn outlaws." Her eyes turned to Abraham. "Where's Joseph?" she asked sharply. "Tell him we're waitin'." The door opened as she finished speaking and the late comer entered. He was young, slight in figure but graceful with a soft pixie-face and neatly trimmed hair the colour of honey. Twelve, perhaps thirteen years old, slim and spindly in the way young boys are before they shoot up. Solemn but not sullen, on seeing Marty he smiled and revealed beautiful white teeth. "Joseph - you're late - five minutes late!" the old woman grumbled. The boys grin faded. "I'm very sorry, Gran'ma. I didn't -" "This as happened before. You know how I detest unpunctuality. It disorganises the entire evenin'." "Yes, Gran'ma." said the boy, sliding quickly into his seat. Stony-faced the old woman swung her arm across the table. "This here gennelman is yer Uncle Mart'n from Chicago. He's gunna be stayin' with us for a while." The boy grinned, the scolding he'd received a moment before quite forgotten, white teeth flashing again as he nodded. "Hi Uncle Martin. Sorry I can't shake your hand, but I'm not allowed to stretch across the table." "You should've been on time for dinner." grumbled his grandmother. The remark of dissatisfaction ricocheted from the boys ebullience. "Chicago! Gee whiz, I ain't ever been north of Tallahassee. What's it like in Chicago Uncle Martin?" "Busy, all tarmac and concrete, and it rains a lot. You're better off here." "It's like I allus told you," the boy's grandmother sniped keenly. "There ain't nuthin' up north that you can't get better here." Joseph nodded. "Sure gran'ma, but a guy can't help being curious." Conversation ceased abruptly when the hostess rapped the table with a spoon, then pressed her hands together. It was the first time for years Marty had been pitched into formal religious ritual prior to eating, but he complied amiably as his aunt went through her routine. "Lord, we give thanks for you delivering us from want by gracin' our table with the fruits of the field and the flesh of brute beasts, as is Your will." She then picked up her knife and fork, signalling it was okay to start eating. Although she'd been grouchy with the boy when he'd arrived late the annoyance in her expression hadn't lasted more than a minute or two, and it soon became apparent that she adored the kid. Marty couldn't fault her for that. His face was round, innocent, and his pale eyebrows framed a pair of large, well-set, stunning brown eyes. His mouth was broad and graced by rather sensuous pink lips and he had a lively, cute way about him which together with his good looks made him extremely likeable. But there was something else about him too. Something indefinable that he couldn't quite put his finger on "Are you married, Uncle Martin?" the boy asked. Aunt Matilda answered quicker than he could himself. "A'course he ain't married. That's why he's here alone." Joseph wasn't deflected. "You're a smart lookin' guy. Don't you want to get married?" "Maybe one day I will. I ain't thirty yet, so there's plenty of time." "What kind of work do you do?" "I do accountancy when I'm working. I'm - er - in-between jobs right now and looking for a new situation." "Accountin'! That's messin' with figures an' tottin' cash, ain't it? Gran'ma uses accountants." The old woman chimed in rapidly. "Gran'ma's GOT accountants. Don't bug yer uncle about work. He's on vacation." Joseph chewed his food slowly, and Marty felt drawn to watching his delicate face. It had the flawless complexion of pubescent beauty, soft and delicate like that of a girl, like most boys appear before they succumb to the more angular features of adolescence. "I had two daughters and a boy, and I've survived 'em all." Aunt Matilda explained without emotion. "Joseph is my youngest girls boy, but I look after him now." She signalled to pass the salt. "You must see everything we have here, Mart'n. Tomorrow Joseph will take you through the groves. It would help if you can ride. Such tours are easier when done on horseback." Across the table hazel brown eyes scrutinised him from under the waft of their long dark lashes and the boys face beamed with enthusiasm. "Can you ride, Uncle Martin? Do they have horses in Chicago?" Marty responded with a smile. The boys unbroken voice charmed him. It had a melodious quality with clear, high notes that sounded like a girl. But not quite like a girl. "Sure," he replied, "There's always places to ride horses if one don't mind paying. I've always enjoyed riding. In Chicago I spent a lot of my spare cash doing it." He risked a glib smile at his aunt then returned to the boy. "I've even played some polo at times. I reckon Colonel Custer would have given me a place in the 7th Cavalry if he'd known about me." Across the table he intercepted a glance between the boy and his grandmother. There was a secret between them, but they were giving no hint as to want it may be. Marty didn't enjoy that kind of thing. He swung his head angrily and caught the eye of Abraham, who smiled at him wanly. When he turned back Joseph was holding his dessert spoon upright and licked it slowly, his broad, wet, pink tongue sliding delicately over the hard metal. Marty was a sucker for things like that. He felt the skin on the back of his neck begin to prickle as he observed the lads shiny pink lips wrap around the spoon. In a way it was almost erotic. Hell's bells! The kid knew he was attractive, but was he just being childish or was he laying on a tease? Then he noticed what he had missed previously, a detail that hinted things weren't quite what they seemed. The kid was wearing earrings. Plenty of young people wore earrings of course, but boys didn't usually go for a tiny button pearl in each ear. The effect made him seem endearingly delicate in a girlish kind of way. That mouth! Those dark, bright slightly sly inviting eyes! And those cute earrings. He was a succulent little morsel to a dirty dog like himself. Joseph gave a radiant smile that that lingered and it shook Marty to the core. Beneath the table he slid his hand across the front of his trousers to push down the stir of an upthrust under his fly. 