White Lightning

According to Google, Witblits is a white brandy made of the leftovers from a winery and contains a fifty-five, to sixty-five percent alcohol content. According to the local maker, however, it is actually based on an Italian Grappa recipe. The name Witblits is an Afrikaans word, a language indigenous to South Africa and translated it means; ‘white lightning.’ It is a very popular beverage in the most southerly region of the country and it would be unheard of, not to have a bottle or two in one’s liquor cabinet. Truth be told, it is simply too strong for me. The locals, however, swear that Witblits also has added medicinal advantages. It is said that if you have a tot of this beverage first thing in the morning, you’ll never get sick. Given the fact that many of the locals are in their eighties and nineties, one would certainly have to give credence to this belief. Before I bore you to death, nevertheless, let me get on with my story.

***

After retiring at an earlyish age to a small village in the aforementioned region of the country, I opened a bric-a-brac shop. The business was operated out of the very large living area in my home. The reason for this change of lifestyle was threefold. Firstly, it gave me a daily purpose in ‘retirement.’ Secondly, I was able to derive a reasonable income from it, and thirdly, I was also able to live a relaxed life, unlike my hectic former existence.

After the initial apprehension by the locals, once they realised I was gay, things settled down very quickly and soon the novelty of my sexual orientation hardly raised an eyebrow. I was always amused nonetheless, by the folks who would later tell me that despite knowing I was gay, I seemed to be a fairly ‘normal’ person.

As an aside, I have to admit that in the years ahead, visits from local guys and strangers that I had met at our local pub and grill, proved to be rather ‘rewarding.’ I was often reminded of the words of an acquaintance of mine whom I had met many years before:

“Men are like spaghetti, they are always straight until you apply a bit of heat.”

This expression is not the purpose of this story, however, so before I once more become side-tracked, let me get on with it.

***

The couple who ran the pub and grill in the village were John and Heidi. He took care of the bar and she was in charge of the kitchen. They were a strange couple.

A few weeks after I had arrived in the village, I was invited to Heidi’s birthday party. During that evening when she danced with me, after embracing my body she commenced grinding herself against me.

‘What about the fact that I am gay does she not understand?’ I thought to myself.

Later on, as I was about to leave, John walked me to my vehicle. John then hugged me in a very spirited fashion that bordered on salaciousness, which seemed very odd for a straight man.

The couple had two sons, Mark and Peter. Although both boys were fairly handsome and had the most arresting eyes, physically, they couldn’t have been more different. Mark, the elder son of twenty-five was a shorty and only stood five-foot-seven-inches tall. Peter, the seventeen-year-old, was far larger of stature and already touching six-foot-tall, just like his father.

When conversing with either of them, they both observed you shyly with their heads slightly tilted slightly downward. I have to admit that neither of the two sons really got my juices flowing, but there was an intriguing mannerism to their behaviour, which always mesmerized me.

They definitely didn’t have their mother’s eyes and as far as taking after their father in this respect was concerned, it was rather difficult to tell. The thick spectacles John wore, due to his hyperopia, made John’s eyes seem oversized. Strangely, his eyes reminded me of Dr. T. J. Eckleburg, a creation from the famous Fitzgerald novel set in the nineteen-twenties. Despite John’s ‘large’ eyes, I actually found him rather sexy and far more appealing than his two sons.

In any case, let’s finally get on with the story.

***

Although Mark who lived in a neighbouring town often popped into my home on Saturdays, I really saw very little of Peter. Mark and I shared a passion for ‘weed,’ which we both enjoyed very much. Our weekly get-togethers always resulted in a spliff and a beer or two.

As far as Peter was concerned, I would occasionally observe him pass by my home as he returned from school in the afternoons. I never engaged him in conversation as he passed by, because I really didn’t want people in the village to start gossiping.

Given his heftiness, Peter had a rather deliberate gait, unlike his lithe and nimble brother. Discussing his two boys in the pub early on one evening, John informed me about the differences between his two boys. Whereas Mark had a good job, did martial arts to stay in shape, and had a laidback like demeanour like John, Peter had no interest in sports, was an under average student, and often showed aggressive behaviour. According to John, Peter wasn’t stupid, but simply very lazy and somewhat slovenly. John concluded that he often despaired about Peter’s future.

