My son, My trade

The following is a work of erotic fiction depicting graphic sexual scenes and is meant to be enjoyed by a mature audience.

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The bar was typically dead between the hours of three and four.  Only a couple of old time regulars, with nothing better to do on a hot-as-a-firecracker August afternoon, sat on the stools nursing a brew, sucking on a cancer stick and watching the game shows.  Sometimes the talkies were on.  Sometimes the news.  Never the soaps.  All depended on who was tending. This afternoon it was Buck Hauser, working the three-to-ten.  If not Buck, it was Axel.  If neither of them, then the owner Ralph.  That didn't happen too often.  Just as well.  Ralph wasn't generous with the freebies.

Wrinkled as a raisin Hank Rochester and Jakub Novotny were talking about nothing at all.  Just random gibberish.  Bemoaning the way the old town had gone to hell.  Far as Buck was concerned it never was much of a place.  On the other side of the highway, sure, there was some activity but here it was like time stood still a hundred years ago.  Had been this way far back as Buck's memory went.  All his thirty-six years were lived out in this shoddy, industrial town.  Hank and the Czech, Jake, were no different, except they'd lived longer.  Hank was pushing seventy-one and Jakub was only a couple years behind him.  They always had stories to tell.  Some of them more than once.

Shift change at all the factories, warehouses and plants down by the bay between the four and five o'clock hours would bring in some business.  Pretty much the same faces every day.  Grabbing one or two before they headed home to face the wife.  Sometimes staying and ignoring their buzzing cell phones, prepared to catch hell later.  With Buck working the closing shift they pretty much all figured there was a possibility of some entertainment.

Buck rose from his stool at the far end of the bar when Hank motioned for another.  As he tapped the suds into the old timer's mug Hank asked, through the few teeth he had left, "How's that son of your'n?"

Buck looked at him pointedly, knowing what was going through old Hank's mind, and replied, "Gearin' up to go back to school in a few weeks.  He'll be here later on."

Hank's eyes sparkled excitedly and he nudged Jakub with his elbow.  Buck knew they had both fucked Marc.  And they knew he knew.  Hank had done the boy long before Buck was aware of Marc's compulsion; Jakub, only since the Hauser men had turned it into a side business.  Once Buck discovered that his good looking, seemingly all-American boy was an incorrigible slut for cock and there was little he could do to contain him, daddy put son to work.  School was out for summer vacation and, while his buddies took seasonal jobs, Marc was just loafing around.  Buck seized the opportunity to have his son make some cash at what he seemingly knew best.  It was about time the kid contributed to the household. 

Since Marc wanted to be a slut like his errant, long-departed mother Buck was determined to push him all the way.  After all, a father should support his son.  Buck hadn't been much of one in the past but he was surely making up for lost time with their immoral venture.  He controlled who got a piece of his son's ass.  And a fine ass it was.  Buck had fucked his share of pussy in his day but throwing it to Marc was the best he'd ever sampled.  As an added plus, the boy could suck dick like a fuckin' Hoover.  His throat and puss were seemingly bottomless.  Sometimes the kid still went rogue like a few weeks ago when he confessed to a garage fuckdown with the old proprietor and his mechanic.  Buck acted all piqued with the boy for giving out free pussy but it aroused him when Marc detailed his encounter with the horny old seventy year old and his muscular worker.  He had punish fucked Marc real good after that one, although Marc didn't seem to mind a bit.  That kid could take anything any man could deliver.

Their operation had netted a good deal of tax-free cash over the course of the summer.  Buck kept the major portion of it.  Marc failed to object.  He was getting exactly what he wanted.  What he needed.  It was Marc who had set up the app on Buck’s phone to keep tabs on what transpired down in the secret basement room under the bar and in his bedroom at the house.  While Buck wasn't overly concerned with the "clients" he knew word had gotten out about the hot lay at Ralph's Place and a good deal of new faces had shown up looking to buy a piece of that famed ass.  Some of these guys looked extremely undesirable, like they might be trouble.  Like those long-bearded, big-bellied hillbilly truckers a short time ago who got a little too tanked up on the whiskey and fairly aggressive with Marc.  Buck restrained himself from breaking things up.  Probably should have.  But a part of him wanted to see his son abused.  Retribution for being a sleazy cock whore.

"What time ya think he be comin'?" Hank was saying, smacking his gums excitedly and looking at his cheap watch.

Buck shrugged his big, broad shoulders.  "Dunno.  When things pick up.  Why, you be lookin' for somethin' tonight, Hank?"

Hank grinned, revealing his six halfway decent teeth.  The creases in his face grew even deeper.  He slapped his thigh and jovially said, "I just might be, Buck.  I just might be."

Buck supposed he should be repulsed at the thought of this old coot making it with his son but instead found it curiously stimulating.  Most of the blue collar guys who frequented this bar were, at best, average.  The rest were out of shape, crude, unkempt and borderline unsightly.  Buck had the luxury of picking clients and those were the ones who had a notch up on getting down to the basement lair.  If Marc was so intent on fucking it wasn't always going to be with a pretty guy like Georgie Hilliard, that half-a-homo.  It was going to be with a real man, warts and all.  Not that the kid seemed to give a fuck one way or the other.  Cock was cock.  Didn't matter much who it was attached to.  It both disgusted and aroused Buck to monitor his fresh faced, smooth bodied kid mounted by a fat, hairy-backed, liver-lipped ogre.  The old ones were equally compelling.  While they struggled to get up off the stool and down the rickety stairs they sure fucked like rabbits when they got on Marc.