'Whoa Bowser!' he cautioned himself silently, 'This here tasty doggy- chew ain't for munchin'. As soon as the last plate had been cleared from the meal Aunt Matilda pinned Marty with her eyes. "You and I will play a few hands of cards." she told him without offering any option. Carefully, as if troubled by an aching back, she rose up to allow Abraham to pull away her chair, then lifting her head she straightened her shoulders and steadied herself with a hand on the table. As she passed the sideboard she reached for the brandy decanter with splendid aplomb and carried it through into the room adjacent. She enjoyed a few hands of poker in the evening she said, and just to make it interesting she preferred to play for real cash, which meant Marty ended the evening being light by fifty dollars. It was hardly a good result for an unemployed man, but the stakes were higher in the real game he was playing. If he could stay in flavour with the old girl he reasoned he could end up seriously rich. His aunt was fond of saying she possessed little of value but nothing in her household suggested any severe economy. There was no want at all. The rooms were full of old, but valuable property, and on looking outside at the back he'd seen sheds all splendidly equipped with the most up to date gear for processing crops. There were three motor trucks to move stuff around, and he'd discovered there was an office with a manager and two clerks employed. In talking with Abraham it also transpired his aunt also owned orange-groves other than those grouped around the house. He liked the house and he liked its situation: a commanding site in the midst of two thousand acres of prime orange growing land. If the old lady floated off soon he wouldn't be averse to having a few hundred acres of it himself. Or the whole estate if it came as a present. *** The next day Marty wore his favourite corduroys and a black jersey with a scarf of brightly coloured silk - did they call them bandanas this far south? - and he made sure he put on boots with good high heels that would hang on to a set of stirrups. Abraham supplied him with a broad rimmed wideawake that he put on tilted over one eye, thinking that gave him a raffish look that wouldn't seem out of character. All in all he looked better now than in a goddamned city suit, he reckoned. It had come as something of a relief to discover there was no temptation to his recent resolution of chastity. The house staff were mostly female, all nearly as old as the well worn Abraham and not in the ball park as far as he was concerned. The only hitch to staying straight and level for a while was the kid with whom he was about to spend some time, and while he usually steered clear of jailbait, young Joseph was a shining beauty, and he knew his real test was going to be keeping his hands off the little squirt. Outside the morning air was clear and the sun had just lifted over the tree tops in a long slant of russet light. When he picked his way across the outside yard to the stables behind the house he found Joseph already saddling horses and he was able to assess the boy more readily than had been possible at the dining table the previous evening. He wore a flat- brimmed black wideawake with a chin strap like the one he wore himself, a chequered shirt and blue jeans that seemed to emphasis the slenderness of his form. He looked even slimmer than he had last night. His torso was slender and a leather belt fastened tight accentuated his tiny waist and small hips. No bubble-butt, but an appealing little swell to his backside all the same. He looked down at him, skin so golden and svelte in his spotless shirt, the sweep of his neck from ear to slim shoulder hypnotised him. He was wearing the earrings again, and there was a delicate aroma about him. "Mornin' Joseph, you're lookin' quite the cowboy," he said. The boys eyebrows arched as he looked at him, and again Marty felt aware of his utter delicacy, of a loveliness as yet indefinable. The kid's cheeks dimpled as he smiled, his face rosy, complexion bright. He looked stunning in the morning light. "Hey, I know Grandma calls me Joseph, but I reckon that's kind've uncool," he said. "Most other people call me JoJo. I like that better." "JoJo it is then." "Great. Say, can you give me a hand fixing the cinch on this saddle. It ain't movin' for me." Marty placed his hands on the kid's shoulders, feeling the warmth and firmness of flesh beneath the thin material of his shirt, then he leaned over him, broad chest pressing against his small back, the kid's tiny rump fitting perfectly into the curve of his lower abdomen. His hand pulled the cinch and locked the buckle, and then he felt Jojo's cool fingers slide on to the back of his hand. Cool fingers, small and smooth that provided a devilish sensation and was incredibly exciting. The fingers seemed to linger a moment longer than an accidental touch should justify, and Marty's solemn resolution began to slip. The youngster, barely a teenager, had excited him in a way he didn't need at that time. His adrenaline began to bubble and he felt his cock lifting inside his pants. "You're soft and warm." he murmured as he dipped his mouth against the side of the succulent neck. That indefinable aroma hit him again, like a mixture of floral scented soap and new bought suede. He wanted to suck the side of that little neck in front of him, wanted to hear how the kid squeaked when he gently nipped the tender skin between his teeth. JoJo stiffened and then grinned ebulliently as he wriggled his narrow hips like a worm. "You mustn't misbehave!" he said softly. Marty drew a harsh draft of restraint and shuffled back to remind himself where he was and why he was there. Dammit! His halo had almost slipped off before they'd got out the stable door. The sweet thing had come near to making him by-pass the decision he'd made to stay chaste at Pitterpeetee. It was just plain good sense to stay as clean as a whistle while living with the woman he was hoping to be a benefactor, and messing about with her grandson was a certain way of ruining things. Luckily the kid showed no sign of anger or of suffering distress. Mounting up they set off on a walk the horses appeared to be familiar with, and within a short while they were in a forest of trees festooned with fruit. They toured the orange groves leisurely, acres of them, row upon row of trees with bright metallic looking leaves spreading out for miles, each one almost geometrically spaced from its neighbour. "Geesh! exclaimed Marty. "I didn't reckon there could be so many orange trees in the entire world." JoJo smiled proudly. "Millions of people start their day drinkin' orange juice. Gran'ma just does her piece in keepin' 'em supplied. "Say Martin, you ain't my real