One afternoon as Peter was returning from school, he caught me unawares as I stood smoking a joint in my front garden.

“That smells good,” I heard a voice behind me saying.

As I turned to look at him, the normal ‘shyness’ that I had come to know, seemed to have been replaced with a much more confident gaze.

“Hi,” I whispered, like a nervous schoolboy who had just been caught doing something wrong.

With an assertive look in his magnificent eyes, Peter smiled before saying, “My brother thinks your place is great. Of course, I have never seen it.”

Totally flawed, I replied, “Well, if you would like to see it, you’re welcome anytime.”

“What about now?” he confidently countered.

“Okay,” I jabbered, under the spell of a boy thirty years my junior. Oddly, I felt intimidated and ridiculous!

After we entered the gallery, Pater stomped about with an air of authority. This was in sharp contrast to the boy I had hitherto encountered.

“Yeah, I understand why my brother thinks its dope, bro.” Peter then declared with confidence, before resuming, “Its fuckin’ cool.”

Next, with his beautiful eyes flickered to and fro, he looked at me and asked, “Can I also have joint?”

At this point, I was totally unnerved.

“Listen, Peter, I really don’t want to get into shit with you folks,” I pathetically proffered.

After a hearty chuckle, Peter next replied “Fuck, Danny, my brother and I fuckin’ smoke dope all the time… Even my folks join in on Sunday mornings before they go to work.”

I had no doubt that his parents were fairly open-minded. After I had moved to the village, there was a story about his mum who had fucked one of the local farmers and ended up in a fight with the farmer’s wife. Apparently, there had been a lot of biting and hair-pulling involved.

I was just about to relent on the dope-smoking issue when Peter further up the ante by asking. “Can I also have a tot of Witblits?”

Things had become so weird by now that my heart began to race.

‘Fuck,’ I thought to myself, ‘What the fuck is going on here?’

As I was about to jabber, his conquering eyes blinked, before he asked, “You are gay, right?”

“Ye… ah,” I stammered.

“Well, I’ll show you my cock if you agree,” he impishly stated, and before I could even formulate a thought, he resumed, “And it’s well worth seeing.”

I was so nervously captivated at this point, that all my reasoning evaporated. This little cunt was fuckin’ with my mind and having had no success in the town thus far, I was starving for stimulation.

I was practically hyperventilating as I answered, “But, what anyone finds out?”

“Are you serious…? Who the fuck do you think I’m going to tell?” he said with a look of total disbelief, before continuing, “That I showed my dick to a moffie?” (A colloquial reference to being a homosexual)

I know that I should’ve been offended, but I wasn’t because of my excitement.

As his facial expression hardened, his unbelievably beautiful eyes radiated with shrewdness. “Dude, I am certainly not going drag my name through the mud by telling anyone. Now… do you want to see my knob or not?”

“Yes…” I submissively whimpered.

With his eyes now ablaze with authority, Peter pronounced, “Well then give me my fuckin’ joint and pour my drink, after you’ve locked your front door.”

Like a bitch in heat, I complied with his two requests before being ordered to my knees. The sight of my subservience obviously pleased him enormously, because before long he gripped hold of my head as he rubbed his crotch in my face. As I hurriedly tried to attack his zipper, I got a solid slap to my face.

“Wait, you fuckin’ slut, I’ll tell you what happens next,” he barked at me.

As he drew on the joint after slugging back his drink, he looked down at me with those incredible eyes that were now ablaze with domination.

“So, you want to see my cock?” he growled.

“Yes, Yes, Please,” I begged.

“Mmmm… well, first fill up my glass again,” he commanded.

I got up in a flash and catered to his needs.

“Lick my trousers, show me how much you want to see my knob, bitch,” he exclaimed as he once again ordered me to my knees.

Like an excited puppy, I commenced licking the material of his crotch before he gripped hold of my head. As his fingers grabbed my hair, Peter started swaying his body as he harshly smeared my face on his crotch.

“Do you like this, moffie? Is this what you want you fuckin’ whore?” he growled.

“Mmm, mmm, mmmm,” I murmured.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” he blurted with a lustful snigger.