Buck graciously offered a senior citizen discount for those over sixty-five. 

"I might be up for a little bit, myself," Jakub ventured.  "You sure got a good boy, Buck."

A good anything-goes fuck, he means, Buck thought.  While these two old codgers should be at home in front of retro TV eating crackers and drinking warm milk they were contemplating the pleasures of his son's pussy.  Hell, Buck hoped when he was their age he would be the same.  Thinking about pussy, that is.  Not necessarily Marc's. 

Buck leaned across the bar on one strong, hairy forearm and, although there was no one else in the place, winked at them and conspiratorially said, "Tell ya what.  How 'bout the two of you go downstairs together and have at him."

Hank hooted and slapped his thigh again.  "Whoopie!  Now you talkin', Buck!  Now you talkin'! Two fer one!"

Buck stood up tall, puffed up his heavy chest and put out his hands.  "Slow down, fellas.  You both pay up as usual.  There's no free ride here."

Just then the door opened.  Buck's eyes instantly darted to the new arrival.  Hank and Jakub both turned heads to see who had joined them.  Framed in the doorway was a big man dressed in a dark suit and tie, gloves on his hands and a cap atop his head.  Ignoring the two elders his gaze remained fixed on Buck as he casually sauntered across the room to the far end of the bar while slowly removing his leather gloves.  When he sat down on the farthest seat, placing his gloves and cap on the bar top Buck reached for a bottle of Stoli, a shot glass and approached him. 

"Ivan," he said, pouring the Russian's favored liquor.  The dark haired man merely nodded in response, lifted the glass and belted back the offering.  Although hardly intimidated by him Buck found the man a forbidding type.  Under that suit he always wore Ivan obviously had a powerful build.  Rumor had it he was an ex-prize fight boxer and somehow involved in the accidental death of a competitor for which he served some time.  Looking into those inky, almost black, beady eyes framed by equally dark lashes Buck could believe him guilty of most anything.  Although not a native of these parts for the past five or six years he had worked as old Marek Stankovich's chauffeur and live-in caregiver out at the creepy Victorian house on Edwards Street. 

"Another?" Buck offered, well aware that Hank and Jakub were keenly observing.

"Boss only allows one."  Then, with a grin that might have seemed chilling to a lesser man than Buck, "But the old man's not here, is he?"  He tapped the glass with a thick, blunt forefinger and Buck once again filled it.  This time Ivan didn't immediately consume the intoxicating liquid.  Instead he raised the glass as if considering its content.  "I'm here to conduct a little business," he mysteriously told Buck.

Buck crossed both forearms in front of him on the bar and leaned into them.  "What business would that be?"

Placing the glass down Ivan reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, paused and turned his attention to the other two.  He smiled in satisfaction as the old men quickly looked away.  Removing a white envelope he placed it on the bar.  "The old man requests the pleasure of your son's company," he went on with not-so-secret amusement.  "Tomorrow.  High noon."

Buck looked from the envelope lying in front of him to Ivan, then back again.  After a beat he thumbed through the contents and discovered four not so crisp hundred dollar bills.  Placing his full hand on the envelope he slid it across the bar and said, "That can be arranged."

Ivan smirked, consumed the vodka and rose from the stool while collecting his things.  "I will pick him up in front of your place at noon."   About to leave he suddenly turned back to Buck.  "Tell him the old man wants him in his basketball gear."  Giving Buck a sly wink he went on his way.  Buck really, truly didn't like that guy. 

But four hundred dollars was four hundred dollars.

Precisely at the appointed hour the old black sedan pulled up in front of the Hauser homestead on Arthur Ave.  Marc was lounging on the crumbled steps, long strong limbs akimbo in front of him dressed, as requested, in his high school team tank top, shorts and kicks.  He was excited when Buck came home after closing time last evening and told him about the engagement.   It had been a while since he'd seen Stank, the old man who had taken his cherry and opened opportunities for him he had only before imagined.  Those last few times it had been something of a challenge getting Stank up for the occasion but Marc was confident he could prevail.  Worse came to worse he would only be getting a suck job from the old guy.  Not bad for the hundred bucks Buck said was his half of the taking.

As Marc pushed himself up from the stoop the old man's chauffeur, Ivan, dutifully came around to his side of the car and held open the rear door.  It amused Marc that in this shoddy little town Stank had his man formally dressed when driving him around.  He wondered if the Russian was required to wear the same outfit while attending to Stank in the house. 

"Hey, Ivan," Marc greeted cheerfully as he slipped into the seat. 

"Marc," was all the man said, somewhat gruffly, in reply.  He got behind the wheel, still wearing  his chauffeur's cap, and leisurely pulled away from the curb.   Marc didn't know much about cars but was sure this was a relic.  The upholstery smelled old.  But Ivan kept it polished and in good running order.  From the very few past encounters he had with him Marc knew Ivan was a man of few words so he didn't bother with conversation.  Besides, it was only a few blocks to the big creepy house Stank owned.  Instead he casually sat there looking youthfully sexy and appraising Ivan through the rear view mirror. 