uncle are you? What I mean is, uncles are usually related to a fella's parents, and you aren't." "I'm related in a distant way to your grandmother, and I guess she finds it easier and more convenient to call me your uncle. I've no rub with that as long as you don't mind. Tell you what. Let's cut the uncle stuff altogether. I'm calling you JoJo, so you just call me Marty, huh!" JoJo beamed one of his irresistible smiles. "Sure thing, Marty." Later they circled about and visited vast orchards of grapefruit and tangerines, acres of them too, and the sight made Marty feel old Gremlin Greed stirring inside. He knew nothing about fruit growing and had no interest in farming, so if any land came his way by inheritance he'd certainly sell it off to a property developer, or one of those big fruit growing corporations his aunt detested so much. In any event he'd be likely to make a tidy piece of hard cash. The plantation was so extensive that the morning seemed to fly by, but all the time he couldn't prevent himself from secretly looking at the boy, his gaze a moth to a flame. Jojo had a carefree nature and a delightful clear laugh. He also had personality and style and good looks. When his lips parted, moist and red, his mouth dimpled at the corners in a delectable kind of way. Oh yes, he had looks with the appeal of boyhood, and his sweet unbroken voice charmed his ears. His sliver of a body had a fine seat in the saddle and no one seeing him mounted on a light grey mare at that moment would have credited him with being practically an adolescent. His thoughts kept wandering back to that moment in the stable when the boy's body had squirmed against him, and thinking about that made his cock swell as he dwelt on the smooth flesh that must lay beneath the kid's neat clothes. A flat stomach and slim hips, a narrow boyish chest with small pink nipples, and not least of all, the shapely curve of a fine little ass. Dammit! stop doing that, he berated himself silently. Think of something dark and cold instead. Think of coal mines. He followed JoJo who led the way along a narrow path through the pine trees and scrub oaks, on the rim of the orchards. "Do you like this place? Do you like living here," Marty asked. Joseph - JoJo - turned his head. "Like it? I love it. Gran'ma can be horrible to some people, but she's always kind to me. I get just about everything I want when I'm staying with her." "It's getting on towards lunchtime. Will your grandma be expecting us back?" "Nope, I told her we'd be away a while, and I collected a couple of food bags from the kitchen before we left." Marty nodded, pleased in a strange way the boy had made such a decision. He may have had a tempting young body he couldn't touch, but he enjoyed the kid's youthful banter, and now he knew he had him to himself for a while longer. He gazed up at the heavens. The sky was cloudless and almost Cerulean blue. "The weather's warm. The orange groves will make a nice setting for a picnic." The youngster scoffed at him cheekily. "Hah! You Yankee city slickers figure Florida to be all Miami sunshine, but we get hurricanes goin' though here reg'lar in summer, an' the cold seasons give us plenty of frost. Gran'ma reckons Pitterpeetee was hard-won in every way. Early settlers had trouble with the Crackers - that's folks descended from the Seminole tribes that lived here once. She says her own grandfather was murdered by 'em, an' I guess that's part of the reason she refuses to sell the land to anyone an' wants to keep it in the family." He suddenly kicked at his grey mares ribs and cantered ahead. "Follow me Marty. I know a place better for picnicking than any other around here." They made their way out from the groves and covered a few miles of scrub country shimmering in the full blaze of late morning. Eventually they reached a fringe of dense woodland and hauled up at a spot the boy knew well. Apparently it was JoJo's secret dell, a bright green cleft between the trees where a narrow stream flashed between mossy stones and shallow banks of bracken before tunnelling into a swamp of saw-grass and mangrove roots. There they voted to swing out of their saddles and give the horses a breather. Giant butterflies flitted in the dark backdrop of the forest as they wadded through the deep bracken by the edge of the stream. Eventually they found a clear patch of ground cushioned by velvet-like grass where the warm midday sunshine had found a route between the green canopy overhead. JoJo dumped himself on the ground and began pulling at his boots. "The water's shallow hereabouts an' I'm for steppin' in to cool my feet." His eyes always sparkled with such merry optimism that any man would feel an urge of affectionate irritation. The kid was never awkward or shy, and once he'd set his mind on something, it was impossible to deny him. Marty went back to the horses to collect the saddlebags that held the food and get a couple of horse-blankets to spread on the ground. When he returned JoJo was already paddling ankle deep in the stream, and not content with throwing off his boots he'd also stripped off his jeans. Marty surveyed the partly undressed youngster with lecherous interest. He was slightly built rather than skinny. With Marty skinny always conjured up a picture of bony limbs with lack of flesh, and that wasn't true of JoJo. He was impeccably well proportioned and his lightweight figure only served to emphasis his spry youthfulness. His legs were young and smooth - shapely and immaculate with an enticing butterscotch tan, and captivated, Marty watched his small bottom moving under the clinging, skimpy jockey shorts that were inadequately covered by the drape of his shirt. Even though the kid was untouchable in the present circumstances he couldn't help but groan a little in frustration. The boys spine had enough curve to give a truckload of sauciness to his little ass cheeks. Quite suddenly JoJo gave out a yelp of distress and hobbled towards the bank. "Something bite you?" Marty asked with genuine concern. "No, I stepped on a stone an' twisted something in my leg. It feels sore." His lips curved into a winsome poor-little-me smile, blue eyes teasing from beneath long lashes as he sat down heavily on the bank and raised his foot for some attention. "Will you check things out for me?" He watched Marty's hand curl under his ankle, felt the pressure of his fingers, and he smiled. Swiftly he let his foot revolve away so he could lean