Cutter09

Monty's Python

I met a young man at a fundraiser in Paris, back in January 2014. I was very impressed with his passion for his cause, and devotion to the church. So impressed, I invited him to lunch the next day at my hotel.

This visit to Paris was to be a short one, though the city is one of my favorites in the world. I only had the next day and night there, so was delighted he could meet with me for lunch.

Because of my wealth and political influence, he thought I might be able to help in the matter of a priest that was kidnapped by Boko Haram a couple of weeks earlier.

I explained to Claude that my influence did not extend into Nigeria, Chad, or even Cameroon, where Boko Haram was most active. I did, however make a donation to help gain the priest's release.

Over the next few months, I helped in any way I could (mostly financial) to support the fight against the group and its activities. The world as a whole didn't seem too interested until 276 schoolgirls were kidnapped from Chibok.

By now of course, everyone knows that these poor girls were sold into slavery and forced marriages etc. And I'm sure that life for them is terrible. But for some reason no one seems concerned about what happens to the boys.

Islamic terrorists are known for their rape and torture of girls, but imagine what it is like for a boy under the same conditions. The heinous treatment of boys is worse. I hate to be blunt, and sound uncaring for the plight of the girls, but at least their vaginas are built for penetration.

Claude got involved in saving the girls, just as he had when a group of French tourists were kidnapped. Just as he had in every instance of inhumane acts carried out by this hideous organization.

I continued my support of this selfless man, never regretting my involvement in the least.

My most recent, and closest personal involvement, came in the form of a rather cryptic text from Claude.

"Sending you a package. Should arrive midnight tomorrow. Please take special care of it. Paperwork will follow."

Little did I know that would be my last communique from Claude.

At precisely midnight the next night, there was a buzz from my gate guard.

"There's a guy out here who says he has a package for you Sir."

On my monitor I could see a white van, with a rather shady looking character behind the wheel.

After some deliberation, I told the guard to open the gate.

I opened the front door, just as the van pulled up to the house. A huge bear of a man got out and walked up to me.

"Are you Brian?"

I nodded.

"Are you expecting a package?"

"Yes. From my friend Claude."

He stepped back to the van and opened the side door. I assumed he would reach in and pull out a box. Instead a very skinny, bare, foot extended from the door, followed by the thinnest black boy I have ever personally laid eyes on. If you were to imagine all those 'save the starving children' public service announcements on tv, this was one in the flesh.

Bald, emaciated, frightened, were the first adjectives that popped into my head.

The bear escorted him up the steps and handed me a letter, then nodded to the driver, who drove away.

My dear Brian,

Things have worsened here, and I have nowhere else to send Bala. I hope you will forgive my imposing on your generosity. I want you to know that all your much appreciated support has gone into saving hundreds of people, mostly children, just like Bala. Providing food, transportation, and documents for refugees, and even bribes for politicians, officials, and all the way down to boat captains. I hate to admit, that some was also spent on weapons and ammo for the resistance.

Most people seem only interested in saving the girls, so I have run out of options for Bala. Hugo will help with his assimilation into American life.

Thank you for your help. Hope to see you soon.

Claude

I looked at the bear sized man, "Are you Hugo?"

"Yes, and this is Bala," he said indicating to the skeleton beside him.

"Hello," he said, surprising me with his English.

"Oh, you speak English. Hello, welcome."

"A little French too," he said entering my home.

"Bala's father was the leader of his village."

By saying 'was' I assumed Hugo meant the father is dead.

"Such a large dwelling. How many families live here?" Bala asked.

I chuckled a bit and said "Actually none. Just me and my staff. Let me get you something to eat. You must be famished after your trip," I said politely. What I meant was 'Damn! You are one skinny kid.'

I rummaged around in the fridge and pulled out leftovers of all sorts. I assume Helga saved some for the staff's lunch or whatever. I really pay little attention to the daily goings on around the house.