He was surely an intimidating sort, but Marc had seen worse.  He had a high creased forehead, chiseled cheekbones and a pockmarked complexion offset by the precisely trimmed mustache and goatee which framed his thin ruby lips.  At some point his nose had definitely been broken. His neck, straining against that dress shirt and tie, was thick like an ox, hinting at what the rest of his body might look like.  His eyes were like twin coals, the lashes almost feminine.  Under that cap Marc recalled jet black hair, combed straight back and skirting the collar of his shirt.  Marc figured him to be late thirties, possibly early forties.  Not bad.  He wasn't exactly handsome, but he wasn't butt-ugly either.  Marc even felt a little tingle in his asshole and shifted on the seat uncomfortably.  When his eyes briefly locked with Ivan's in the mirror Marc boldly failed to look away.  What he didn't see was the slight, momentary upturn at one corner of Ivan's lips.

The driver pulled off the road onto the unpaved driveway in front of the monstrosity that was the Stankovich House.  The original ancestors were once the wealthiest in this industrial town and had spearheaded the old mill which, although they sold off their interests, still functioned today.  The big imposing structure sat on a larger parcel of land than any others, surrounded by a tall wrought iron fence, each picket capped with a spiked Victorian finial.  Like most of the property it was in need of maintenance, buckling in some places from felled tree limbs and age.  The gates were always yawning open, rusted over the years and unable to be shut.  One hung on a single hinge.  The house itself was nestled in a copse of oaks and maples, a three story clapboard structure with tall cracked casement windows, crumbling gingerbread lattice work, and spotty shingles on a gabled roof.

While Marc took stock of the crumbling old place Ivan killed the ignition and disembarked, attentively coming over to the teen's side and opening the door for him.  Marc bounced out, giving him a friendly word of thanks.  With a sweep of his arm Ivan motioned for the boy to advance ahead of him.  The three long buckled wooden stairs creaked ominously as he stepped up to the wide, covered porch.  Glancing up Marc wondered how long before the structure would come down on someone.  Ivan opened one of the thick wooden doors with brass handles, each bearing a stained glass designed window, and allowed the boy to pass before him. When Marc stepped into the house he was once again awed at the difference.  Inside, the house was immaculately clean and almost inviting.  While the furnishings and accompaniments were certainly antique and dated everything was polished and dusted.  The thick carpets and tapestries hanging on the walls were vacuumed and showing some of their original brilliance.  There was nary a cobweb in any corner.  Amidst the period pieces, subdued lighting and faint scent of age Marc felt as if he had been transported back to another era.

"This way, Master Marc," the driver directed him to the sprawling, dark wooded stairway covered by a fraying magenta colored rug which led to the second floor.  "Mr. Stankovich is waiting for you in the master bedroom."

Marc knew the way.  He'd been there many times before.  He bounded up the stairs to the landing above, paused with a hand on the ornate knob atop the railing and glanced down at the other man.  Ivan was there, one foot on the lower stair, his forearm leaning across the rail as he casually stood looking up at the boy.  As he pushed his cap back on his head he gave Marc a wink.  Marc couldn't miss the small, sardonic smile that played around his goateed lips. Feeling slightly uncomfortable Marc turned away from the strange man and followed the light coming from between the open double doors at the end of the hallway.

The master bedroom was like the rest of the house, all dark wood and crimson colored accessories.  The main feature, the bed, was a large canopied four poster, its bed curtains showing their age.  The huge stone fireplace, blazing in the winter months, was a dark yawning hole in the height of the summer.  A short distance from the bed, in a high backed purplish upholstered wing chair sat the master of the house.

Marek Stankovich looked older than the last time Marc had seen him.  He was thin, his cheeks were hollowed, eyes glazed and rheumy and the few white hairs he had left were plastered down on his bald dome.  He was clean shaven and eyebrows trimmed, attesting to Ivan's care, and sitting there in a wooly bathrobe and slippers.  If Marc looked real close he could see a vestige of the dashing man he had once been.

"Hey, Stank," Marc attempted to sound exuberant.  "How's it going?"

The old man's face brightened and he smiled, showing that he still had a good deal of his teeth, although they were somewhat yellowed with age.  "Hello, Marc.  It's a pleasure to have your company once again."

"Yeah, Stank, me too.  It's been a while."  With a shrug, "I been busy, y'know?"

Marek chuckled and croaked.  "So I've heard."

"Oh yeah, Stank," Marc goaded with a sly wink.  "What've  you heard?"

"That you excel with a basketball in your young hands," Marek teased.  "I understand you are quite the athlete."

"Yeah, well," Marc clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes.  "There's that, too."

"Also," Marek added cunningly, "that you've become quite the entrepreneur.  I like that in a young man.  My great grandfather was only fourteen when he took an interest in millling and within a few years built an empire.  Although I sold off my interests, that logging mill is still operating today."