forward and point, frowning, at his calf. "There, I think that's where it hurts." he said, leaning back again. Sunlight played on his glossy thighs and Marty was very conscious of the way his tiny white briefs had wedged up into his crotch. He tried not to glance up. It needed no imagination to define the outline of what was inside the boys skimpy briefs. The material had become damp and the bulge of a boyish cock and balls was all too evident, but he was playing the game with studious concentration as he rubbed his hand along the muscle, ostensibly feeling for tenderness. "Does that hurt?" "Just a little." "And this?" "Hardly at all." "No damage done then." He was knelt before him. JoJo might have been Cinderella and he Prince Charming, except this was no fairy tale, and while there was no impropriety in his ministrations the boy seemed to be enjoying the touch of his big hands. He stretched out a leg and pointed his bare toes. "Have you done this sort of thing before, Marty?" Marty nodded. "My mother suffered from rheumatism." "Your mother!" "Yes, but I've also had some experience with horses. Strained fetlocks and that kind of thing." "Are you comparing me with a horse?" "Certainly not," said Marty, "apart from which you don't have any swelling on the flexor tendon or clap on the back sinew." "You ARE comparing me with a horse." Marty laughed and stood up. "You'll live JoJo. You ain't got nothing that a hot bath won't cure." His young companion levered himself up in front of him, now showing not the slightest bit of discomfort. "Gran'ma says your going to stay here for at least a month. If you stay at Pitterpeetee for four weeks you're gunna get mighty bored. There ain't no decent looking women this side of Unction, and a guy like you probably likes to have a girl on his arm all the time." Marty smiled cynically. "You're reckoning me as a teenager JoJo. When you get a bit older you'll find out fella's often have to go for long spells without the company of dames." The boy thought about that for a moment, "Uh, uh! 'Spect you're right. But I 'spect guys find other things to occupy their time." He then swivelled his shoulders back and forth in a way that seemed deliberately precocious. "You think I'm pretty, don't you?" Marty pursed his lips thoughtfully. "No, I don't think you pretty, I think you're perfect." Encouraged by the flattery JoJo unfastened the top button on the front of his shirt and spread the collar open, The hand lingered, moving up to stroke the very spot on the slender neck Marty had yearned to kiss earlier. He was taking the lead, and he was doing it with style. It was no charming whim or accident of interpretation. The boy was flirting. The kid was coming on to him! "Oh, oh! I know what you're doing." "What am I doing then?" JoJo asked, his eyes widening in a mockery of innocence. "You damn well know what," He brushed the tip of the boy's nose with his forefinger. "Back at the stables you said to not misbehave." "That was then and there. This is here and now. Do you like boys Marty? When there's no dames around do you like cuddlin' boys who aren't wearing many clothes? Do you like me?" With a low laugh JoJo playfully leaned against him and bit his earlobe, and Marty felt his breath quicken. As he pulled back he looked into his vivacious eyes and the blood drummed in his ears as the kid stared back at him. "You're a big hunky guy, an' I notched-up a king-sized crush on you the moment I saw you. You could do anything you wished with a boy like me, you could use me like a girl and I wouldn't be able to stop you." Marty felt like he was suddenly being pulled in all directions. One moment he was lingering on a threshold, and the next he was being swept away by passion. Common-sense became ignored as his face swung down. JoJo's lips parted slightly and he felt the tip of a tongue touch his lips. He reciprocated instantly, his own tongue snaking out to outline the shape of the boys mouth before running along the smooth ridge of his teeth. Still revelling in the taste of the young mouth and he gently bit JoJo's lower lip. He wasn't sure how he ended up with the lad in his arms, or whether JoJo said anything before his flirting little pink mouth made contact with his own. But the time for talking had passed, now only touch and taste mattered. He gripped the kid's waist and hauled the young body against his own, smelt its freshness, felt its warmth, felt its pliancy as it moulded to him. There was no shy uncertainty or hanging back, JoJo wanted contact, wanted to be held in a man's arms. Without a word passing between them the boy wrapped his arms about his neck and threw himself into a kiss. Marty's tongue at once probed into his mouth and the boy instantly caressed it with his own. Tongues began swirled, wriggling and thrusting in a flurry of sexual excitement. As his hands skittered over JoJo's body and Marty marvelled at the sleek torso and chest in his embrace. It was just as lean and lithe as he had earlier imagined it to be. He pulled at the narrow waist, pressing against the yielding body to eliminate all space between them while his hands explored JoJo's young form and shamelessly pressed his hard thigh against the boys smooth flesh. With their mouths melded together he fumbled with the front of Jojo's shirt, slowly working at the row of buttons as the kiss went on and on. Contact was finally broken as he scooped him up in his arms, and with a tiny cry of surprise at his tightened grip JoJo nuzzled his face against his neck. Taking full advantage of his greater strength Marty reached around the back of him to squeeze his little backside, and he felt it rotate in his grip, the skimpy little pants the lad was wearing doing nothing to disguise the soft texture of the youthful anatomy they contained. Hot with passion now he didn't hold back. He daubed the boy's face with saliva and left a wet trail across his fevered lips before his face dipped and he slid his mouth across the smooth, bare chest, inhaling the delicious aroma of his new little love pup. Perky little boy-nipples brushed his cheek when he began licking the kid's firm pectorals, licking all around before pressing onto them, mouthing each nipple in turn, teasing and tasting them and then taking them into his mouth and sucking the small pink teats. "Ooooohhhh!" JoJo moaned softly. "Oh yeah, suck my tits Marty, bite 'em a little bit, but don't do it hard." The man's hands burrowed inside the young