0 comments/ 15205 views/ 3 favorites Uncle Winston By: rikkitampa2014 It didn't make any sense. My college graduation ceremony had been on Saturday afternoon. The big dinner with all the family had been Saturday night. Mom and dad and my grandparents had all left early Sunday afternoon. But here I was at nine in the morning on Monday at a Denny's having breakfast with Uncle Winston, whom prior to Saturday I hadn't seen in, what, five years? Six? He'd ordered a full breakfast platter consisting of eggs, bacon, ham, a stack of hotcakes and a side of biscuits. An angioplasty in other words. I was too nervous to eat; so I just sat there watching my long-lost uncle pig out. It was disgusting. "Sure you won't have anything?" he asked for the umpteenth time. I nodded. "I sure am proud of you Eric," he also repeated not for the first time, as he wiped his plate clean with a buttery biscuit remnant. I'm surprised he didn't go on to eat his napkin. Or the now-empty china platter. Uncle Winston pushed his plate away, slurped some creamed coffee and smiled at me. "So," he said, "you haven't told me one thing about your personal life. You been dating any girls?" I replied with a no-reply half-shrug. Uncle Winston leaned closer. The flanking booths were empty, thank god. "Boys?" he then asked. I felt myself turning red. I glanced out the window at the parking lot. How could I escape from this asshole? He went on undeterred. "Been sexually active? I felt myself turning red. I was furious. Who was this...virtual stranger in my life to ask about my sexual orientation? And my habits in bed? "Top or bottom?" he persisted, speaking in a way-too-loud whisper. I was about to bolt from the booth when it occurred to me we were way out by the airport. My Collegetown apartment was, like, five miles from here. It wasn't like I could walk home, though I might be able to hitchhike. No, my asshole uncle had picked me up that morning and I'd have to rely on him for a ride back. It would, quite literally, be hell on wheels... Uncle Winston got in on the driver's side of his rental car but he didn't fasten his seatbelt and he didn't turn the ignition. He just sat there, smiling. A heavy mist had begun to fall, opaquing over the windows and making the motionless car seem even more claustrophobic. I was already reconsidering the hitchhiking option when my uncle said, with a big smile: "I have a weakness. I admit it. Even though I've been married twice I like to watch gay porn. Far as I'm concerned there's nothing hotter, more taboo I guess though it's not much of a taboo anymore, than watching one guy fuck another guy up the ass." Uncle Winston glanced over at my shrinking self. "That's redundant ain't it? Where else they gonna fuck?" and Winston belly-laughed. "Well," he went on, "she-males are hotter but I kinda have a preference for amateur sites, the real thing being twice as hot as pro stuff, and you're only gonna find she-males on pay sites. So, yeah, there's a few amateur sites I sniff around at a few times a week, get my rocks off, and this one night about two months ago I'm looking at the newest video posts and, hey, here's one that gets my attention: 'Two College Guys Get It On.' That sounds hot so I check it out and these two skinny guys—skinny like you," Uncle Winston added, with another glance, "...two skinny guys are doing 69 and rimming each other and it's pretty hot then the bodies break apart and I get my first good look at the faces of the two guys. One, the dark-haired one who was doing the rimming earlier, he, well, he looks familiar to me. Very familiar. And I'm saying to myself...Who is that guy? Do I know him? Anyway, then he gets into position on his hands and knees and the other guy starts barebacking him. Unprotected sex—dangerous don't you think?" Uncle Winston, once again looking my way, asked rhetorically. "Then the POV changes slightly—obviously there's a third person involved in this little drama—POV meaning point of view, and lo and behold what's on the wall behind the bed but a university decal. The university here, the big one," he added, pointing vaguely. "And I'm like Woah! Don't I have a nephew who goes to that university? Then it hits me: the face I thought I recognized, the face of the bottom...he looks like my nephew!" Uncle Winston paused to blow his nose—into an old-fashioned white handkerchief. Though I am nearly six-foot-two, I felt at that moment about half that size. And I'd shrunk as far as I could go into the righthand side of the passenger's bucket seat, against the door. I was practically sitting in the fetal position. My uncle snorted, and continued: "So then I pause the video and go back and read its full description on the website. And it says: 'Two College Guys Get It On—Eric bottoms for his roommate Lance in their college dorm." And I'm like...Woah again! My nephew's name is Eric. "But I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, see," Winston continued, glancing over at my shrunken, fetal figure. "Afterall I haven't seen you in, like, what is it, four years? Five? So I track down your Facebook page and...Voila! There you are. The cute face in the video. My nephew the summa cum lauda pornstar. He likes cum alright!" belly-laughing a second time. "Hey, Eric," he said, pointing. "Open that glove compartment and hand me what's inside. Go ahead, it won't bite you." Still, I hesitated. I was