Hugo and Bala both ate a lot. Hugo, I'm sure just eats a lot in general, Bala was starving.

"So what is the plan?" I asked Hugo, interrupting a mouthful.

"It's obvious he can't go anywhere until he looks like he fits in. I will help him with his physical development, and learning to speak as an American."

"Is anyone looking for him?"

"Not sure. They don't like losing their property. But he is also here illegally, and the authorities would be able to spot him in an instant. So until he looks and talks like any other black American teen, he has to keep a low profile."

"By black teen, do you mean as in that ghetto style?"

"No, but he can't be saying 'How many families live in this dwelling?' either."

"I see what you mean," I replied nodding.

Then I set about appraising Bala. I could only guess his age around 10, but Hugo had said teen. He wasn't ugly, just so damn thin. I would guess he would be attractive with a little more meat on his bones.

Just then Hugo's phone chimed.

"Yeah 3; Okay shoot 3; Yeah 3; Really? That's the best you could come up with? 3; Yeah I got it 3; When? 3; Okay," he said and put his phone away.

"Is everything alright?" I asked concerned.

"Bala is going to be Lamont Jefferson. You adopted him from an orphanage in Chicago after his parents died in a freak accident," Hugo enlightened us.

"Okay 3; Wait? What? I adopted him?"

"Yep he's all yours. Well, at least he will be when the paperwork arrives in a few days," he informed me.

"Uh 3; I 3; uh 3; Did 3; Uh."

"Claude didn't tell you?"

"No. If I adopted him, why is his name Jefferson?"

"Well, it's not. It's the same as yours, but it used to be Jefferson. It explains why he's black and you're not."

"Anything else you want to surprise me with?"

"He'll have school records and medical records, birth certificate, social security card, the whole nine yards."

I looked at Bala, I mean Lamont. "Lamont, would you mind if I called you Monty?"

"Monty, Lamont, 3; same same."

"I guess that means I can. How old are you?"

"Soon to be thirteen," Bala/Monty said.

"Actually according to his new records, he was thirteen last month. Don't worry, Brian. When I'm done with him, he won't make any mistakes. He will be Monty, through and through."

When they had finished eating, it was almost two in the morning. I showed them to bedrooms upstairs. I gave Monty the room next to mine, and Hugo across the hall from Monty.

The boy wore raggedy clothes that would look more appropriate on a homeless hermit. "Son, the bath is through that door there."

"I'll help him. I'm sure he's not accustomed to modern plumbing," Hugo volunteered.

I left them to it and went to my own room. The first thing I did was pour myself a scotch. I sipped it while mulling over the sudden change in my life. Finally hitting the sheets around three.

I was awakened by a blood curtling scream early the next morning. One of the maids had discovered Hugo stepping out of the shower.

"Please don't scream again. I promise, I'm supposed to be here," he was saying to the frightened Abby, as I arrived on the scene.

"It's okay Abby," I said to her, then noticed her gaze. Hugo was sporting quite a piece of meat. I'm sure she screamed because she was afraid he would use it on her.

Monty joined us all, he was laughing as he realized the situation.

"Abby, this is my uh 3; son 3; Monty. And the naked one is Hugo. They will be staying with us. Will you be so kind as to inform the rest of the staff?"

"Yes sir," she finally muttered without losing sight of Hugo's huge sausage.

Helga served us breakfast on the patio, which disappeared quickly.

"This water is much clearer than Lake Chad. But it has a strange odor," Monty said referring to the large pool.

"That would be the chlorine used to keep it clear," Hugo explained.

"If you would like, you may go swimming later," I told my new son.

"Excellent. Thank you."

"Hugo. I'm afraid you caught me at a busy time. I have a business trip this afternoon, and won't return for about three weeks."

"No worries. I'm gonna be busy too, working with Bal 3; uh Monty."

I went up to my room and showered and then to my office to get my briefcase and documents I would need for my trip. My laptop and things were already packed.