boys shirt and stroked his sides, and JoJo's dainty hands fluttered as he gripped the waistband of his pants and quickly slipped them down to expose the rest of his sleek young body. A young body still devoid of coarse hair. Gorgeous! A pair of cherry-sized balls lolled in the small pink bag of his scrotum, and above them - a beautiful, slender erect boy-cock. As his hands slid onto the tender skin of his inner thighs he found the uncircumcised penis was slightly curved, quite thick and with an impressive five inch stand, already stiff with its foreskin rolled back to show a blushing pink tip. He held it in his hand and savoured the solid girth of its shaft before he began stroking it, watching the tip disappear and reappear as the soft fleshy foreskin melted against the shaft as he moved it up and down. JoJo returned every move, running his hands over his man-freinds ribs and torso and feeling the body heat beneath the fabric of his shirt before dropping onto the front of his corduroys. "Wow! That's some night-stick in you're carrying in your pocket, Marty. I knew you'd have something good." The kid's hands went straight in to unbuckle his belt and Marty heard the sharp intake of his own breath as young hands worked against the tight ridge of his abdomen. With a flick of his fingers and a wicked smile Jojo unhooked his trousers and unzipped them with tantalising leisure, casually brushing the back of his fingers against the hard length behind the corrugated fabric. In complete surrender to his base desires Marty allowed him to pull the waist loose so he could slip them over his hips, but his swollen cock was rearing up like a tower by then and the tip of it snagged on his briefs, so in the end he eased them down himself. A delicious shiver ran the length of his spine as his pants went down and his fully hard cock sprang up, smooth and hard, a shaft of silky steel. Without the slightest hesitation JoJo took hold of it and began stroking, ringing it with his fingers and increasing the movements of his hand until Marty began to shake violently and felt compelled to grip the boys hand tight around his slippery erection and hump into it. The boy looped a twig-like arms about his neck, and Marty's fingers tangled in JoJo's hair as their mouths meshed and melted together again. Slowly they dropped to their knees and keeled over sideways in the grass, heads twisting, locked in a deep and passionate kiss, jolts of electricity sizzling between them as boy-erection nudged against man- erection Pressing forward aggressively Marty slipped his tongue between his young lovers fevered lips, tongue-fucking his mouth while JoJo sucked the tongue like it was a cock. "Mmmm, ooooh!" JoJo's small voice quivered like a fiddle-string as Marty reached out and rolled a pair of young testicles in his hand. "Oooh, mmm!" The boy gasped again, legs pulled tight. He may have had the face of an angel, but his confidence and lack of hesitation gave the lie to his looks of innocence. He'd done this kind of thing before, and was beyond clumsy fumbling with boys his own age. He'd done it with men. Marty's excitement took him beyond reason. Between his own legs a length of hard meat was jerking and throbbing with anticipation of unspoken promises. JoJo's eyes began to glaze and he drew back while gazing at the man-cock in his hand, admiring its size and solidness and watching in fascination as his fingers wrinkled down the foreskin to reveal the smooth, bulbous head. Marty's erection was angled slightly off centre, big, very big, standing out from a bush of black hair. For a moment JoJo stared at the seminal ooze seeping from its tip. "Boy! Your prick's like a stick o' dynamite. I gotta do something with it before it explodes." With a burst of strength that was unexpected he rolled Marty onto his back and straggled his thighs as if he were mounting a horse, then grabbing Marty's erection with his slim fingers he tucked the tip of it between his buttocks. His eyes flickered momentarily as he pressed his body down, young belly undulating, narrow hips screwing left and right as he slowly opened up and eased the head of Marty's dick through his outer sphincter. "Umph!" He grunted and bucked as his rubbery spinster contracted and clamped tight. Every muscle in his body seemed to flex as he lifted slightly and then settled again to sink down on two additional inches. Marty was stunned by the accessibility of the kid. His dick was in no way a small item and he could only assume JoJo had done some early morning lubrication on himself to help things along later. That meant all that what was happening wasn't in the heat of the moment. It was pre-planned. "Nnnngh!" The swooning boy sitting astride him struggled to get more and more cock into his narrow tunnel, and slowly, inch by inch Marty's cock sank right in. JoJo anal tract rippled down the length of his fat shaft - right down, until backside met balls. Pausing to let his bum get used to being stretched and occupied JoJo offered a smile. "Gee! Boy oh Boy! I didn't think I was gonna make it, yer big hunk. I didn't reckon was gonna be able to take it all." Marty groaned too as he felt JoJo's anal muscles flutter then hold him tight, then the kid raised Marty's hands and placed them on his hips before slowly, deliberately beginning to rock back and forth, riding up and down, bouncing to savour the full extent of penetration. Every few moments he would lift up so that Marty could feel the ring of his sphincter hovering under the rim of his dick, then he'd go down again, squeezing with his insides and rippling his stomach muscles, working everything in unison to generate pleasure. Marty made no protest. The way JoJo mixed the exuberance of a boy with the delicacy and grace of a girl was beguiling. Every movement of his lithe form seemed done with canny awareness. The swing of his hips, the tilt of his head was posed, practised. Even now he still had the ability to amaze him. He was so casual about his homosexual actions. There was no hesitancy, no guilt, no self-doubt or remorse, he was utterly comfortable with the way he was. And experienced too, even skilled. Where had he acquired such knowledge and such confidence? The kid was moving nicely now, all the time retaining Marty's swollen man-meat and sliding up and down its entire length, his tightly clinging anus clutching and caressing the thickness of his cock and sliding with the ease of a kid glove up and down