I was born into the Chicago Police Department long before I was old enough to know what a badge meant. Every man in my life wore one.
My family had been cops longer than anyone could remember. My grandfather walked a beat before World War I, back when a cop’s only defense was a nightstick. My father’s uniform was the same but carried a revolver.
In 1925, the beginning of the Capone years, being a police officer in Chicago meant there was danger waiting, whether it was day or night. My father and his buddies – the three other officers in his posse - were in the same precinct – two sets of partners that had worked together since I was born. They were called the “bulls.” It wasn’t until much later that I learned that their nickname had nothing to do with livestock.
They told me the city was sick: lawless, bloody and drunk with illegal booze changing hands faster than the law could keep up. Speakeasies exploded across the city. Jazz clubs flourished. Mayor Dever tried to keep up but it was a losing battle. Frances Willard famously said, “Any lips that have touched liquor will never touch mine.” Chicago carried on without her, quickly on its way to becoming its bloodiest.
“Prohibition didn’t make criminals,” they told me. “It bred them.”
Early on, I could tell which of the four of the “posse” was at the house by the smell of their cigars. I called them my “special men” – my protectors. They passed me from lap to lap when they are around, each sharing something special and unique with only me, like I was their special boy.
First there was my father, he came first. He always did. I was really his stepson but he was the only father I ever knew or even could remember. My Papa.
He was the loudest of the bunch, the one who laughed at everything. His wool tunic sat tight across his shoulders, tight, stretched across his broad, hairy chest, showing off his big shoulders, his bulging biceps and tapering down to a perfect, thin waist. He was handsome, with sparkling blue and mischievous eyes, my idea of the perfect man.
He was tough, loud and took no bullshit, but for me he never raised his voice. That was the thing people didn’t understand about him. In public, my father spoke in short sentences, kind of brusque, abrupt. But privately, he’d pull me on his lap—put a hand on the back of my neck and look right into my eyes, and his voice would soften.
He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to.
“You doing all right, baby boy?” meant he’d been watching.
“Keep your head up, sweet boy,” meant he was proud.
And when he said, “I’m here, my special boy. Don’t you worry.”
I’d jump in his arms, hugging him tight and he’d hug me back, my legs wrapped around his waist, carrying me to bed. He’d tuck me in, kissing me on the top of my head. Some people I know thought I was too old to be carried to bed, but Papa didn’t.
“Good night, Charlie, you’re my special boy.” It had only been Dad and me since my Mama died almost five years ago.
Sometimes he’d lay down beside me until I fell asleep, he the big spoon and me the little holding me tight against his chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer and more protected than in those moments. Sometimes I’d wake in my Papa’s arms, he’d fallen asleep, me snuggled against him. My father was the love of my life. I adored him.
He smelled like gin and Petit Corona cigars. Never the cheap ones the men passed around. It was Cuban—he’d told me once—and cost more than most men spent on a week’s worth of smokes.
“If the gangsters could live in excess: guns, booze and money,” he said. “He deserved at least a single luxury.” He clipped it slow, lit it slower, drawing it in deeply and exhaling so the smoke lingered in a cloud around his handsome face. The smell was rich and sweet, nothing like the harsh cigars the others burned through. This cigar was his. He never shared it.
After my Papa, it was always Uncle Eddie, who was my favorite. Everybody said he was rough, and maybe he was, but not with me. “Ruthless,” they said was the word that described him, but I never saw that. I never saw him raise a fist or shoot a gun. He was always just my Uncle Eddie, flirtatious, affectionate, and always ready with a hug, a kiss or a pat on my rump.
Uncle Eddie was the one whose pants everyone noticed, even if no one ever said it out loud.
His uniform trousers were sharply pressed, the crease clean and unbroken from hip to shoe. But through the crotch and butt, he had them tailored really tight. Tighter than any other officer I ever saw.
He also wore his belt a little lower than everyone else too, and the pants rode with it, easy and natural. “Gotta keep my ass looking fine for the ladies, little man,” he’d say as I watched him do hundreds of squats when the posse worked out in the gym. When he moved, the fabric of his pants moved with him, stretching to clearly show the outline of a prominent long, thick “snake” in his pants.