Marc knew all about the Stankovich dynasty.  The old man had told him enough times.  Marc, like most, figured the run-down condition of his estate was just a front to cover his net worth.  Rumors abounded for years that, along with a hefty bank account, Stank had a secret stash hidden somewhere on the grounds.  Only thing that deterred burglars was big Ivan.  He was a formidable type and seemingly devoted to his master. 

"We're makin' out pretty good," Marc bragged.  "My Dad is my, um, manager.  He takes care of the business side of things.  I'm the talent."

"I'm sure you are," Marek responded lasciviously.  "Your father sounds like a fabulous man.  Perhaps I can meet him some day."

"Buck, he pretty much keeps to himself," Marc allowed.  "Works a lot down at the bar.  You know Ralph's Place, over on Sycamore."

"I've passed it by on my daily constitutional," Marek agreed.  "Perhaps I will have Ivan take me in for a brandy one afternoon and praise your father for the amazing son he has raised."

Marc grinned sheepishly.  "Well, you're the one he should thank for teaching me everything I know."

Marek clapped his hands together.  "We've had a marvelous time over the years, have we not?  I can still recall the first time I saw you, riding your bicycle and delivering the daily newspaper.  Your coming to my door to make collection.  Me inviting you into my parlor for a sip of water on a balmy day..."

"And you giving me my first blow job," Marc finished his recollection, giving his crotch a deliberate squeeze.  "You sure were good, Stank.  But, I've got to tell you, I'm better."

"Practice and experience, my boy!  Practice and experience.  Which you apparently have had much of over the years."

"Never enough, Stank," Marc teased.

Marek's eyes sparkled as he ran them over the standing boy from head to foot.  He suggestively licked his lips and said, "My, my, you certainly have grown into an attractive young man since last we met."

It was Marc's cue to give the old man a show.  As if he was merely in the gym locker room after a game Marc casually crossed arms over his taut belly, took hold of the hem of his tank top, lifted it over his head and carelessly dropped it to the floor.  The old man's eyes flared avidly as he took in the smooth, youthful exposed flesh.  Marc was all long and lean musculature.  Upper arms showed a nice swell of bicep; forearms were sinewy and strong, no doubt from his athletics.  His chest was hairless and sporting slight mounds of pectoral development capped with cute dark nipples which had Marek's mouth watering for a taste.  His hips tapered down to a slim waist; his belly was concave.  There was nary an ounce of body fat on his gorgeous, desirable young body.

Fully aware that he had Stank's interest Marc hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his nylon athletic shorts, pulled them down and kicked them aside.  Now putting those thumbs under the elastic band of his athletic supporter he pulled it out and let it snap back for added effect.  Stank ogled the stuffed mesh basket, not one hair peeking out from the sides.  The boy's long legs were powerful from his bicycling and running around the basketball court.  As Stank watched with interest Marc kicked off his sneakers, slipped out of his white no-show socks and, with  a sneaky smile, turned away from him.  Marek salivated when he saw those cute, pert mounds of ass framed by the straps of the jock.  Marc purposely planted his feet apart and looked back over his shoulder as he slowly peeled the jock strap from his body.  Thrusting his butt outward as he dragged it down to the floor and over his feet gave Marek a peek of the dewy pink pucker in the valley of those glorious cakes he had fucked so often.

When Marc faced him again Stankovitch nearly choked on his gasp.  The boy was perfection!  His cock was a beauty.  At least six soft inches of beefy meat sprung out and down from his nearly bald groin, the smooth shaft capped by a flawlessly formed glans.  His scrotal sac was tight, full and dusted with fine boyish fuzz.  Ogling Marc, Marek could only imagine what the father looked like sans garb.  He'd seen him around town on occasion over the years, of course, and Buck Hauser was certainly a he-man.  Not Marek's type, though.  He preferred his play things young and fresh.  The older he'd gotten the more difficult it became to attract them.  But this fine Adonis, Marc, had always remained faithful.

Marc sat his rear at the foot of the bed before him, feet planted more than shoulder width apart and nicely muscled thighs spread with his junk hanging between them.  He diddled with the fine head of his dick with one hand and thumbed a nipple with the other.  "Wanna fuck me, Stank?” he asked in a surprisingly deep, manly voice.

"What I wouldn't give," Marek gushed.  "But, alas, the equipment no longer works as well as it used to."

Marc pouted.  "Last time you told me you were takin' those pills to get you hard.  Not workin' anymore?"

"Not like they used to," Marek admitted sadly.  While his mind and libido were still sharp, his old pecker appeared to be worn out.  "Ivan gave me one shortly before he left to collect you."

"Maybe it just hasn't kicked in yet," Mark suggested hopefully.  "Or maybe you need to take two.  Or maybe, just maybe, that jailbird is givin' you a sugar pill.  Ever think of that?"

Marek clucked his tongue.  "Now, now.  I trust Ivan implicitly.  You mustn’t think badly of him.  He is completely faithful to me.  I don't know how I would get along without him."

Boldly throwing up his chin Mark said, "Seems kind of shifty to me.  Anyways, I'm here, horny and you paid my Dad, soooooooooooooo, how 'bout you eat my ass a little and then suck me off?  Would you like that, Stank?"