the length of his hardness. With little spasms of delight and sensuous grinding of his buttocks Jojo was milking his dick with shameless skill, milking it with his asshole. The man froze, muscles taut, eyes squeezed shut, and as his eyes rolled and he began to gasp. The youngster leaned forward and gasped with him. The initial discomfort had faded and his breath became shallow as he rasped in his throat. "You like this, don't you. You enjoy boy-ass moving up and down your prodder, don't you?" He did like it. He liked the heat and the friction, and he loved shafting the sassy young featherweight kid that was mounted on his dick. His rock- hard cock felt like a crowbar buried inside him, it was throbbing and tingling along its entire length, which made his balls draw up tight against his thick shaft. "You've really got some cargo to unload, ain't you?" the kid remarked whilst still steadily bouncing up and down. Yes he had, and eventually his body demanded to be allowed to empty. Eyes rolling, helpless amid his own pleasure he surrendered to the convulsions that accompanied his climax. "Ughhh! Aaaaah, ooooh!" "Wow! Oh yeah." his young partner enthused, "Shoot in there. Give this sweetheart babies. Give him everything you've got." As his prick pumped strongly upwards Marty blindly, almost without being aware, swung his hand up, grasped JoJo's stiff penis and began pulling and pushing. The boys tummy heaved and an expression of surprise blossomed on his face. Then he shook like a leaf as a trace of clear fluid leaked out from the straining tip. Within moments the kid's hot, silky-smooth organ throbbed tangibly and the man heard JoJo breathing quickly as it pulsated. Then he heard the him squeal, "Ooh, oooh, OOOOHH!" and he watched as with each exclamation a heavy shot of warm cream hosed from the bloated tip and slopped over his hand. JoJo remained motionless for a moment afterwards, just flashed his big brown eyes and smiling with contentment as his sated gland slowly retracted into its soft sheath. Afterwards they lay side by side on the horse blankets for a while, content in a warm, sunny never-land bordered by severely regimented acres of orange orchards on one side and the unrevealed mysteries of a mangrove swamp on the other. It was a world apart from the hustle of Chicago Marty had endured for so many years and he was enjoying a sweet way of life unknown to him. It was beautiful. The meandering little stream nearby was too fast running to harbour mosquitoes that would spoil things, and red-winged cardinals and flocks of ibis were flashing overhead. What could be more ideal? he thought languidly as he observed the contrast between JoJo's smooth naked form and the hairiness of his own thighs. He was in a paradise where a delicious looking young boy, like some houri in a drug-induced dream, was eager to satisfy his every gratuitous urge. "Do you seduce every fella' you take to the groves? Marty asked him. JoJo grinned. "Only the one's worth the trouble. It's unusual for a hunk like you not to be married, and it got me to thinking you preferred being with guys. I was right, wasn't I?" Marty declined to answer, but JoJo remained smiling. "It's okay. I'm glad. Things can get pretty dull around here. Gran'ma don't let me go into town alone, an' things can get pretty stale sometimes for a kid like me." "A kid like you?" "Y'know. One that likes pretty clothes. One that's growin' and likes dick." "You seem pretty experienced." "I went to a live-in school in Tallahassee for a while. There were other kids like me there, all wantin' to try stuff. It got pretty wild some nights." "Listen, it's going to poison your gran'ma against me if she hears about what we've just done." "Don't worry Marty, I don't tell her about everything I do." "Speakin' of poison, I'm feelin' vulnerable wearing so few clothes. This place is pretty, but its wild too. There's probably snakes around." JoJo nodded. "Yep, there's plenty of coral's an' rattler's creepin' in the grass around here I guess, but I come here all the time an' I ain't been bothered by any yet." He served a wry glance at Marty's penis lolling between his legs, itself looking like a fat, olive-skinned viper. "The biggest risk to kids around these parts comes from the spittin' cobra's guys carry in their breeches." They both chuckled, and then JoJo straightened his face. "Do you ever like girl's, Marty?" "Well, sure. Girl's are fine, I just haven't had much to do with them in the past." "I could dress-up like a girl for you." "Dress-up like a girl! Jesus Christ! Your Grandma would go nuts." "No she wouldn't. She lets me do as I like. She knows I dress-up sometimes, she even buys me stuff." Marty couldn't make head nor tail of such an admission, it was all too weird. What had he got into by coming to Florida? What kind of a family did he belong to? *** On his return to Pitterpeetee Marty found himself fully sober in his thoughts and squarely cursing his own stupidity. How could he be such a numbskull? His aunt had brought him to there to make a judgement on him and discover if he was worthy of some inheritance - and within twenty- four hours of arriving he'd poked her beloved grandson in the ass. Not only that, but the kid was now threatening to dress-up kinky for him. Simple and uncomplicated, that had always been his motto. Then along comes JoJo and the world falls to pieces. JoJo was anything but uncomplicated. He was impulsive, carefree and as reliable as a new Swiss watch, but the ultimate temptation of him was putting at risk the best chance of getting rich quick the man from Chicago was ever likely to have. He was pretty certain JoJo wouldn't mouth-off about what had happened earlier, but he'd arrived back from their day out together glowing with the kind of over-all bloom people associated with a freshly fucked young girl, and kid's Jojo's age could get careless about the things they say. Now he not only had to contend with losing Aunt Matilda's goodwill and a chance of some inheritance, he was in danger of being dragged off to jail by some hard-nosed sheriff or whatever else stood for the law in Florida. With a shiver he wondered if convicts still formed chain-gangs in that part of the country. In an effort to disperse his negative thoughts he bathed and dressed and went down for dinner much earlier than he needed to, and then felt at a loss as to what else to do. There were no newspapers or magerzines in the house and the only books