I’d heard on several occasions other people making references to his pants as “obscene,” but my Uncle Eddie didn’t care. “Why wouldn’t I want someone to know what I had to offer for their pleasure,” he’d explain. The posse called him the “Titan.” I wouldn’t understand about that name until later either.
Uncle Eddie smoked a Henry Clay Robusto, dark, sharp and a little bit spicy, Dominican, the kind of smoke that made itself known before you entered a room.
He bit the end off instead of cutting it, and the smoke poured out of his nose, rising to the ceiling as he exhaled, mixed with laughter and bravado.
He’d pull me into his lap, leaning in close, and tell me in a whisper that I reminded him of his kid brother, the one who never made it past sixteen. He never said how or why. He’d push his hand down the back of my pajama bottoms, while softly rubbing and caressing my butt. He’d just wink and grin, calling me by his brother’s name, “Sweet Billy, keep your nose clean and your eyes open. Uncle Eddie just wants my special boy to feel good.” Then he’d kiss me quickly on the lips and let me go.
I didn’t have a word for it at twelve. I just knew my Uncle Eddie was unique - one of kind - and he was mine.
Frank was next, quieter, careful with his words, his actions and his booze.
He sat with me in his lap and asked about school like it mattered more than anything else in the room. He told me I was his smart, special boy and that he’d once been on track to become a teacher until a robbery involving one of his students went wrong and quietly cost him his job and his reputation. When a local gangster noticed how he handled the chaos and offered him another way forward, he took it.
“Books don’t shoot back,” he said, and winked. From then on, he brought me newspapers and circled words he thought I should know. We’d read them together, me snuggled against his chest, his big soft cock nestled between my ass cheeks, hardening slowly.
Frank’s uniform was all about the upper half of him, when his tunic was off. He was six-four and massively built, all wide shoulders and muscle, the kind of man who was automatically the biggest presence in any room. His shirt was always crisp, sleeves smooth down to the cuffs, stretching across his chest, pulling just enough by his shoulders to show their shape.
His suits had to be tailor made. He could never find clothes big enough to fit him. His tie was narrow and dark, knotted tight, resting exactly where it should against his collar. My Uncle Frank was absolute perfection
Frank chose his cigars the way he chose his words - carefully. La Aroma Corona Gorda. Coffee. Cocoa. Leather. Earth. He clipped it neatly and smoked it slow. Savoring it, he’d balance me on his lap, both arms wrapped around me, newspaper in one hand, cigar in the other, the smoke enveloping us into our own personal cloud.
My back always fell against his Sam Browne strap running across his chest, always adjusted just right, lying flat, polished but not flashy. I looked small and light in Uncle Frank’s lap, almost disappearing against his massive frame.
Uncle Tommy was the last of the three, and there was something about his face that made people look twice. The ladies called him beautiful. When I saw him, he always made me lose my breath.
He’d pull me up into his lap and hug me tightly with my back against his chest. He’d sit back and talk the way he always did when he’d seen a game that day, starting in talking about the plays, choosing to tell what he thought mattered.
With one hand he’d show where the ball went and with the other move me across his lap, rubbing his large, hard cock against my backside, pressing and sliding. His breath would quicken, he’d moan and then cry out, loosening his arms and let me nestle into his chest. I loved that moment when his wetness would soak through my pants.
He’d explain why a runner held and why the game was about timing not size. I asked questions, and Tommy answered them carefully, like I mattered more than anyone else in the world.
Uncle Tommy’s silhouette started at the ground and worked its way up. His legs were thick and steady, massive tree trunks, set wide, that when planted could not be moved which is why bottom slid so easily across his lap. I’d grip it between my cheeks to help him. I loved to watch him walk. His backside through his pants was a thing of beauty.
Allones Short Perfectos. That was Uncle Tommy’s choice. The smell arrived first before the smoke. Nutty. Woody. Cedar. No perfume – a low masculine aroma - in a way that sharpens rather softens your senses.
He didn’t say much when he smoked, either. What defined him in uniform was the way his gun rode high and tight on his belt, grip worn pale from use. He never touched it unless he meant to use it. My uncles said when you noticed it, it was already too late to argue.
