Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
*****
It was the stupid swimsuit. That's what it was. Who decided tight trunks were a good idea again anyway? Nice loose board shorts were what the boy needed. Something that didn't hug his ass like that. Something that wasn't climbing and creasing ever so slightly in the creams between the boy's perfectly, curving assch-
Dammit. Yes. It was the swim trunks. Or maybe it was those stupid hipster tank tops. Showing off those golden tan muscular ribs underneath tanned biceps, newly swollen with adolescent muscle. Letting brief glimpses of dark nipples play at the edges as the loose fabric blew in the wind, or hung against his chest as he climbed wetly from the pool. Fuck.
18. The fucking kid was 18. Who brings their 18 year old on vacation anyway? Didn't he have a job? College friends to go have adventures with? Apparently not. Apparently he had a week to burn swimming the pool, lounging beside it, tanning his perfect chest, rubbing up against his uncle... Making his uncle masturbate until his dick was chafed...
The kid was driving him nuts. Roger checked the door again on his room in the large vacation house he was sharing with his brother's family. Seeing it was locked, he lay back on the bed, yanked down his zipper and squirmed his shorts past his ass. He pawed at the front of his boxer briefs, resigned to the growing wet blotch of pre-cum he encountered there. He pulled them down below his balls and let his hand run through the pre-cum, bringing his finger to his mouth. Sweet. Just like the boy would be. He moaned, then stifled it. Held still for a minute to make sure no one had heard, then grabbed hold of his cock with both hands and began to stroke in earnest. There was no need for lube. He was bursting with pre-cum. His foreskin slipped easily over the head of his penis with a soft murmured susurrus of lust any teenager would know by heart.
Jacob, walking by outside his room on the porch, definitely knew that sound. He was cut where his uncle wasn't, but with enough lube, most jerking off sounds the same. He almost giggled out loud, realizing what Uncle Roger was doing, and smiled a little as he walked past, glancing briefly at the window. He stopped on a dime when he realized the long curtains at the sliding door that led from his uncle's room to the porch weren't totally closed. He could see perfectly over his uncle's shoulder where he lay sideways across his bed, all the way down to his hands, both busy on his uncut cock.
He knew he should keep moving, but something kept him glued there. He'd never seen one like it. He was cut. All his friends were cut. His dad was cut, and so were his brothers. Uncle Roger, though, was pulling his floppy foreskin repeatedly over the top of his cockhead, so tight in his grip it looked like it might pop *through* the surrounding skin. The head was large against the tight skin, and Jacob watched it flex and stretch as it pulled back and forth gliding on rivers of ...spit? No. Pre-cum. It was pre-cum. His uncle was gushing it. A steady dribble from the engorged tip of his penis, pushed out from the foreskin on every upward stroke, landing in a pool on his stomach. Jacob bit his lip against a gasp. He'd never seen anything quite like it. He pre-came a little, right before he shot, but spit and hand lotion were the order of the day. His uncle, though... he was almost swimming in his own lube.
And then Jacob really had to bite down on his lip as his uncle took one hand off his cock, wiped it through the pre-cum on his belly and licked it clean. If Uncle Roger could have seen Jacob's face right then, he would have cum on the spot. His beautiful golden cheeks were almost scarlet under the blond down that taking a slow hold on his jawline. His pouty, pale lower lip was a deep shade of red, swollen with being sucked against sharp teeth. His upper lip, graced again by a gentle feathering of soft golden hairs, was locked between those same teeth, gripped hard against imprudent exhalations.
Jacob leaned into the wall next to the glass door, pressing his body against the stucco, locking his boner up against his waist inside his tight trunks. The coarse wall ground his thin shirt against his nipples and he wriggled a little against the wall, savoring the roughness. God help him, he was about to fuck a wall watching his uncle jerk off.
Uncle Roger was asking God for help, too. Help not thinking about his nephew. Help with his errant cock and the million boners he'd sprung this week. Help cumming quietly and quickly before one of his brother's brats came to fetch him for yet another family game. There was only one family game he wanted to play and it was fucking the ever-living shit out of Jacob. He picked up his pace. The soft, whisper of hand on foreskin on cockhead became a repeating slap. He knew he was on the edge of being heard and he couldn't stop. All he could think about was the boy. He was *sure* the boy knew it, too. Always wearing those stupid trunks. All day. Or the basketball shorts. Those goddamn basketball shorts. Not a damn thing hidden in that looseness. No way to hide that flare of cut cockhead. That oddly tiny little cock, pressing against the thin fabric like he was proud to show the world what he did and didn't have. And the boy was always pushing past him in the kitchen. Making sure his ass ground against him as he scooted past for a drink or a cookie or...fuuuuck. He was so close. And there was the bathroom. Roger and Jacob and his younger brother all shared it. But every time Roger used it after Jacob he would *swear* it reeked of cum. He though about Jacob in the bathroom jerking his little cock. Leaned up against the sink, round buttocks flexing and tensing. His thighs clenched tight as his arm pumped wildly, his other grasping the towel bar for balance. Stroking and stroking with all that "hand lotion" next to the soap until he sprayed his load all over the fl--
Roger's load came like thunder. It roared along the base his cock from his balls and burst out with a ferocity he hadn't felt in years. Cum soared past his chest, skewed by his wild strokes and landed somewhere past his shoulder. And the next one went further still. Stroke after stroke he sprayed himself and his bed with cum like the teenager he was lusting after. He came until he ran out of breath. He came until his balls, long since pulled up into his body, scrotum abandoned for safer climes, ached with the drain on their treasures, and could give no more. He shuddered violently on the sodden sheets, seized with an orgasm he'd never even imagined was possible. And the whole time, all he could think about, in the brief seconds he could think, was his nephew's perfect, flexing, muscular, rounded, ass cheeks, dimpled with strain as his little cock spat forth a load equal to the one he just gave up himself.