he could find were a collection of ancient self-help manuals tucked on a shelf under the stairs. Jesus Christ! That cranky old bitch of a distant aunt hadn't brought a new book into the house for the past fifty years. He found himself reading through dull accounts on geology, obscure items about diseases in cattle, and the importance of sanitation in the homestead (dated 1910). There was also a copy of James Brown's treatise on the planting and management of trees, which long ago had been heavily annotated in pencil along the margins of every page. Then along the hall he suddenly heard the stately advance of high heels, and his heart leapt into his mouth. No one in the house wore that kind of footwear usually, so there was little doubt who it could be. JoJo made a fine entrance because quite simply he was 130 centimeters of spectacular construction. He was wearing a cranberry-coloured silk blouse with shoelace straps, and the narrowness of his waist was emphasised by the tight waistband of a dinky little black skirt that skimmed every curve and ended a good six inches above his knees. The Collette Dinnigan cocktail outfit might have been a tad revealing for some peoples taste, but he had accessorized perfectly, and the upsweep of his hair was consumate with high fashion. Marty couldn't prevent his examination sliding downwards. The kid was wearing nylons and his feet were arched in a pair of sexy shoes. About halfway down he decided the legs, so sleek and graceful, were a perfect match for the dress. With a wide grin the kid romped across the floor and did a neat twirl as if he were performing in Swan Lake, then there followed a strained silence as his ice-blue eyes met Marty's. "Like the outfit?" he asked. Unconsciously Marty tugged at his collar and wished for a simple solution to another hot, tight pressure - one that was spreading south. The pretty little trooper skipping around in front of him, all poise and slender shapes, had all it took to be a man's best friend. "Ah, yes." He cleared his throat. "It's - remarkable." At that moment Aunt Matila appeared in the hall, but even with her grandson flouncing around in a skirt her face remained expressionless. "Well, I guess you know our secret now, Mart'n. Let's not stand here letting the meal get cold. Let's go and eat." Matilda may not have been told of what had happened earlier, but the fact that JoJo had pulled out all the stops to put on a girly act must have told her something. Dinner when it came was a stilted affair, made worse by the fact that he found it hard to look anyone in the eye. They started with crayfish and shrimps drenched with some kind of sauce, then moved on to a chicken and mushroom dish, but it could have been pizza or hamburger or a pot of chili for all the taste he got out of it. His aunt seemed to eat quicker than she'd done the previous evening, and the reason for that came soon after the dessert had been cleared. "You may leave the table, Joseph. Go upstairs, I want to talk to yur Uncle Mart'n alone," said Aunt Matilda. Her eyes swung over to Abraham who was standing by the sideboard. "You go too. I want some privacy here." Marty's heart thumped. What was coming? he pondered as the others departed. What was so personal between himself and Aunt Matilda that she wanted the room cleared? He had a bad feeling about it, like he knew he was about to get the proverbial boot out the door. His aunt dipped a spoon into her coffee-cup and stirred slowly, an unnecessary action since she took coffee black and unsweetened. "You were a long time in the groves today. I hope you figured it worthwhile. Not everyone enjoys the company of my grandson." Marty smiled awkwardly. "Perhaps I shouldn't say this to you, it's not my business anyhow. I'm a guest here, and a stranger, but - I like Joseph." He tried to make his words light but there was a tiny catch in his voice that he couldn't disguise. "I'm glad you like Joseph, he rewards all the care I expend on him." the woman replied. Then she gave him a deeper look. "Just why did you come here, Mart'n?" "Why Aunt Matilda, I came because you invited me of course." The old woman's mouth curved cynically, and when she looked at him he felt she was taking sight down the barrel of a gun. "You didn't come outta politeness. You came because you saw a chance of gettin' a piece of an old lady's estate when she passed on. Ain't that more the truth?" "Aunt Matilda... I..." "It ain't going to happen Mart'n. Pitterpeetee Grove and everything else I have will go to Joseph when I die." The blood rose in Marty's face. He felt a rush of rage and swallowed it like bile. The arrogant old woman! Enticing him to come here to her wretched house with undefined promises when he was on a low - and now ditching him like a loose wheel. He realised the tightness in his gut had changed from heated awareness to disappointment. No - disappointment didn't come near to describing the acid gnawing he could feel. He drained his wine glass and wished he'd swallowed something harsh like tequila to match his mood. It had all been too good to be true. Struggling to control an urge to stamp, shout and demand fair play, he dumped his elbows on the table and tried to think what to say next. Hell! He'd allowed his imagination to float off into a fairy tale and he shouldn't have been such a chump in the first place. He was only a distant relation, and of course she'd want her nearest kin to inherit. But there was still a 'why' to get an answer for. "Why did you invite me here in the first place?" The old woman sipped her coffee. "I've a use for a man like you. I've had to pull Joseph outta school - he's growin' and he's a mite promiscuous, so he gets into trouble in them fancy residential places. But he ain't finished his education, so I want you to take on tutorin' him." "Tutor him! I ain't a teacher." "I only need you to give him grades that won't let him down when he goes to college. You qualified in accountancy, so you can't be completely dumb." "It's not exactly what I planned." "What did you plan? I've had a private detective investigating you for the past month, so I know everything about you. I know you're out of a job and can't go back to Chicago. Take up the offer Mart'n. You'll live here free and gratis for a while, and I'll give you a reasonable salary on top. And if the boys school grades are good you'll be in for a fat bonus at the end." She placed her coffee cup delicately in the centre of