The revelation before me was totally epic. This boy was endowed with the most spectacular slab of uncut cock-meat I had ever seen. I wanted to grab hold of his dick but decided to await his permission to do so. After Peter took hold of his shaft, he chuckled before slapping my face with his dick.

“Are you enjoying your punishment, cock-sucker,” he guffawed.

“Yes,” I replied as I extended my tongue.

Along with my visual stimulation, the smell of his humid crotch and the taste of his sweaty tool was driving crazy. A further enhancement for me was witnessing his hardening knob growing to even greater dimensions. With his cock now fully erect, Peter placed the tip of his foreskin above my top lip and under my nose. As he commenced withdrawing his hood, the wet glans emitted the most erotic musky fragrance imaginable. It was fan-fucking-tastic.

“Do you like this smell?” he asked in a horny growl.

“Mmm,” I inarticulately uttered.

“Then lick it clean,” he hornily barked.

My big moment had arrived and my mouth now went into overdrive as I took control of his knob.

I am sure that my frenzied action caught Peter somewhat unaware, because he initially started whimpering. Not long after, however, his self-control returned. When it did my head was clamp in his vice-like hands as my skull-fucking got underway.

Peter had no concept of how large his dick was and soon my throat was being pounded mercilessly. By the time Peter finally shot his load, the front of my shirt looked like a bucket goo had been thrown over my chest. In addition, with Peter being a prodigious ejaculator, the slop on my chest also contained splashes spunk that I had been unable to swallow.

Having not removed his jeans before our session, Peter also had spillage on the front of his trousers. After handing him a damp sponge, he cleaned his pants.

“Do you mind if I take this with me?” Peter asked as he lifted the half-smoked spliff off the ashtray.

“Not at all,” I replied.

I stood with a smile on my face as I watched him stomp off.

Two days later, when he knocked on my door I was very pleased. Not only had I physically prepared my arse for him, but I was also determined to feel that spectacular cock in my backside. Of course, we again went through the spliff and Witblits routine, before I asked if he would like to fuck me.

“Sure, bend over,” he answered, just as cocky as on his previous visit.

Initially, Peter took things a little slower, but shortly, his domineering approach returned in force. After entering my backside his rock-hard dong was soon slamming into me with force. I cannot say that his entry was pleasant, but being a seasoned bitch I took the strain in my stride.

As my internal organs got comprehensively rearranged, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. The bruises on my hips from his clasping mitts also did not bother me at all, when I observed them the following day. Some guys like rougher sex, and it was clear that Peter would become a star performer in this genre during his lifetime. If fact, I was envious of the bitches he would go on to ‘brutalise’ in future.

Although my arse ached when he had finally ended thumping my backside, it was well worth all the discomfort I felt then and the following day. In particular, his ongoing vocal abuse throughout, had tantalized me unbelievably.

***

An added bonus in my life occurred ten days later when John, Peter’s father, paid me an unexpected visit.

I always closed my business on Monday’s to give me a well-earned break. In fact, on Monday’s everyone in the village closed shop.

At ten that morning, I was therefore surprized, when I heard a knock on my front door.

“Hi, John,” I said as I opened the door.

After he entered, John walked around and had a good look at my premises.

“Peter keeps singing your praises… always telling me how kind you are to him,” John concluded.

“I like him, he’s is a nice kid,” I answered.

With an exaggerated stern look on his face, John then asked, “You haven’t been giving my boy weed and Witblits?”

Picking up on his jest, I shrugged and answered, “Guilty as charged. As you know, he is a persuasive little fucker.”

Continuing the charade, John then replied “Ah… I thought so much.”

With a friendly smile, he then resumed, “And what do you get in return for your kindness?”

At this point, I became a little nervous. I had heard that John and his wife were adventurous and often indulged in ‘swinging’ parties. Having sex with their seventeen-year-old son, however, was an entirely different matter.

“Nothing,” I quickly countered, before blabbering, “I simply like the boy.”

“Jesus… that little cunt is so selfish. The least he could’ve done was to show you his very impressive dick.” John said with a naughty smile.

As John commenced fondling his crotch, I thought I had entered an alternative universe.

“Let me tell you another thing about my two boys,” John said with a smirk on his face. “Peter takes after me physically. By the time he was fourteen-years-old, Peter had a bigger cock than his brother who is several years older than him. Poor old Mark… obviously takes after his mother’s side of the family,” he concluded with a scoff.