On Tommy, that revolver wasn’t a threat—it was a promise. His smoke filled the stairwell, the space feeling smaller, safer somehow, like he’d only let good squeeze past him.
Those nights in the laps of my protectors made me feel chosen. Like I belonged to something dangerous and loving and safe. I didn’t know then how rare it was - to be a boy with four men watching over him, loving him, protecting him. I only knew that when they laughed, the city seemed farther away, and for a few hours I remember thinking, even then, that if trouble ever came straight at us, they would be the thing it hit first – shielding me and stopping it.
Chicago in the twenties was noisy, on edge, even when it pretended to sleep. I was twelve years old and already knew which streets could get a man killed. My uncles taught me that early. The city never stayed quiet for long. The El screeched along its tracks and owned the Loop. Loud radios drifted out of open windows, and somewhere sirens always wailed.
From our apartment, I could see the glow of the skyline downtown at dusk, the buildings stacked in front of the horizon, the tallest one - the Woolworth Building - rising above everything around it. My father said it was the city breathing. I thought it looked more like it was on fire.
The job followed my father home every night, and sometimes there was blood on his cuff, dried dark, and I’d pretend not to notice. When I laundered his shirts – it was my job to take care of my papa, I made certain it was washed away.
The posse came by often— laughing too loud, taking up too much space, making the neighbors want to complain but they wouldn’t. Not one of those four men cared; what were they going to do – call the police - they were already there.
They talked about raids and speakeasies, about warehouses by the river and alleys you didn’t enter alone. I sat on the floor pretending to do my homework, memorizing their voices, watching their movements, falling a little in love with each of them.
They brought him in on a Tuesday, and everyone said that made it lucky.
I didn’t see the arrest myself—I was at school—but I knew something big had happened the moment the door opened that night. My father came in smiling, the kind of smile that only showed up when the job went right and no one got carried out on a stretcher. A few moments later came the posse from the precinct, men who’d been part of my life for as long as I could remember.
They’d caught one of Capone’s men that afternoon—a warehouse lieutenant who handled booze shipments along the river. The kind of man whose name never made the front page, but whose orders got people killed. They’d boxed him in near the West Side after weeks of watching and waiting, guns drawn. My Papa said later that it ended clean. No shots fired. That was the miracle.
The kitchen filled with smoke and laughter. Coats were tossed over chairs. Hats landed on the table. Someone brought out a bottle that hadn’t been bought legally, and nobody pretended otherwise. They laughed loud, slapped each other on the back, talked over one another, retelling the same moment from four different angles. I sat at the edge of it all, being passed from lap to lap, soaking it in, feeling like I belonged to something bigger than myself.
They ruffled my hair, called me “sweet baby boy” like it was a title I’d earned. One of them said, “Your old man kept his nerve today,” and another said, “That’s why we’re all still standing.” I didn’t fully understand what they meant, but I understood enough.
When the celebrating really started, it always moved out of the kitchen.
Someone put a record on - something brassy and loud – Sweet Georgia Brown was their favorite. The table got pushed back just enough to make room for bodies and bottles. The air turned thick with smoke and laughter. Blowing off steam, this was their tradition. Whenever they brought one of Capone’s boys down clean, they drank like fish and carried on.
Papa let me stay up late on those nights. That was part of it, passing me from lap to lap like I was something lucky. Someone slid a glass toward me—mostly water, they said, but it burned a little all the same. I felt older just holding it. And it did taste good. It made my body tingle.
Soon, they’d take their places at the game table, always the same, and bring out chips and cards for the inevitable poker game. Texas Hold’em.
My papa crouched in front of me, eye level, his face flushed, eyes softer than they ever were in uniform.
He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You know how you said you wanted to think of a way to say thank you to your uncles.” I nodded.
“I think this is the right time.” I nodded again. He pointed under the table
I stood up, stepping in front of my Uncle Eddie, he caressed my backside and pulled down my pajama bottoms and I stepped out of them. I moved over to Uncle Frank. He squeezed my now hardening dick and removed my underwear. Lastly, I snuggled up against Uncle Tommy, and he removed my pajama top. Then I went to my usual spot under the table, alone, staring at the crotches of the four men I adored more than anyone in the world.
I wanted to make them feel good. I wanted to give them release. I wanted to taste the power they offered. It was apparent now and each time I stared at the crotches of their pants.