"Indeed I would," Marek admitted, his eyes sparkling.  In fact, since Mark had stripped the old man miraculously looked much more energetic.  Years had peeled off him.  "But I had something more...interesting in mind."  With that said he reached for the bell on the side table and let it chime twice.  Marc cocked one brow, not quite understanding.  His confusion was immediately answered when the door opened and Ivan, dressed in full regalia, answered his master's summons.

"Tonight, dear heart, you will entertain me by allowing Ivan to ravage you," Marek announced.  "He's Russian, you know, and quite the beast when he is provoked.  Dear Ivan," the old man addressed his servant, "young Mark was just claiming that you are nothing but an untrustworthy....jailbird, I believe it was.  I think he deserves a bit of a dressing down, as it were."

Marc's head shot from Ivan to Marek with a look of disbelief.  This wasn't like the gentlemanly old man he had known for so long.  Stank had always worshipped him.  Now he was being a dirty turncoat, selling him out to the Slavic ex-con.  Ivan was advancing on him.  In an instant he was directly in front.  Swallowing hard, Marc looked up at the intimidating man.  The sinister look in his dark eyes turned Marc' smooth, vulnerable skin to gooseflesh.  All at once Ivan gripped him by the back of the head with both large gloved hands and rudely shoved Marc's face against his groin.  Marc's hands instinctively shot up to press against Ivan's thighs to ward him off but the Russian was stronger by far.  With his meaty fingers twisting through Marc's hair he ground the boy into his crotch. 

Now, Marc was not the type to turn down any offered cock.  And it wasn't as if Ivan's questionable past deterred him.  He'd been with worse.  At least once a week he was getting fucked by Bogdan, the Polish mechanic at the local garage, who had a prison record.  And he was pretty sure more than one of those black dudes selling drugs by the train station who tag-teamed his pussy on occasion had an arrest in their past.  Being with bad boys was always something of an added turn on, for sure.  What freaked him was the abrupt change in Stank.  Before, always the grandfatherly type, he was now encouraging his man to brutalize him.  Is this, perhaps, what it would take to get the old fuck aroused?

Finding it a bit difficult to breathe with his face mashed up against Ivan's basket Marc decided to take things, quite literally, in hand.  Reaching up he fumbled with the big man's zip and pulled it down.  With anxious fingers he yanked the folds aside.  Ivan grunted and mashed his exposed boxer briefs against Marc's unblemished face.  Marc caught a whiff of intoxicating man scent emanating from Ivan's groin, fueling his own rising lust.  The Houseman wasn't making things easy for him but Marc managed to get his fingers around the top of the briefs and worked them down over the goods.  Ivan's cock was a darker shade than the rest of him, already unfurling to its full length.  It hung thick and long with mega foreskin covering its head, folded together to form a funnel-like tip at the end.  His crotch hair was abundant, tufts of it framing the rising beast.  Marc dragged the underwear down under a set of heavy manballs and locked the material into place.

Ivan crushed his piece into Marc, running it all over his face.  Marc snorted and licked, fighting for some kind of control.  The strong cock was fully hard now.  Marc figured a good eight inches, maybe more, with an equal width.   He desperately wanted to get it in his mouth and take a taste of it.  As Ivan rubbed that dick across his face Marc kept his parted lips pressed against the hot shaft and awaited his opportunity.  On the down stroke he seized it.  Swiftly taking it into his waiting mouth he wrapped his arms around Ivan's cannonball buttocks and steadied him in a tight embrace.  He slovenly chewed on the foreskin, slipped his tongue into the cowl and dug for the head.  Seemingly inches of skin glided back over the dome as Marc diligently worked it with his mouth and exposed the swollen knob.  Marc slovenly sucked on it, running his tongue all over the slick, shiny surface and fighting back the skin as it attempted to reform.  Weren't that many uncut men in town and Marc truly appreciated those who were.

"Fuck that young boy's face!" Marek commanded.  "Don't allow him to take charge!  Beat up his tonsils with that big, beautiful prick of yours!"  Again Marc was shocked hearing Stank's words.  What in heck had gotten into him?  It was as if he'd been possessed by some authoritarian commandant.

Faithful Ivan obeyed his master.  It was precisely what he wanted to do anyway.  All these years he had sat idly by and watched this cute American boy come to the house for his clandestine encounters with the old man.  Standing just out of sight on the other side of the wall separating foyer from parlor and listening, sometimes daring to take a peek, as the flawlessly skinned young man did all sorts of disgusting things with the elder.  Pressing his ear to the bedroom door when the old man chose for them to do it there.  Peeping through the skeleton key hole and being perversely aroused by the sight of the handsome, smooth bodied youth riding the wrinkled old fuck's dick as he sat in his trusty wheelchair.  Watching Marek put his mouth, his lips and tongue all over the young jock's smooth, succulent body.  Sucking him off and swallowing his spooge like it was the mythical fountain of youth which would restore his own adolescence.