Returning to the patio, I saw Monty swimming in the pool. "I'm about ready to go. If you need anything, you'll find a credit card in my nightstand drawer," I told Hugo.

Abby came over just then and said "Sir, your driver 3;"

Looking at her, I discovered her frozen in some sort of brain lock. I followed her gaze to see Monty toweling off. He was nude. On his little frame, his dick looked obscenely long. It wasn't the size of Hugo's, but still rather long for a young boy. He was uncut, and even his foreskin was long. Above his dick was a smattering of pubic hair, which somehow looked out of place considering he had no other hair.

"Hugo, you might want to instruct him in the custom of swimwear. There are suits available in the cabana," Turning back to Abby I asked "What were you saying? Abby 3; ABBY!"

"Sorry sir. Your driver is out front."

***

My trip was business. It took me from Hong Kong, then to Taipei, ending in Singapore. It was a very profitable trip, both in business, and in the casinos I visited.

The most interesting thing though, came on my next to the last night in Singapore. I had concluded my business, and just settling in for the evening when someone came to my door.

I opened it to find a teen girl and boy standing there. They could not have been more that twelve or thirteen. Over my years in business, it has not been unusual for a host CEO to send me a prostitute. This, however, was quite out of the ordinary. The accompanying note said.

Brian,

To show my appreciation, please accept this gift of an evening's entertainment. I look forward to our continuing business relationship.

The pair entered and began undressing. My language skills end in the boardroom, where mostly English is spoken or I have an interpreter. Not to mention my curiosity was piqued. So I did little to stop them. Okay, I did nothing to stop them. My relatively few dalliances, back in boarding school, encouraged me to engage with these young treasures.

I'm not sure if they were actually moving at a glacial pace, or it just seemed that way. But very slowly their dark flesh was revealed to me. The boy appeared to be further along in puberty, having a few sparse hairs, and about four and a half inches [11 cm]. The girl had no pubic hair, no breasts, barely even little bumps where her breast will someday be.

Immature as she was, she took his dick like a porn star. He started by eating her then moved right into a hard fuck. Watching kids fuck became my new favorite hobby. It's like driving by a car wreck. The more afraid you are to see a dead body lying in the road, the more you look. I couldn't take my eyes off these kids.

After he came in her, they blew me, swapping back and forth on my cock. They spent the night in my bed, in several different arrangements of three way sex. A night I will not soon forget. And the smart CEO who sent them, is definitely getting more business from me.

***

I arrived home after a turbulent flight. Yes even private jets suffer turbulence. Hugo opened the door.

"Hey Brian! Welcome home."

"Thanks Hugo. It's good to be back. How's everything here?"

"Great, I think you will be impressed with his progress. He's looking 3;"

Just then a noise came from behind me. Turning around I see a black kid enter. He's wearing a baseball cap sideways on his head, sunglasses,a "Black Power" tee shirt complete with a raised fist silhouette, baggy jeans that gather at his ankles because they are belted below his butt, with his plaid boxers displayed eight inches [20 cm] above his pants. He's walking with his left hand holding up his pants, and swinging his right arm behind him in an unappealing swagger.

"'Sup cuz'."

Only his voice gave away his identity.

"What the fuck Hugo?" I said as the color drained from my face, and anger boiled in me.

"He's been watching too much television," Hugo says as an explanation. Now, it's been said that in a board meeting, I can be rather forceful. That I leave little doubt that my demands will be met, and met quickly, or else. That trait must have come through.

"You're damn right he has," I said raising my voice. "We can do with a lot less 'gangsta' and a little more Beaver Cleaver thrown in. Take Lamont Jefferson away and tomorrow I better see Monty."

The 6 foot four inch [1.95 m], 240 pounds [110 kg] of muscle, Hugo said. "Yes, Sir," grabbed the kid by the arm and scurried from the room.

