Uncle Carl

Edward was a ruggedly handsome man of towering height and muscular build. He was a good ten years younger than Uncle Carl. Carl had taught him in art school. He'd taught him art and then he had taught him how to fuck, and, finally, he had taught him how to share. Of the two, though, I had always thought of Edward as the more cruel and dangerous lover of men.

I found a couple of canvases, with cloths over them. I uncovered one, and my hand began to tremble. I quickly uncovered two more.

I, of course, knew it. I knew it before I had come. The whole family had known it. They were just pretending it wasn't so. I pretended too, but of all of them, I had the most reason to accept reality.

The paintings were all of Gordon—my younger brother—and they were all nudes of his splayed body and various positions of surrender. And the faces of all revealed without a doubt, that his visage had been captured right after he'd been fucked.

I didn't want to look at them. I covered them and quickly left the studio and descended the spiral staircase. As I reached the bedroom level, I heard the sounds. I knew what they were, of course. They hadn't even bothered to close the door. The door led into the master bedroom, which was dominated by a king-sized poster bed. Carl and Edward's bed, I knew. Nario was lying in the center of the bed, legs running up either side of Carl's chest, as Carl, buttocks pistoning, fucked Nario deeply. There was a camera on the bed beside them. I was sure that Carl knew enough about the working of light and shadows even to be able to collect excellent photographs this late at night.

Edward dropped off Gordon at the entrance the next day and then drove on to somewhere else. I didn't ask where he had gone or how long he would be gone. And Carl didn't volunteer the information. I thought perhaps that Edward was staying down in the town for as long as I was there. If so, he was being thoughtful—and perhaps he was changing, that his months in the goal had changed him somehow. But then I thought of those paintings of Gordon in his studios, and I realized that Edward had not changed a bit. My father was a violent man, a life-long hunter. If he knew for sure . . . even though he and Carl were brothers . . .

For the first time I began to wonder what my father's real motives were for wanting Uncle Carl to return to England as well as Gordon.

Gordon seemed relieved to see me. I think he only needed someone in the family to come to him and tell him that he needed to return to England and pick up his quest for the figure skating gold again.

He assured me that he had been diligent in practicing on the ice—and had spent more time in Milan than here. I believed him, but then I knew how fast Edward could paint. I wanted to ask him if our uncle, Carl, had also photographed him as Edward had painted him. But I really didn't want to know the answer to that—and it wouldn't have changed anything if he had.

I showed Gordon his return air ticket to London for the next day, and he didn't argue. He just went off to pack.

"I assume we'll be sitting together," he said as he stood from the patio table on the balcony and prepared to leave.

"No, we won't be traveling together," I answered. "I have family business in Naples, as well. I'll be following on the weekend. But I will be at the airport to see you off safely."

That seemed to satisfy him. And I knew I'd have to be there to see him off. He was still such a child in mind. Large airports confused him. There would be a family car and chauffeur on the London end to meet him. To meet us both, as a matter of fact, but the family business in Naples was something I hadn't actually told the family about.

I had trouble sleeping that night too. The sounds of sex from the master bedroom were louder, more insistent that night. And I heard more than two voices. Curious, I left my bed and padded out into the corridor. As the night before, the master bedroom door had been left ajar. It was almost as if Carl was taunting me, teasing me.

I went into the shadow cast by the door, to a place where I could see the bed. The light in the room was glaring. Spots were directed to the bed. Nario, naked, was moving around the bed with both a video and a still camera in his hands. I nonsensically wondered if Carl was teaching him photography—and, if so, how good he was.

Carl was lying on his back in the center of the bed. I could hardly see him, because my view was obstructed by the broad back of a somewhat younger man, who was facing Carl and straddling his legs. Edward, I suddenly realized. But that wasn't what had me mesmerized. There, sandwiched between them, back to Edward and hunched over the chest of Carl, his eyes squinched up in a mix of agony and ecstasy. My brother, Gordon.

All three men were naked. Both Carl's and Edward's cocks were inside Gordon.