Ivan had not set out, at least at first, to voyeur for his own personal pleasure.  Initially he kept tabs on Marc, and the other young ones Marek lured into the house, to make sure they didn't uncover the loot before he did.  He was certain Marek had a substantial bank roll, a good deal of it secreted somewhere on the property.  Just yesterday, the envelope containing four bills which had to have come from some secret stash certainly confirmed his suspicions.  They hadn't been to the bank in nearly two months!  Over the years he had searched every nook and cranny and come up with nothing.  Marek was a crafty old codger.  Wherever he had hidden the money remained a mystery.  Still, Ivan kept a careful watch awaiting the moment when he could collect.  In the meantime he might as well derive some physical pleasure with one of Marek's playthings.  At his master's request, of course.

Firmly holding Marc by the sides of his head Ivan roughly shoved his cock in, then out of the boy's mouth.  Marc was an accommodating little whore, plastering his lips around the fat, pummeling dick and wantonly sucking on it.  Ivan pumped deeply into Marc's wet mouth, the fat head striking the back of his throat with each deliberate strike.  Marc's tongue was like a rotor, rapidly spiraling around his throbbing meat and working his nerve endings.  The kid was good, that much was certain, but Ivan suspected he could do better.  With the next powerful thrust he shot his meat deep down into Marc's flexing throat.  Marc gurgled appreciatively and effortlessly swallowed the entire shaft.  Ivan's big body trembled and his legs nearly buckled.  With a deep, masculine sigh he tossed his head back, losing his cap in the process, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling.  Even all the shlyukha he dabbled with never made his dick feel so good!  The sensation of this high school boy massaging his buried dick with his throat muscles was enough to drive any man wild. 

Snarling, Ivan wrapped his powerful forearms around the back of Marc's head and brutishly pounded the kid's gullet.  As Ivan forcefully skullfucked him Marc took hold of his heavy, loaded nutsac and squeezed like he was bruising fruit at the market.  Ivan's dense bush crashed against him each time he thrust, its musky, manly hairs ticking his nose, its scent stoking his libido.  Inches of hot Russian meat twitched and twisted in his tight throat, mercilessly plunging deep each time.  In the few short seconds he had the head in his warm, stuffed mouth he tasted the delicious, heady pre-cum heavily leaking from the eye and over his lapping tongue.  Ivan pounded, Marc gulped and the big thing disappeared once again.  Both men marveled at the way the kid failed to gag, although Ivan almost wished he would. 

"Fuck him, Ivan!" the old man cackled.  "Ram your cock in his pussy and fuck him good!"

Extracting his dripping dick Ivan placed one gloved hand on the center of Marc's chest and roughly shoved him onto his back.  Grasping the lean teen under his haunches he pulled Marc to the edge of the bed.  Marc, experienced whore that he was, raised his legs invitingly and spread them to his sides, splaying himself wide open for the other man's pleasure.  Ivan spit a hocker on his gloved fingers and brought it to Marc's pretty little pucker.  Rubbing the flexing lips he slipped the middle finger into the folds and worked it right up to the webbing.  The boy felt all soft and warm inside.  Ivan worked a second, then a third finger inside, and corkscrewed them around.  Marc's bare toes curled when the man began frantically ramming them in and out, finger fucking his hole.  He reached down to grasp Ivan's working wrist and stroked it as if he was jerking the man's big cock.

"Fuck  yeah, Ivan," he gushed huskily.  "Open up my pussy."  Marc's cock, fairly huge for a boy his age, pulsed against his taut abdomen and leaked clear pre-cum with each deep thrust of Ivan's fat fingers.

"The lad is ready.  He's always ready.  Fuck him already!" Marek ordered impatiently.

Ivan removed his digits from Marc's asshole, watching as the folds gathered together into its natural shape.  Stooping down to retrieve his cap he replaced it but pushed it comfortably back on his forehead.  The boss had earlier instructed him that he was to remain in full uniform throughout.  With his big leaking dick leading the way Ivan stepped up to Marc, grasped him by the thighs and positioned the flared head up against the teen's pouting ass lips.  Gritting his teeth, the front ones noticeably chipped, he shoved his cock in.  Marc's hole obligingly spread to accommodate the fat cock head.  Ivan bore down, driving his wide dick forward through the warm and moist sheath of Marc's slick fuck canal.  All eight inches effortlessly sunk deep into the boy's squirming guts.  The sphincter clamped snugly around the hairy base as it to hold it firmly in place but Ivan defiantly ripped his cock out, then violently slammed it back in.

Marc grunted as the man's prick ceaselessly pummeled his hole.  The Russian was really throwing it to him, dirty-fucking Marc just the way he liked it.  His pounding prick was a perfect fit, lengthy and broad.  Ivan was an aggressive fucker, as Marc assumed the ex-con would be.  He briefly wondered how many young inmates had the pleasure of being banged by this brute.  Fuck, if he'd only known long ago that the usually silent, lurking manservant was this good his visits to the Stankovich home would have been more frequent.  Marc sucked the dick with his ass, using everything he had to fuck Ivan every bit as much as he was fucking him.  As the big, luscious cock speared into him he reared himself against it, then clutched tight on the withdrawal.  Ivan snarled, obviously appreciating Marc's performance.  Beads of perspiration were already trickling from under the rim of his cap. 