Later I decided to take a hot whirlpool bath instead of a shower. I was still tense from my trip, and Monty's appearance didn't help matters much. I lay back in the tub, and let the warm bubbles soothe away my troubles.

"Sir. May I speak with you?"

"Uh 3; sure Monty. Come in," I said, a little concerned about my nudity.

"I'm sorry to have displeased you earlier. I only wanted to show you how much like a black American teen I was becoming."

"I understand Monty. And I probably overreacted. But you don't understand that the people who act in that manner, are just proliferating the racial tensions in this country. They present themselves as victims of society, of racial and economic inequality. They use their skin color as an excuse to be unsuccessful, and their lack of success as a reason to be militant. They feel entitled to share in the spoils of other people's labor without putting forth the effort to earn it themselves.

"In their minds, their 'victim' status, allows them to commit crimes. I believe the latest statistics show that blacks, age 15-31, make up only three percent of the population, yet they commit 51 percent of the violent crimes. Then they have the audacity to complain because the prisons are full of blacks.

"They claim that the white man and slavery are to blame. Yet none of them were ever slaves. Few ever had to ride in the back of the bus because of their skin color. In reality, they should thank their lucky stars that slavery did occur. Their ancestors were brought here. They could be over there where you're from, running from Boko Haram. Or in other parts of the continent where genocide is common. And the white man didn't force them into slavery. It was groups just like Boko Haram that captured villages and forced their own people onto the slave boats.

"You, of all people, would know that slavery is still occurring over there. That the blacks in this country, even with the racial tension, still have it better than those in your homeland.

"You who really are a victim, have an opportunity to improve your station in life. Do you expect to go to school?"

"Of course sir," he replied.

"Do you expect to get a job, and earn a living?"

"Yes, sir."

"There you go. You're not planning to live on the dole, and then complain about being a victim and expect someone to take care of you."

"But you are taking care of me," he pointed out.

"There are actually two answers to that. One, no more than any parent does for their children. And two. If I wasn't your parent, I would still help you to become a decent, civilized, productive member of society. Not support you for the rest of your life while you make no effort. But as your parent, I expect effort as well. All parents do. You will be expected to do well in school, keep your room clean, do chores around the house, etc. So even then, you will be earning your support."

"I see what you are saying. It makes sense. But sir, does it bother you that you are a white man raising a black child?"

"I have nothing against blacks. It was my money that got you out of that situation. My support of Claude and his efforts was not based on skin color. It was based on the inhumane treatment being inflicted on your people regardless of their skin tone."

"I see sir."

"Monty. I appreciate your calling me sir out of respect. But it would probably be better if you just called me Brian."

"Brian. Yes. So, Brian, if you don't want me to behave as a black teen, how should I behave?"

"Let me ask you something. Were you proud to be the son of the village leader?"

"Of course. My father was a great man," he said.

"Do you consider yourself to be intelligent?"

"Yes. I always did well with my studies."

"How do you feel when you see the ocean, or the splendor of a snow covered mountain?"

"Awed and maybe a little humbled."

"If a child or an old person walking in front of you suddenly stumbles and falls, what do you do?"

"Pick them up."

"Are you moved emotionally by music or art?"

"Yes. I sometimes cry when I hear a particularly sad song."

"Then you have your answer. I want you to behave like all those things, because that is who you are. Only your name and residence has changed. You are still you."

He sat thoughtfully for a moment. "Thank you, Brian. You know, I think you and my father could have become close friends."

"I take that as a compliment."

"You've been in there a long time. Aren't you getting all wrinkly by now?"

"Probably," I said looking at my waterlogged fingers.

Monty grabbed my robe and held it open for me to step into it. I hesitated as long as I could, and I didn't want to insult him by refusing his help. I finally turned off the bubbles, and stepped out of the tub. He looked at my package, but didn't say anything.