half-expecting to find a handgun inside. Wasn't Uncle Winston an ex-cop? Turned private detective? No wonder he'd been able to ID me in that awful porn video! In a word, I was screwed. The glove compartment contained several things. But the relevant one was a metal flask. I handed it to my uncle, who unscrewed the top and took a swig. He offered me one. To my everlasting surprise I accepted. I took two swigs in fact. It was whisky. I think. "Look at him go!" my uncle declared, before I passed the flask back to him. "So, are there others?" I knew what he meant. I shook my head, the whiskey still burning my alimentary track. "You sure?" A second nod. I was being half-truthful. There were other videos but this was the only one we'd ever posted, both Lance and I having freaked out (while being secretly thrilled) at seeing our bare-naked faces, not to mention our bodies, on a porn site visible to the entire world. The other videos, unedited, remained in a locked folder on my desktop. My iPad, my videos. "Good," my uncle declared, probably not believing me. "Cause one is bad enough, but..." He took another long swig and capped the flask. Passed it back to me and I returned it to the glove compartment. "Help yourself if you get thirsty again," he said, pointing a big thick index finger. "But that sure would be a tragedy if it got out you'd made that video in a moment of youthful indiscretion. I can just imagine how my sister—your dear mother—would react. And your dad? And your grandparents?" Winston sat there shaking his head. "Terrible. And you going off to law school now? Right?" I nodded. Reluctantly. He had me. I was fucked. In ways the video could not portray, however graphic the frantic anal action. "That could be a real career killer!" he went on, with a whiskeyed laugh. "Can you say Starbucks employee? Probably not many law firms in the big city, or anywhere for that matter, who'd want to hire a guy who'd starred in a gay porn film in college. And you could plainly see his face—and everything else about him for that matter. No, that would be a killer." I winced. My uncle turned false-serious. "So how do we fix this situation?" he asked. "Hunh?" After a pause I shrugged. The whiskey on an empty stomach had helped. I was pretty sure I could feel it coursing down to my painted toenails. At any rate, life at the moment seemed a tad more tolerant. But just a tad. Heroin would've been nice—not that I'd ever taken heroin... "Hunh?" my uncle persisted. "I don't know!" I blurted, close to tears. "Calm down," he said, patting my left thigh with his bear-claw of a right hand. "This is all going to work out—for both of us. You've heard of mutually beneficial relationships? In business class maybe? Well this is going to be one, between you and I." Me, I thought sullenly. Preposition always takes the objective. "You like to bottom," Uncle Winston observed, referring to the video I assume, since he knew nothing else about my sex life beyond that. "You strike me as a bottom," he went on. "The sensitive, submissive type." His bear-claw still rested on my skinny thigh. "Will you bottom for me?" It was if I'd just swallowed another ounce of whiskey. The burning sensation in my face. And down my throat. And coursing through to my extremities. Uncle Winston swung his seatbelt on and started the car. The wipers started scraping the morning mist off the windshield. He looked over at me as he put the shifter into Drive. He was no longer smiling. "Actually I'm not asking," he said coldly. "Let's go to my hotel." Uncle Winston tossed his keys on the motel room dresser and, wasting no time, said: "Take all your clothes off. I want to see my naked nephew in the flesh. I'll be back in a minute." Actually he was gone many minutes. In fact I began to wonder if he'd had a silent heart attack on the can. I certainly hoped so. In the meantime I undressed—down to my dark-blue men's bikini briefs. He'd said take all your clothes off but this was as far as I was prepared to go. Fuck him. I paced the carpet nervously, wishing I'd brought the flask in with me. This wasn't a fancy enough motel to have a mini-bar. Finally the toilet distantly flushed. The bathroom door opened a crack and Uncle Winston said, "Come here." I walked over to within about two feet of the doorway. I could already smell the smell. Uncle Winston stood half facing me, his pants down around his ankles, his huge uncircumcised cock dangling at eight o'clock, a bead of fresh yellow urine at its tip, a wad of toilet paper in his right hand. "Wipe me," he said. I shrank back. Horrified. "Wipe me," he repeated, thrusting the toilet tissue out. Christ, I thought. We'd experimented with piss-play in college but...THIS? "Stop being a frightened little girl," he said, "and wipe my ass. Get used to it. I give the orders, you obey. You're in my...debt, as they say. Pretend I'm a mafia capo, and I know plenty of 'em, and you have a gambling debt. Wipe my ass and wipe it thoroughly." I came forward. He turned to face the toilet. A good time to "whack" him, I thought. Whack him with what? A wad of single-ply motel room toilet paper? This was beyond disgusting. But I reluctantly obeyed and wiped the deep crack of his hairy ass instead, staring up at the ceiling—the ceiling fan—the whole time. When I was done I dropped the dirty wad in the toilet bowl and he flushed it down. Then he turned on me, his