Marc's hands clawed at the bed sheets as his head tossed from side to side, even white teeth gnashing.  Ivan's pile-driving cock felt amazing in his flexing pussy.  The big dick drove into him hard, merciless and punishing, battering his prostate and making him cry out with desire.  His beautiful green eyes were glazed over with lust and everything seemed out of focus.  Ivan was fucking him into delirium!  Panting heavily he jerked his head to face Marek and squinted, not certain he was seeing clearly.  With a sharp intake of breath, he managed, "STANK!" 

Marek was still seated in his high backed chair.  His robe was lying open to both sides of him and his old cock was at full mast!

"STANK!" Marc exclaimed again.  "YOU'VE GOT A HARD ON!"

Marek may have looked ancient everywhere else but when it came to the cock his piece looked like that of a man less than half his age.  Very few in town could figure exactly what that was.  He admitted to eighty; some said he was closer to ninety.  The grandfathers of Jason Whithers, Bryan Hodges and Harley Brewster guessed closest to the truth.  When they were about their grandson's age they had all been coerced by Marek, who was then of middle age.  Of course, none of them talked about their long ago, but hardly forgotten, virgin voyage with the eloquent cocksucker.  But they remembered.  Fondly. 

Marek's cock stood tall and proud, a good seven to eight inches of solid Polish beef.  The knob on top was fatter than the rest of the thing which, in itself, was fairly beefy.  Gravity had taken its toll on his balls, which dangled low between his loosely fleshed thighs.  Long white hairs sprouted from the sac.  The old man was tugging on his sagging tits as he watched his man bugger the boy with tongue lolling out of his drooling mouth.  He figured if there was anything to get him up and at attention it would be something like this.  And Ivan certainly deserved a bonus for his faithfulness.  Although he had never seen it up until now, many were the times over the years he had considered sucking Ivan's cock.  Alas, Ivan was just too old for him.  He preferred his meat fresh and young.  But now, looking at the magnificent prick soaring in and out of Marc's pussy made him take pause and reconsider.

Ivan fucked like a runaway bull, hammering his prick into the steamy chute.  It seemed the harder he pounded Marc's bouncing butt the harder the boy ground against him.  His trouser covered loins were loudly slapping against Marc's hinds as he savagely fucked the boy.  The old bed creaked mercilessly, the headboard banging against the wall.  Ivan was all sticky and damp in his uniform.  He longed to rip it off but kept with Marek's script.  The armpits of his shirt were assuredly soaked with perspiration and his heavily flexing ass was swampy.  His dark hair lay damp under the chauffeur's cap and sweat trickled down his creased forehead and into his eyes.  Yet nothing was going to prevent him from fucking this boy the way Marek wanted.  The way he now wanted. 

All at once Marc's bare feet were on his chest, pushing him away.  "Hold on, Iv," the boy told him.  "I've gotta help out Stank while he's got wood."  Ivan snarled viciously, a hound unwilling to give up his bone but with a word from his master he reluctantly stepped back.  His big dick slipped out of Marc's hole with an obscene squelching sound.  Marc scampered over to the old man in the chair.  "Damn, Stank!  That's the hardest I've ever seen it!"  He anchored his hands on either arm rest of the chair and bent at the waist, lowering his face to the towering cock.  With long legs anchored apart his pert, inviting ass was pushed out behind him. 

As Marc began slobbering all over Stank's cockhead Ivan stepped right up behind the boy, crudely stuffed his cock into his ass and, taking him by the hips, resumed skewering him.  Marek sighed with delight as Marc slobbered and slurped all over his bulging cockhead.  Weren't many octogenarians who could enjoy the pleasures of a sparky teen like the Hauser boy (or so he thought).  In a few short years, under his tutelage, Marc had become expert at sucking cock.  His talented tongue swirled around the glans with gusto, spit shining it to a glistening gloss.  He gulped on the finely aged meat, taking more of it into his gluttonous mouth.  Marc's cavity was so wet and hot, his hungry tongue working the dick with rapid-fire licks and his heated sloppy suction so intense that Marek's wrinkled sac was already beginning to tighten.  Marc quaffed his way down the throbbing dick until his lips nestled in Stank's piss scented snowy bush.  With the ancient cock lodged in his throat and flexing maddeningly he embraced it lovingly and treated Marek to a spectacular hum job.  The old fuck was literally squirming in his seat, one gnarled hand resting on Marc's head as if to hold him in place.  Marc's lips gnawed at the base, ate their way up the shaft and then proceeded with a full-throated bobbing up and down the aching meat. 

Although he found it somewhat nauseating that this young, good-looking lad was so ravenously feasting on an old man's cock Ivan wisely kept his thoughts to himself.  Their motives were more than likely the same.  Ivan kowtowed to the wizened old man in hopes of one day cashing in; this boy was using his appealing, youthful body to do the same.  What other reason could there be?   A sexy mal'chik with a superbly fuckable hole such as the one Ivan was thoroughly enjoying belonged with a stud such as himself, not a withered fossil well past his prime.