This was the reason the posse were known as the “bulls”. Those huge cocks, hard as rock, and pressing against their trousers, straining for release.
My Papa was always saved for last, so I started with Uncle Eddie. I crawled over and put myself between his knees and pushed my nose into his crotch, breathing deeply, loving the aroma of man sweat, crotch and a slight tang of something spicy, maybe cologne.
I unzipped his fly and pulled out his huge cock and even bigger balls. He wasn’t called “Titan” for nothing. I dropped them above the v in his zipper and let them hang, admiring them.
I took his dick in my palm and caressed it, working my way to the tip to play with and tease the foreskin, pulling on its hood.
“You calling that, or letting it go?” I heard Uncle Tommy ask my other uncles at the table.
I played with his hairy nuts, roughly, like he liked. Then I leaned down and licked the head. He moaned loudly and pushed his groin into my face. A fluid bead broke and streamed down his shaft and I licked it up greedily.
“Eat it, my little sweet bitch,” whispered Eddie. “I know you want Eddie’s big cock.”
I took his rod between my lips and chewed his foreskin, licked his dickhead, then his hairy, sweating nuts. One of his hands came down and he rubbed his cock all over my face and hair, not missing a second of the play above.
“You got something real there, or just air?” I heard Uncle Frank say to Uncle Tommy.
I was moving my hand at the base of Uncle Eddie’s cock and my mouth up and down, slowly swallowing it all, to the pubes. His cock bobbed in my mouth. I stretched my lips wide and closed them over the head. Uncle Eddie started rocking his hips a bit, pushing and withdrawing, massaging my throat with his big prick. He picked up his pace, and I sucked and licked for all I was worth, spit flowing out of both sides of my mouth as I opened my mouth wider to receive his entire shaft.
“That’s it, Charlie boy, gnaw on that knob,” Uncle Eddie hissed. “You got me going, baby!”
Suddenly Eddie arched upward, stiffened, and with a deep animal growl, heavy shots of his seed spewed from the giant slit at the head of his cock. Volley after volley, shot out, I tried to swallow it as fast as I could, but I couldn’t and pulled my mouth away. I was drowning, his seed now hit the top of the table, splattering onto his cock and pooling in his dark pubic hair. So much cum. Tenderly, I licked him clean, his cock and then the pool in his public hair, lapping and gobbling, it tasted like heaven. I ate every single drop.
As I finished, Uncle Eddie stuck his head down toward me, and I kissed him, sharing his seed.
“You’re the fucking best, sweet boy,” said Uncle Eddie. “Your wonderful mouth is magic.”
I watched Eddie straighten up in his chair, only to hear, Uncle Frank ask, “Same stakes as last time?”
Uncle Tommy chimed in “Are you dealing this time, Eddie, or am I?”
“I will,” he answered as I put his softened cock and big balls back into his pants and zipped up.
One down, three to go. I was in paradise.
I saw Uncle Tommy push his chair away and stand. “Deal without me, one hand.”
He stuck his head under the table and grinned. “You want to go with your Uncle Tommy, Charlie boy?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, hopping up quickly and following.
Uncle Tommy opened the bathroom door and followed me inside, shutting the door tightly.
This was a usual routine for me and my Uncle Tommy. He would stand in front of the toilet, hands behind his head. I would unzip his pants, pull out his big, fat cock, and hold it, feeling and squeezing the girth and length. It was one of my favorite shared moments with Uncle Tommy.
I loved playing with Uncle Tommy’s cock. I would pull it and twist it. Soft, I would swing it from side to side, pushing it against his hairy stomach. I pulled on his sack, holding it, playing with his balls, pulling them apart and pushing them together.
“You’re going to get me hard, baby boy,” scolding Uncle Tommy, through a laugh. “And then your Uncle Tommy won’t be able to pee.”
I stopped playing and just held it, aiming at the toilet while he let loose with a heavy stream. When he was done, he would sigh, and I would shake off the last few drops, and tuck it back into his pants, zipping him back up and patting his cock through the fabric. He would tousle my hair, lean down, and I would give him a great big kiss on the mouth, him deepening it by shoving his tongue into mine and lifting me off the floor, devouring me. He’d put me down, open the door, and then he’d follow me back to the table.