As I lay down for the night, I was concerned I may have been too hard on Monty, probably Hugo too. Finally drifting off, I had dreams of watching those teens fucking back in Singapore. As I watched, the boy suddenly morphed into Monty, and his bigger cock was turning that little girl inside out. She was thrusting up to meet his strokes and calling out for him to fuck her harder. Then somehow her voice changed to mine.

I awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed."Jesus Christ. What was that all about?" I said aloud to no one but myself.

At breakfast I asked Hugo to tell me about himself. I'd had little time before my trip to get to know him.

"I was in the military, special ops, and got out. I bummed around awhile, then got involved with a group of guys that sort of provided services to 3;"

"You were a mercenary," I spelled it out for him.

"Yeah, I guess so. Well anyway, in my travels I heard about what Claude was doing, and offered my services to him. I was with him from June of 14 till we came here."

"What are your plans for after working with Monty?"

"I was going back and work with Claude, but I can't now. A few days after you left I received word that Claude was captured and killed while helping get kids out of a Catholic orphanage in Cameroon."

I was stunned to hear my friend was dead.

"Brian? 3; Brian are you okay?" Hugo was saying.

"Yes. Let your friends know they can count on my continued support."

"That's very kind of you sir. I will."

"So, since it seems you may be out of a job, would you like to be my head of security?"

"Don't you already have one of those?"

"Yes. Frank. But he's engaged now, and getting tired of traveling with me. I'll move him somewhere else that suits him."

"Sounds good to me," he said smiling.

"You didn't ask how much it pays."

"Doesn't matter. It's more than I'm making now."

"Also I want to apologize for flying off the handle at you last night."

"Don't. You were absolutely right. Monty told me about your talk with him. I was trying so hard to make him fit the mold of what others expect, without taking into consideration his own personality. I will do better by him, I promise."

"Did his papers arrive?"

"Yes. it came with the news about Claude."

"Good. I assume there is a passport as well."

"Yep. Are we going somewhere?"

"Not just yet. But I travel extensively, I just want to be sure my son can travel with me."

Monty gave me a big toothy smile at that. I watched him eat, and noticed he had already put on some weight. His face was filling out nicely, his whole body looked a lot better. But what stuck out most was his skin. When he arrived, he looked dusty or ashen. Now he looked darker and healthier. I don't know if it was because he was eating better or because of his time in the sun. He now looked very black. Blacker than most African Americans look. Tribal Black. I thought he was a lot more attractive now too, because of it. I must have subconsciously picked up on that last night during our talk, that would explain why I had that weird dream.

Abby happened by, and I noticed an exchange between her and Hugo. Nothing big, a glance, a smile, a giggle.

When she had left the room, I said to Hugo, "You fucked her, didn't you?"

Monty looked shocked when Hugo said. "Yes, but only a couple of times. She's okay. But that gardener's daughter, she's a maniac."

"You fucked Rosalie? She's only like sixteen."

"Seventeen now. I did her on her birthday. And five, no, six times since then. She's a real little slut puppy," he said smiling.

"Oh Jesus. I guess with you around, I'll have to switch to an all male staff."

"Well, as Bala, would say 'same same'. Only difference is, the guys stop screaming after initial entry," Hugo replied.

Monty and I were both shocked at that revelation. I flashed onto an image of that monster between his legs tearing up some guy's ass. The length was bad, but it's the width that would hurt. I shuddered at the thought.

"In that case, remind me not to turn my back on you, or drop the soap in the shower," I instructed.

Monty just looked confused by the whole conversation. It was that night when his confusion became clear. I was just finishing in my shower, when Monty came in. He was wearing a robe, and I assumed he too had just showered.

"Sir 3; Brian. May I speak with you again?"

"Sure son. But you seem to be establishing a pattern in your timing."

He again looked confused.

"Never mind. What can I do for you?" I asked, turning off the water.

Monty handed me a robe before saying "I just have a few questions."