cock thicker than before and nearly pointing at nine o'clock. God I was fucked! As he stepped out of his ankled trousers my uncle said, employing the same cold tone he'd used in the car: "I thought I told you to remove all your clothes." I looked down. At my briefs. "I..." My uncle pushed me forward and gave my ass a pinch. His tone turned to what I'm guessing he would call "faggoty." "Is this what you wear around the house for Lance?" he asked. "Or do you just go around with your little dick and balls wagging?" Actually Lance and I weren't roommates. We were just gay friends who'd taken a couple of classes together. And made a fateful porn video together. Hakim—who wasn't even gay—and who'd shot the video with my iPad...wasn't a roommate either. He was in the process of getting his Masters in astrophysics. Smart guy. Except for the video... "When I tell you to do something," my uncle said, "you do it to the letter. Understand? Now take those little sissy panties off and get on your knees and make me hard." "OK," I agreed. What choice did I have? "What did you say?" he said. I didn't know what...to say. How to answer. "From now on it's Yessir. Or Sir. You're my sub and I'm your Dom. Understand?" "Yes. Sir." "Good. Now suck my cock and make me hard." "Yessir," I replied, walking forward on my knees, which by morning's end would be red-raw. He was sitting on the foot of the bed, naked, and I was kneeling naked in front of him, below him. The size of his cock, in my hand, made me feel like I was graduating to a whole new level. No more 21-year-old college boys. This was a man—a real man. His giant cock awaited me. His big hairy balls' load of sperm. I sucked... "Watch the teeth!" "Yessir." I began again. I'd seen bigger, freakish cocks in videos—in pics. But I'd never had anything like this before in my mouth. I sucked and tried to deep-throat him but...What a mouthful! I caressed his balls while I sucked him and worked my left hand between his right cheek and the mattress and tried to caress him. His ass was soft. This was an "old" guy, in his forties, I had to remind myself. He had incredible stamina, however and, after what must've been fifteen minutes of sucking I realized my jaw was going to really ache in the morning. But I was pleased with my submissive self. By the time he pushed me away, and said "Let's fuck," his Washington Monument was standing straight up. "How do you want me?" I asked, aware of the change of timbre in my voice after assuming my role as the "woman" in this incestuous relationship. "On your hands and knees, faggot," he replied. Who did he think he was, Donald Trump? "I don't wear condoms," he declared, returning from his travel bag with a tube of K-Y. "So get used to it. I'm healthy," he said, smearing lube over his lumber. "Hope you are too..." "I am," I said, over a bare, bony shoulder. God, I'd never taken anything even close to this size up my ass. A zucchini once? That didn't go very well. I braced for the onslaught, and didn't have to wait very long. He pushed a lubed finger in me. Then two. Then three. "Oh yeah," he declared, "this ass has been fucked before!" (Obviously! Hadn't he seen the video?) He then pushed his uncut head inside me and...without further ado shoved the rest of his big seven-inch sausage in. The pain...well, I thought my eyeballs would pop out of my head. I cried out: "Wait!" But he ignored the warning and plowed ahead. The pain, I have to admit, lessened with each forward thrust, though it never entirely went away. Still wide-eyed, I moaned with each hammer-blow of his cock. And was just about to settle into the pleasure of the fuck when he pulled out of me, and I felt warm, thick, sticky liquid running down my little, distended balls. Had he cum? I looked back. Uncle Winston had staggered backwards, his massive cock again drooping to about eight o'clock. The speed of his silent orgasm surprised me. Had I sucked him too long? With a gasp he said, "Clean me up. Faggot." With some directional assists, Uncle Winston drove me back to my Collegetown apartment. Or rather the house atop the hill I shared with two other guys, neither of them named Lance. Or Hakim. We were all gay but we went our separate ways pretty much and didn't make videos. As Unc parked at the downhill curb he put a restraining hand on my upper arm and said: "So I'll make the trip up, like, six or seven times a year? Maybe more, depending on my schedule. I'll text you. You be ready for me, OK?" "Yessir," I replied. I was feeling pretty mellow. Pretty effeminate. Pretty...well-fucked. And I'd taken a few more hits from the flask. This whiskey—I could see it becoming a regular habit. Fuck flavored vodka! Unc said: "Next time you clean me with your tongue. Understand?" "Yessir." "And next time I fuck your brains out. Maybe I even fist your sissy ass..." "OK." "OK what?" Unc was pretty drunk. I was pretty drunk. "OK...Sir." "Better," he declared triumphantly, slapping my arm. "Next time I may bring a friend. Get your ass ready. And go out there and get your law degree! Is there a liquor store near here?" Fuck, I thought, nearly tripping over the curb in my haste. Who wants to be an ambulance chaser? I had a resume. Well, a sample video. I could probably make more money in the short-term making gay porn videos. I was only 21! And then I could say to my asshole uncle: Go fuck yourself! I'm a porn star!