Uncle Tommy returned to his chair and I returned under the table to finish my duties.
“We good to start?” I heard Uncle Eddie ask.
“Yeah,” all my uncles answered.
I crawled over to my giant Uncle Frank and started massaging and teasing the inside of his thighs through his pants. I loved watching him get hard. It started slowly but the more I massaged and teased and tickled, sometimes touching his ball sack, sometimes rubbing his cock, the bigger and more erect he got. I unzipped him and pulled out his cock and balls, letting them dangle there, like I had done with Uncle Eddie. I came face to face with his hairy crotch. He was a “bull,” so he was massive, 10 solid inches, flared head that pulled slightly to the left.
As I put the head of his cock in my mouth, his meat got even harder, taking as much of massive tool as I could. I kept opening my throat, taking more, little by little, until my nose was in his pubic hair, breathing in the warm, moist scent of him. Uncle Frank gasped with pleasure as I moved down to his big balls, sucking and pulling them away from his body.
“Love on that meat, sweet boy,” Uncle Frank hissed. “You’re my sweet little slut, aren’t you, Charlie? Lick those fucking nuts.”
I began licking them, taking one ball into my mouth, sucking it and rolling it around in my mouth, then I started on the other.
Grabbing tightly at the base of his shaft, I pumped him, while I continue to devour his enormous cock head ravenously, choking myself on his full length. He put both hands down under the table and held my head in place.
“Let’s eat, baby,” he said. “Uncle Frank’s gonna shoot in your sweet mouth. I’m cumming……”
His body jerked and his orgasm exploded, sending a ton of molten, creamy lava spurt by spurt, gushing into my willing mouth and filling my spasming throat until I almost choked. I swallowed several times, but when I pulled my head slightly off his cock, a stream of cum was trickling down the sides of my mouth, but I didn’t quit. I kept his trophy in my mouth until long after it had softened, sucking it, nursing it, rolling it around in my mouth, nibbling it softly, washing it with my tongue.
Uncle Frank leaned down and put his face under the table. I smiled and gave him a big kiss. He licked some of his own cum off my lips and kissed me back. I made sure his cock and balls were clean and put them back inside his pants and zipped him up.
Now it was Uncle Tommy’s turn for relief. His crotch to me was as beautiful as his face.
I took his foreskin and chewed on it. I inserted my tongue into it and swirled my tongue all around the cockhead. I sucked on his nuts and then took his cock all the way down my throat.
I leaned over and sucked on the head, tantalizing it with my tongue. I nibbled and suckled down the shaft. I sucked again on the head, working my way down, all the way, as I was milking his nuts with both hands, churning them, pulling hard on them, scratching them. He was groaning quietly and, hiking up his butt, giving me better access to his sack.
“I need to be fucking milked, Charlie,” insisted Uncle Tommy. “ I really fucking need it!”
I spit on my right hand and slid it over his scrotum and along his huge boner until I had that cock sliding in and out of my hand. I stroked his meat real slow a couple of time, squeezing it and enjoying the thickness and heat of it in my hand. I took it back into my mouth, sucking for all I’m worth. Finally, he was grunting and started to pump his hips down my throat. He went wild. He gripped my face with both hands and started fucking my mouth like a horny bull. I took him all the way to root and jammed my face into his nuts. He yelped when I rubbed my beard back and forth across the back of his balls, rough and hard.
I rubbed my face all over this sweaty sack, licking, sniffing, and chewing on his balls until my face was soaked with my spit and his sweat
“Now you’re doing it, Charlie,” he yowled. “Milk me, you hot little fuck!”
My mouth was devouring his massive meat and with my hands I was yanking on his ball sack. He stopped suddenly, groaned and began spraying sperm all over the place. His cock was like a firehouse, soaking me, spraying cum on my arms, my chin, my face, my hair. For what seemed like more than a minute, he just kept squirting. I grabbed my cock, and shot on the second or third stroke, covering the legs of his pants with my juice. Semen was everywhere and under the table smelled like dick and sweat. I collapsed in a heap, my face still jammed between his hairy legs, panting and sighing.
“Goddamn!” laughed Uncle Eddie. “That was sure something.”