I sat on the ledge of the tub. "Sit, and receive enlightenment," I joked, patting the ledge beside me.

"Is it customary for girls here to engage in sex before marriage?"

"I wouldn't say it was customary, but it certainly has become more acceptable in the last few decades. Why do you ask?"

"In my village girls who did that were shunned. I dare say even driven from the village. Marriages were arranged very early and the girls were expected to be pure on their wedding nights. They didn't even know who they were to marry until a few days before the wedding."

"That must have been tough on the males of the village," I joked.

"Boys didn't interact with the girls in that manner, because they would expect their own brides to be pure. A girl who would be willing, would be willing with others as well, and no one wanted a tainted bride. Besides, the males could always visit the community house."

"Community house?" I asked.

"Yes. Once a boy has passed the manhood ritual, he was allowed into the community house. It's where the leader held meetings on matters important to the village. Only men were allowed. And it is where younger men helped each other to collect life's essence to be used on the crops. It is believed that the more essence delivered to the crops, the better the harvest."

As this information formulated in my head, it raised a few questions.

"I assume your studies didn't include basic biology."

"What is that sir 3; uh Brian?"

"We'll get to that later. When does the manhood ritual take place?"

"I was to have mine next week on my thirteenth birthday."

"How do you know what goes on in the community house if you aren't allowed in?"

"Sir, my father was the leader after all. I am privy to information that others wouldn't have been. Especially if I'm quite careful not to be detected when listening in on private conversations," he answered with a sly grin.

The mental image of a bunch of thirteen year olds 'collecting essence' caused a stirring under my robe.

"So male/female contact was frowned upon, but not male/male? And the essence is collected? How?"

"Yes. My understanding is that it is gathered manually or orally, and collected in a chalice and delivered to the crops."

In my next life, I want to be a chalice in an African village.

"Do you know what this essence is?" I asked him.

He looked down and nodded in shame.

"I assume you have done some 'gathering' of your own."

Again he nodded. The way he was behaving, I guessed that masturbation was taboo.

"Son, in our culture, we approach such matters a little more scientifically. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I think I have a way to help with your questions."

"I have another."

"Okay. What is it?"

"Hugo said something about the guys stopped screaming after entry. What did he mean?"

"That question will be answered also. Follow me."

I led him to my library where, after some searching, I found two books on human sexuality. Complete with drawings and pictures.

"I believe these will answer most of your questions," I said handing him the books.

He opened the first book in the middle. It happened to be a series of pictures illustrating the growth of the penis from infancy to adulthood.

"If you still have questions after reading this, my door is open."

"Thank you sir 3; Brian."

The next morning at breakfast, Hugo said "Monty didn't want to get up this morning. Usually he wakes me up. I hope he isn't getting sick."

"He was probably up late last night doing some 'gathering'."

"Some what?"

"Never mind. I'm sure he will join us for lunch."

He did join us for lunch, though he still seemed a bit out of it, and was very quiet.

"Are you ok son?" I asked him.

"Yes. Just been catching up on 3; uh science," he said with a grin at me.

I winked at him in understanding.

By the end of the week, he again came to my room as I was relaxing in the tub.

"Monty. Your timing is excellent as usual."

He too had just finished showering and was wearing his robe.

"I wanted to return these books to you. They were very informative."

"Good. Glad I could help. Did you have any more questions?"

"A few. When Hugo said that about guys screaming, he was talking about anal sex?"

"That is the way I understood it."

"So he has had anal sex with a man?"

"That is what he implied. I'm not sure if it is true or he was joking."

He still seemed concerned about something. "Was there something else you wanted to discuss?"

He nodded. "I uh 3; have a problem. It's rather embarrassing I'm afraid."

"If I'm to be your father, you have to learn to trust me. I promise not to pass any judgements or hold anything over your head. Short of hurting someone else, there is nothing I won't help you with."

"No, it's not someone else. But I did sort of hurt myself."