her saucer. "There's also Joseph himself of course. You'll know by now he likes being with guys. He likes guys a lot. It's an instinct with him. That's why he's not in school. He was causin' trouble with all them male teachers slobbering all over him. There's no accountin' for taste, an' all that matters is what pleases him, but his instinct must be controlled, an' if there's indiscretions I'd like to keep 'em private among the family, if you know what I mean. That's why you'll be allowed all the latitude you need in pleasing him. You could even make him dress-up as a schoolgirl for your classes. He'd probably go along with that kind of idea without any argument." Marty leaned back in his chair. The old girl was cranky and maybe a little deranged, but she held all the cards on this occasion. And on the whole the offer wasn't a bad one. Before he could commit himself one way or the other the old woman pushed herself stiffly up from her chair. "I've something to show you, but I'll need the help of your arm going up the stairs." They went into the hall and together they ascended the stairs one step at a time, and on the landing Aunt Matilda directed him towards the master- bedroom. What the hell was he getting into? Marty paused as they entered the room, astounded by the sight that awaited him. The room was flooded with moonlight, the swaying branches of a large poinsettia tree outside throwing a restless pattern of shadows across the polished floor, while a soft breeze sweetened with the perfume of oranges wafted through a partly open window. Beneath the barrel-canopy of the big four-poster bed JoJo was being fucked by Abraham. He was naked on top of the bedcovers, face down, knees folded under him and with his feet and beautiful bare ass jutting over the edge of the mattress. Unbelievably his hands were reaching back and spreading his cheeks to assist what was happening, and he was uttering explosive little sounds of delight with each of the black man's inward thrusts. Abraham moved right up close to hold the boy by the hips as he humped him, his coal-black body glistening in its own lean nakedness. Neither boy or servant paused to show any alarm when they walked in, nor did they look up to make an acknowledgement, which made it clear they were used to being observed in such intimacy, and what they were doing was a routine that was practised often. "It ain't a surprise surely," Aunt Matilda murmured coolly to Marty. "Y'already know the kid likes being dicked in the ass. It ain't something I altogether approve of, but if it makes him happy I'll go along with it. Gay is a word used to describe butt-bangers these days, but when I was young it meant happy." Marty swallowed hard. "Yeah sure, but Aunt Matilda, you're his guardian. Shouldn't you..." "Sure I'm his guardian." snapped the woman, "Joseph's my dearest kin and I think the world of him. That's why he gets everything he wants. Abraham provides it most of the time, but the old fella's getting on in years and needs some help now and then. I figure from what I know of you, you'll be ideal for that." Marty stared in astonishment and wonder, unable to take his eyes away from Abraham's great oiled black stalk sliding in and out between Jojo's delicate lily-white cheeks. Every movement was making the boy utter tiny squealing noises. The old woman eased herself carefully into the rocking-chair, and as she began to tip back and forth Marty realised she was doing something she'd practised countless times in the past. It was a ritual. The old master- bedroom was a shrine where she could witness the fornication of her grandson. "Come outta there Abraham," she said after a moment, "Step back and let Mart'n give it a try. You stay where you are Joseph. You're gettin' an extra meat-treat tonight." As the old retainer dragged his thick ebony coloured cock out from Jojo's backside Marty's face drained. "Aunt Matilda, are you expecting me to - do you want me to...?" The old lady glared at him. "Sure. What's a matter with you? Joseph's bare-assed, hot, an' willin' - he's every man's dream come true. Yer not gonna let him down, are yer?" Marty felt embarrassed. He rolled his tense shoulders, ran his tongue around his mouth and cursed the scarcity of something to drink. Shoving his dick into JoJo when they were alone and in the mood was one thing, but laying on a command performance in front of an old lady was entirely something else. Slowly he pulled off his fine linen shirt and silk tie and dropped them on the floor, all the time feeling the old woman's eyes studying his torso, scrutinising his pectorals and the set of his ribs whilst waiting for him to get rid of his other clothes. The scent of oranges continued to funnel in through the window on the humid air, filling the entire room with its sickly sweetness, and he silently swore he'd never touch that kind of fruit again. Right then he needed time to control his impulses and formulate a stategy, one that took everything into account, but he wasn't being given the chance. Whoa! he told his impatiant body. But his body wasn't listening. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his trousers, and as they went down his cock sprang up, big, erect and solid. "There yer go!" remarked his aunt, "Yer into the spirit o' things a'ready." A small dew of perspiration gathered on Marty's upper lip and two unfortunate patches formed under his arms as he nuzzled forward. Jojo's impeccable young buttocks, so recently buggered by the black servant, now mooned patiently in front of himself. He gripped his penis in his hand and guided it, rubbing and chaffing against the silk-like skin until he felt the sensation of the boys nakedness. It was warm and both pliant and demanding. His face twitched with a nervous smile. He was willing enough - but with Aunt Matilda - with her watching? It was sick. It was indecent and perverse and just plain wrong. Then he thought, okay! He'd never had any problem being indecent and perverse in the past. Gently he separated the small white globes of JoJo's anus, spreading them open as he carefully inched it up between his neat little cheeks. Hell! the young hotty was still wearing stockings and suspenders. Marty rocked his thighs carefully, teasingly, touching himself onto him then drawing back, touching again, then at last forcing himself into the hot, yielding elastic opening spreading to take him in. As he started prodding into it he glanced over his shoulder