Jacob caught the wall with both hands for support. His breath was ragged in his throat, and he fought himself to keep it to whispers. His trunks, bright green a moment ago, were sodden in front with cum, and worn from scraping against the rough stucco. His nipples ached and his shirt was torn. And he stank, he realized, as he forced a slow inhale. The smell of teenage sweat and cum. Unmistakable, inimitable. A frequent complaint by his family about the smell of his room, a regular musk of a horny 18 year old, magnified in the summer air, and exposed by his gaping shirt, sweat trickling down his ribs. Cum, having surpassed the absorbent powers of his trunks, ran in a small sticky stream down his thigh. He didn't even remember cumming. He was so focused on his uncle that one moment Uncle Roger was cumming, and the next he was catching his breath and his balance, soaked in his own cum. He pulled himself up, and darted back toward his room, wrapping his beach towel around himself, praying his brother was somewhere else so he could clean up undisturbed...and maybe jerk off for real.
Roger came back to himself with a snap. His eyes popped open at the sound of a footstep on the porch outside his room and he panicked when he saw the curtain, clearly gapped for anyone to see. He grabbed a sheet, and tugged it around his waist, still sticky with cum, and ran to the glass. No one was there. But...something on the porch floor caught his eye. A drop of something. He slid open the door quietly, looking around to be sure he wasn't observed. There it was. On the wall and down to the floor. The stucco was wet, stained, just moments ago. And redolent with the smell of teenage cum. Roger's cock, wilting after the nearly painfully intense orgasm just moments ago, began to rise, pulling at the sheet. Roger swore softly at his determined, persistent, new boner and turned to go inside. But not before he reached out to the wall, and with a practiced finger, swiped a single drop of glistening cum from the wall and took a taste. It was perfect. A little sweet. A little salty. That faint taste of bleach. Exactly what he'd imagined it would be. He smiled to himself, then closed the door and the curtains carefully. He bundled up the bedsheets and a ruined pillowcase, and did his best with the spots that had made it all the way to the floor. (The floor! He hadn't shot that far since he was 15!) He piled it all in a corner, wiping the worst off himself with one of his towels, before grabbing the other and opening his door to the shared bathroom.
You can't really blame Jacob for forgetting to lock the bathroom door. It was one of those weird ones with 2 doors. One from the hall and one to his uncle's room. It was usually locked from Uncle Roger's side. And Jacob was distracted. He'd had to bolt through his room, grabbing fresh trunks and a shirt and towel in just seconds, as he heard his stupid brother pound his way downstairs. Not that the little bastard didn't jerk it all day, but he'd run his mouth the second he got a chance, and Jacob really, really didn't want to explain how he'd just ruined that expensive new set of trunks. He'd made it to the bathroom just in time, bolting the hall door behind himself and starting the shower so he could pretend not to hear his brother's claim of "no fair." The boy spent hours in the bathroom everyday like everyone didn't know why. Jacob rolled his eyes as he peeled down the sticky trunks. They snagged on his heel, and he bent further to pull them, and that's when the door opened.
Roger stepped into the bathroom and froze. The world was fucking with him. It couldn't be. Surely Jacob was not standing in front of him, bent over, one leg slightly cocked, muscled buttocks pulling slightly apart to show a hint of pink in a forest of blond curls along a perfect crevice. He gasped.
Jacob looked up through his legs and gasped himself. Inches from his exposed ass was the cock he'd just seen explode all over his uncle's room. His cock roared to life and hit his stomach with the instant thump of erection only a teenage cock can create. His uncle's wasn't far behind. Mesmerized, Jacob watched as his Uncle's penis went from half mast to full, crimson tip emerging from foreskin like a sunrise. Their eyes locked. Then Jacob lost his balance. He started to pitch forward into the tub, only to be caught by his uncle's hands on his hips. Strong hands pulled him backwards to safety...and to the incredible heat of his uncle's erection against his back.
"Hi." Roger's voice was soft, husky. "We should be more careful."
"We? I'm the one who fell." He looked at his uncle, confused.