"How?" I asked.

Monty stood and removed his robe. He was nude beneath it. His body had improved tremendously since I had seen it the first day. His dick looked even longer than before, of course he is in his prime growing age. I immediately began to get hard, and was thankful to be in the bubbling water. I quickly scanned his body, ignoring his dick, looking for a wound, but saw none. Only remarkably alluring black skin.

"I don't see anything," I stuttered.

He reached down to his soft penis, and slid his foreskin back, revealing an extremely raw looking glans. The underside of his foreskin and the ridge around the head of his cock was rubbed raw from his ministrations over the last few days. I remembered having done something similar to myself at his age.

"I see. Poor boy. That can be rather painful," I said stepping out of the tub.

Completely forgetting about my own erection, I went to the medicine cabinet, for some cream. Sitting on the tub ledge, I motioned him closer. Squeezing the tube of cream, I collected some on my fingertips. I grasped his dick midshaft, and pulled his foreskin back. Applying the cream only took a few seconds, which I drew out to be a couple of minutes.

My recent foray into pederasty, and fondling his beautiful teen cock, kept my erection steele like. When I glanced up at him, he was looking at my hard cock. His began to firm up and elongate. In seconds, I was gripping a magnificent seven inch [18 cm]black teen dick. It had a marvelous slight curve to his right, and rather a pointy looking crown. I continued to apply the cream, making sure every bit of the raw meat was covered.

Only the thought of eating medicated cream kept me from slurping his cock into my mouth. Well, that and the fact that he was my son now, and it would be some form of incest.

I broke the spell by standing and reaching for the screw on lid for the cream.

"Put this on it a couple of times a day, and it will get better. You might ought to leave it alone for a few days, to let it heal," I said and handed him the tube.

It was his actual thirteenth birthday (not the one on his papers). We had a small party for him, with only staff in attendance since he had no friends yet. I had gotten him a laptop and a gaming console. Hugo gave him a bicycle. Cake and ice cream seemed to be his new favorite food.

I was just getting undressed that night when Monty came in.

"If you're here, it must be time for my bath," I joked, and started the bubbles.

He handed me the tube of cream. "Thank you, Brian."

"Is it better now?"

He opened his robe exposing his dick to me. I sat on the ledge and reached out for it. Gripping the shaft, and sliding his foreskin back, I could see that it was much better. Still a little pink looking, but not the rawness it had before.

"Yes, much better," I said as I examined it. I took the time to inspect it closely from every angle. Nodding my head and salivating at the same time. It, of course, rose to the occasion, much to my delight, and so did my own.

"You know, today I would have been allowed to go to the community house," Monty observed.

"Oh. And what would you have done there?"

"I'm sure I would have contributed to the chalise. Just to ensure a good crop of course," he said smiling down at me.

"And would you have someone there help you gather your offering? I asked not relinquishing my hold on his cock.

"That is the custom on one's birthday."

"Sounds like a wonderful custom to me," I said and slid my lips down his cock. I didn't stop until his dick was in my throat, and my nose in his sparse curly pubes.

"I was hoping you would do that," he said as I swallowed his cock.

I couldn't get enough of him. I slid off and gazed at it. Licked all around the head and foreskin, and took it in again. Bobbing up and down on it elicited low moans from Monty. I leaned my head to the side a little, so that the curve of his cock didn't cause it to hit my teeth by accident. Only going straight down my throat instead. After barely a minute, Monty put his hands on my head and pulled me tight to his groin, firing his load into my receptive gullet. He must have not unloaded since starting the cream, because he shot off eight or nine volleys before releasing my head. I could feel large quantities of his 'essence' sliding down my throat. Even after he released my head, I felt his cock throb, leaving a string of goo on my tongue as I withdrew from him.

I stared at his cock and licked the last drop off as it oozed from his slit.

"I'm not wasting any of that on the crops," I said, smiling up at him.

More to come?