Ivan's big dick crashed in and out of Marc's ass as the boy moaned his pleasure around Marek's old cock.  His standing legs quivered each time it slid over his prostate.  With lips curled in a sneer Ivan's pressed his gloved hands on the small of Marc's back and soared through the boy's fuck hole.  As vigorously as he gave it to him Marc continued to throw his hot ass back against his clothed pumping thighs, greedily determined to take every millimeter.  Ivan ground and twisted through Marc's love canal, fucking him with everything he had.  Bound to the old man for so long afforded him little opportunity to pursue pussy, a manly pleasure forgone while in pursuit of financial rewards.  Occasionally he had managed to grab a piece while out on errands for the old fuck.  But none compared to the gash he was currently battering.  Those stupid cunts had always pleaded with him to slow down, go easy.  Not this boy, this Marc.  He seemed to revel in a hard fuck.

Ivan's burly chest was heaving from his exertions.  His thick nostrils were flaring with labored breathing.  Sweat was rolling down the sides of his face, dripping from his brow and dotting the facial hair surrounding his panting mouth.  It trickled from the back of his head and under the collar of his shirt, running through the indent of his spinal column and into the seat of his underwear.   Ivan fought fatigue and persisted in drilling his cock through Marc's soft, squirming fuck tunnel like a man possessed.  His muscles flexed and bulged under the soaked chauffeur's uniform and his nutsac tightened.  Finally, almost mercifully, the powerful Russian emitted a long, mournful strained wail, gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes tightly shut and convulsed deep inside Marc's ass.  Bullets of hot cum fired from his buried cock and battered Marc's guts.  Ivan's orgasm sparked Marc's.  Sucking Marek's cock even more furiously he shot has wad clear across to his working mouth.  As his teen cum splashed against Marek's dick it turned to froth as the boy's lips churned over the steely rod. 

Ivan shot a man's load into Marc's splendid boy pussy.  It was the most extreme, mind-blowing release he had ever experienced.  Even now, drained, the kid was fondling his piece, squeezing out every last drop.  Ivan had to pry himself free.  With a sick, squelching sound he managed to extricate himself and fell back onto the bed behind him exhausted.  Fuck the old man's rules!  He had to loosen the oppressive tie and undo some buttons on his white dress shirt.  He was thoroughly slippery with sweat.

No sooner had Ivan evacuated his hole then Marc was up and climbing onto the chair.  Facing away from Marek he wedged his feet to either side of the old man and lowered his dripping cunt onto the primed staff.  As Ivan interestedly watched Marc effortlessly swallowed the entire cock with his cum denched rectum.  Old Marek groaned and moaned, placed his knobby wrinkled hands with their yellowed nails on the lad's trim hips and enjoyed the ride.  Marc bounced up and down the full length of the cock with his sex-glazed eyes fixed on Ivan, the latest addition to his stable of favorite studs.

Ivan was in senior citizen heaven.  His eyes couldn't get enough of Marc's smooth, youthful skin and the perfect butt bouncing on his gloriously erect prick.  Oh, how he would enjoy having this young man all night in his bed, that gorgeous and flawless body spooned into his as they slept.  His feeble arms would be wrapped around young Marc's waist, playing with his boy cock whenever he awoke.  In the morning Marc would turn to him.  They would kiss like lovers and fuck all over again.  For that night, one night only, he would feel like a younger man once again. 

He wondered how much it would cost to have this fantasy realized.  It wasn't as if he didn't have the money.  Time was running short; he'd cheated death long enough.  It's not as if he could take his riches with him.

Marc's features were blissfully angelic as he rode the old man's cock.  His pleasure was apparent.  Ivan wasn't sure which of them, the kid or Marek, was enjoying it more.  Of one thing he was certain.  He would have this boy's ass again.  And again.  No one---not Stanowich or the kid's father---was going to stop him.  While he might not have found Marek's fortune he had struck gold with Marc Hauser's twat.

Marc thrust his tight, juicy butt up and down on Stank's ancient dick, pausing every now and again to grind his steamy ass into the old man's lap just to get that knobbed head stirring up the farthest recesses of his fuck pit.  He rose until the ridge of the cock head was pulling out his puffy ass lips and then crashed back down on him.  His thighs were splayed outward to either side of him, their muscles flexing with his energetic maneuvering.  Sheen of sweat highlighted his teen beauty.  He was panting heavily, chewing his bottom lip and rolling his eyes blissfully.  Marc truly was a teenager who craved cock, any cock, filling his ass.  Ivan's had been awesome but Stank's held a special spot as the one that first breached him.

Old Stank had left the building a while ago.  He was in a place of sexual delirium.  His head was rolling about on the chair back like a rag doll, he was moaning incoherently and his tongue was lolling out of his drooling mouth.  His fragile heart was beating in his chest more than a man of his years should.  After nearly ninety years there were few pleasures left in his life, but having young Marc was foremost.  Marek relished in running his hands over the boy's smooth, youthful skin, clutching his flexing hinds and feeling that ravenous rump riding over his miraculously hardened stick.  It was almost more than any man could tolerate for long.  And Stank had reached the point where endurance ran out.  With a wounded cry he tensed and released a hot, sticky load of geriatric jism into the boy.  At the same time Marc, showing the resilience of youth, arched his heaving body back against Stank and shot a powerful stream of cum which arced up into the air and traveled across to splatter in the cleavage of Ivan's open shirt. 

Ivan's fat prick, which had just begun to deflate, shot instantly back to fullness.

Marc pounced.