I must have looked like a mindless idiot as I stood open-mouthed and glaring at him.

“Now… if you were to give me a joint and a glass of Witblits, I’d be quite willing to display what my selfish son was not mindful enough to show you.”

‘Oh, Jesus,’ I thought to myself. ‘Is this really happening?’

I immediately handed him the joint and poured a Witblits. As had been the case with Peter, John thereafter told me to get down on my knees. After slugging back his Witblits, John then took a long draw on his spliff.

Next, after removing his trousers, John pushed down his underpants. As he did so, I instantly saw where Peter had gotten his endowment. A further surprise followed, when John removed his spectacles and peered down at me. Peter had definitely also inherited his father’s eyes.

“Go for it!” he then informed me.

After taking hold of his dick, my head moved forward to inhale the scent of his crotch. His pubic area was a lot hairier than Peter’s and also had a richer odour. I was very pleased when John’s cock instantly responded to my touch. Unlike his son, John initially kept his hands at his sides and allowed me free reign.

As I commenced toying with his knob and unsheathing his glans, a far riper smell than Peter’s assailed my nostrils.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry I didn’t wash under the hood before coming here,” he apologetically said, before resuming, “Truth be told, however, I am little forgetful when it comes to cleaning under my foreskin.”

“I don’t mind. I love this smell,” I answered looking up at his smiling face, before my mouth went to work on his dick-head.

In contrast to his son, John allowed me to do my thing for a few minutes before his hands gently began caressing my head. There was also no vocal abuse from him like with Peter, only the most erotic groaning of appreciation.

When John ultimately told me to stand up, I was slightly baffled. John now told me to remove all my clothes as he also took off his shirt. John was indeed a lot furrier than his son.

“Don’t you think your bedroom would be far more comfortable?” he asked.

“Sure,” I answered, totally delighted.

Another pleasure soon followed as we stood next to my bed and John embraced and commenced kissing me. Peter had never even hinted at this possibility and as much as I had enjoyed my sessions with him, ‘a change is as good as a holiday,’ as they say.

After a solid tonsil washing episode, my body was pushed backward onto the bed. As I manoeuvred my body upward on the bed, John’s eyes lit up.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

“Sure,” I once more replied.

“You’re not very convincing,” he uttered, mischievously.

“What do you mean?” I asked, totally puzzled.

“Well, a proper invitation would be nice,” John said with a chuckle.

“Huh?” I asked, totally confused.

With a laugh, he then said, “If you hold your legs back and let your pink pucker wink at me, then I’ll consider that a proper inducement.”

As we both giggled, my legs lifted like an old-fashioned television bunny aerial.

With a horny grin, John now moved forward on his knees after getting on the bed. With a look of lustful concentration, he started rubbing the head of his cock against my portal. After spitting a few blobs of saliva on what would now become the conjoined parts of our body, his large spear commenced buffeting my backside. I was totally elated as his lance progressed ever forward hacking at my voracious hole. John’s approach was languid and steady, and as our sounds melded into a harmonious lullaby, he grunted and I groaned.

For the next twenty minutes, my badgered bum was ‘molested’ in the most erotic manner possible. As intoxicating as youth is, experience always trumps it, I conclusively decided

John kept changing his body position. From being upright on his knees, he then hovered over me on outstretched arms, before lowering himself completely before my face and neck got daubed by his fervent lips. It was totally magnificent!

On and on, my gratification just seemed never-ending. When John finally unloaded in the upright position with me furiously tugging my cock, we timed our ejaculations perfectly.

To my amazement, another two sessions ensued between joints and Witblits. The two encounters consisted of me firstly being skull-fucked and then, a far more animated session followed with me on my stomach. This is when John really turned up the heat of his intensity.

As John was leaving he asked if I was amenable to regular Monday visits by him.

“Definitely!” I answered.

As I watched him walking away, I unequivocally decided that upon Peter’s next visit, I would definitely insist on kissing. After all, Peter seriously needed to up his game to his father’s level.

‘Fuck that little arrogant bastard,’ I thought. ‘If he wants to pig-out on my Witblits, that’s the least he can do.’