“Fuck me,” said Uncle Frank. “I didn’t even see but just hearing it was unbelievable.”
My Papa chimed in. “That’s our Charlie. He’s our special boy. He always knows what we each need.”
“How bad are my pants, Charlie?”
“Sorry about that, Uncle Tommy, but not too bad, I can clean them up.”
“Good boy,” he told me. “You’re fucking magic, baby boy.”
I first licked Uncle Tommy’s cock and balls clean. Savoring every drop, then put them back in his pants and zipped up. He stuck his head under the table, pulling my face to his, licking some of the cum on my face, and kissing my mouth, getting his own cum on his face. I licked it off.
I licked each spot on my Uncle Tommy’s pants and sucked the cum out, leaving a little wet spot that would dry in a few minutes.
My Papa helped me up from under the table and helped me to the bathroom. Uncle Tommy’s cum was everywhere, but he gave me a sheepish smile and winked. Papa reached in the bathroom cabinet, retrieved a small glass jar from one of the shelves and put it in his coat pocket. He shut the bathroom door for me and returned to the table. I was completely naked
I waited for the water to warm, washed with a cloth and the bar from the tin, and quit before it ran cold. That always meant being quick about it. I dried, getting a little flutter in my stomach. Now it was Papa’s turn. This was always the pinnacle.
“How much are you putting in this time?” I heard Uncle Tommy ask Uncle Eddie. My father had resumed his seat and they continued the hand.
“You feeling lucky or just bored,” Uncle Eddie answered, laughing.
“Guess we’ll find out,” smirked Uncle Tommy.
As I returned to the table, my protectors were in heated play in the middle of a hand. Each was seated, and nothing seemed a miss. But if you looked closely, my uncles and my Papa were only fully clothed above the waist, but below it, they were completely naked. They had pushed their chairs back a bit, and you could see those four collosal cocks, achingly hard, pointing toward the ceiling as they held their cards, totally concentrating on the game.
I walked up to my Papa’s chair, leaned against him and looked at his cards. He put his hand around my waist, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the little glass jar and handed it to me. I walked over to Uncle Eddie, put the little glass jar on the table, leaned over and grabbed my ankles. Uncle Eddie put his cards face down on the table, hardly looking up, took a dollop of petroleum jelly, and rubbed it gently in the crack of my ass and my hole. He used one finger, up to the knuckle, to start opening me up. I moaned, squirmed a little, and pushed back against his finger. He grinned. I came back to standing, keeping his finger inside me, and moved up and down on his finger a few times. He then pulled it out, wiping it on a cloth on the table and returned to ongoing play.
I grabbed the little glass jar and walked over to Uncle Frank, placing it on the table and leaned over and grabbed my ankles. Uncle Frank put his cards face down on the table, hardly breaking concentration, took a large dollop of petroleum jelly, and rubbed it vigorously into my hole. He used two fingers, pushing them in and scissoring them, to open me up even more. I moaned again, this time louder, and fucked myself on them, more vigorously this time. He grinned at everyone. I stood up, squatting to get more of his two fingers into me, pushing down to take them fully and fucking myself on them. He pulled them out. Uncle Eddie threw him the cloth and he wiped his hands off and returned to the game.
I grabbed the little glass jar for the last time, walked over to Uncle Tommy, set it on the table, and this time, sat on his lap with my back against his chest, spreading my legs widely so that my butt was accessible below. He put his cards face down, hardly losing sight of the game, and took an even bigger portion of petroleum jelly, reaching under me, as I leaned back against him, roughly spread it around my crack and in my hole. Using three fingers, he began to roughly fuck me with his fingers, to the hilt, scissoring them, going deep to open my hole wider. I grabbed my knees to open myself up even more and I grabbed his hand, pushing it deeper into my chute, fucking myself, moaning and groaning with pleasure. I stood up from his lap, leaned over grabbing my knees and opening my cheeks with my hands. Uncle Tommy smiled as he drove his three fingers directly into my ass, deeper and deeper, repeatedly. When he decided I’d had enough, he slapped me on the ass, and I moved from in front of him. Uncle Frank threw him the cloth, he wiped off his hands, picked up his cards and resumed play.
I then moved over to Papa. He put his cards face down on the table, smiling at me. Facing him, I swung my legs over his lap, he kissed me softly, grabbing my waist and helped me sit down slowly on his gargantuan cock. He let me set the pace, taking his length as slowly as I needed until I was sitting on his lap, his balls nestled against my ass.
I slowly started moving on his cock, stretching one way then the other. I rose a little bit and pushed myself back down.
“Grind on me, Charlie,” panted Papa. “Ride my cock, baby boy!”
Papa started to push upward into my ass, meeting my downward push as I lifted my ass, pushing himself deeper inside me.
I put my hands on Papa’s thighs and lifted myself, almost all the way off his cock, then fell down, slamming against the root of his cock, pushing my ass against his pubes.
“Papa loves Charlie’s tight ass, baby,” panted Papa. “Fuck my cock with your ass.”
The moment those words came out of my papa’s mouth, I began to squeeze and tighten the inner muscles in my ass, trying to suck his cock with it. My papa went a little wild. He began slamming upward almost uncontrollably, holding my waist tightly and pulling me up and down on his cock like a fuck toy. I loved it.
“Fuck me, Papa,” I squealed. “Take my hole. It’s yours.”
As I was slammed down over and over to the root of his cock, Papa began sweating and groaning and thrusting upward madly.
“Open that cunt for me, baby. I’m gonna…..gonna……CUM!” Papa shouted.
He suddenly stands, without taking his cock out of my ass, throws me on the poker table on my back and begins to ram me with all his might, thrusting madly. He gives a shudder, driving his cock into me one last time and his cock erupts with what feels like gallons of juice, deep inside me, filling up my hole. I push down onto his dick as deeply as I can, feeling every drop as it spurts from his dick.
My Uncle Eddie, now totally naked, helps me lift off my Papa’s cock, pulling me behind him, lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and deposits my ass onto the head of his cock. He lets me drop onto his cock in one movement and I cry out. Uncle Frank is naked now too. He starts touching my body, my balls, my cock, licking my nipples, suckling my chest, taking me down his throat and then coming up and resuming his complete worship of my body. I then feel someone behind my Uncle Eddie, who begins massaging my back and my shoulders, nuzzling up to my neck, licking and sucking on my skin. My Uncle Eddie continues to pop me up and down on his cock, lifting me up almost off his dick so just the head remains, slamming me back down to his root. Over and over.
“Harder, Uncle Eddie!” I shout. “Slam me down on your huge cock.”
Uncle Tommy and Uncle Frank kneel down in front of Uncle Eddie, using their mouths to share my cock between them. Licking up one side and down the other. One sucking the head, the other licking my balls.
“Oh, Jesus, Uncles.” I cried. “Make me your whore!”
Uncle Frank takes me down to the root, sucking my entire length. He pops off my cock and Uncle Tommy takes over, taking me down to the root and sucking my cock noisily, guzzling and gobbling to take it as deeply as he can.
Uncle Eddie, throws me up, so I come completely off his cock, guiding me back down, letting my weight slam down onto his cock one last time.
My body convulses on Uncle Eddie’s cock, as I shoot my load into Uncle Tommy’s mouth. He sucks to taste it all. He moved quickly and Uncle Frank resumes, sucking down the next bursts, squirt after squirt.
My ass clenches so hard when I cum that Uncle Eddie cries out and fills my hole with his white seed, slamming me down on his cock like I’m a rag doll.
Uncle Frank and Uncle Tommy support me on Uncle Eddie’s cock, holding me up, hugging me against their chests, nuzzling me. As Uncle Eddie’s cock softens, they pull me off it and carry me to the sofa along one wall, laying me down. They sit on each side of me, kissing my neck, whispering comfort.
“My baby boy. My wonderful baby boy,” they murmur. My Papa lays his head in my lap and cleans off my cock and balls, licking away my cum. He moves his mouth down below my balls, my uncles lifting my knees and he sucks and licks and rims my hole, up and down my crack, licking and lapping. When my Papa is finished, Uncle Eddie pulls me up, sits, and pulls me onto his lap. All four men, smothering me with kisses, licks and bites all over my body. I fall asleep in their arms, to the sounds of their worship.
To be continued..
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