I nearly burst in on them. But I didn't. Gordon was of age now, and I had known what I'd find when I got here. Tomorrow. I'd put Gordon on a plane tomorrow. And then no more would be said about it. The family need know nothing about. I had protected them from this earlier—or so I argued myself into believing now, rationalizing away all thoughts that my father already knew. I would protect them from the truth now, if I could. Gordon wouldn't talk. He would probably go on to be with men, but that was his choice. I had known for some time that he would do that.

I went back to my room, closed the door, climbed into bed, and buried my head under the pillows. Mercifully, in an hour or two—or three—I managed to drift off to a restless sleep.

* * * *

I got home from the airport in Naples after dark the next day. The planes had all been late and the airport was chaos. Gordon walked around at my side, glassy eyed, and acting like a frightened rabbit.

I said nothing to him about what I had seen the previous night. He said nothing either to indicate what had happened, but I got the impression that Carl and Edward had gone farther with him in the night than ever before, because he was quiet and somewhat distant, and obviously was anxious to get out of the villa and on his way back to England.

Neither Carl nor Edward saw us off—or appeared at breakfast or lunch. They were both in their separate studios. No doubt, I reasoned each working hard to capture the previous night's work in their art. I heard humming from both studios when I passed, so I gathered they were very pleased with themselves.

Nario served me a solitary dinner at the dining room table. Again the food was excellent and the wine was flowing. Neither Carl nor Edward appeared.

I went to bed early. I left the door open to my room, and before I stripped down and climbed up onto the bed, I went around and opened the drapes that had been covering all of the photographs. I laid down on the bed and moved my gaze around the room, taking in all of the photographs in turn, remembering. Waiting.

Carl was the first to appear. Naked. Smiling.

"The photographs were a nice touch, don't you think?" he asked. He laughed, walked over to the foot of the bed, grasped my ankles, and pulled me down to him. I had become hard looking at the photographs. He came to me hard as well. While waiting, I had lubed my channel well, so without preliminaries, Uncle Carl splayed my legs, moved between my thighs, and began fucking me.

"Just like our early days," he murmured. "You are still as beautiful as you were then, when those photos were taken."

I raised my hands to his gray-haired, hairy chest and let my fingers play in the silkiness of him. Searching for and finding his nipples and rubbing them to hear him groan—just as he had all those years ago.

My eyes went to each photograph on the wall that I could see. Me, a young me—the son of a duke. A younger Carl and Edward as well. Fucking—or immediately after being fucked.

"You were always perfection, my little bird," Carl was murmuring as he plowed me deep. "Never since have we been able to capture the perfection—the released innocence and awakening to the cock of men—of that summer of photos of you."

Edward was in the room now. And Nario as well. Nario had a video camera at the ready and a still camera in his other hand. Carl pulled out of me and reached for the camera. Edward put his hand behind the edge of the curtain of one of the photographs and strong lights came on, focused on the bed.

I knew then that Carl had started to prepare for me as soon as I'd sent him the telegram that it was me who was coming to fetch Gordon. He had known why it was me—why I would have volunteered to do that.

There was, of course, no family business in Naples. And I had no idea whether I would be returning on the weekend or not. Now, after having Carl's cock inside me again after so many years, I rather thought not—that I wouldn't be catching a plane back to London on the weekend.

Edward took up the position Carl had vacated. I cried out as he thrust inside me. He was younger, longer, thicker, more vigorous—crueler—then Carl was. No—pant, pant, moan—I would not be returning to London on the weekend.

Edward was digging into my chest, twisting my nipples, and I was howling. He slapped me on the face and told me to be quiet. I whimpered, but I didn't really want him to stop punishing me. I deserved punishment. I had come to Carl. So, so young. I had seen him fuck young men in his studio—my friends, sons of famous people. I wanted that too. I was the son of a duke. Surely he'd want me too. He hadn't refused me. He told me that I was just the beautiful, androgynous body that he wanted for his art. Edward had agreed.

I had wanted Carl, not Edward. But Edward had taken me first, repeatedly, cruelly, gloriously, while Carl had fired off those shots on the wall. And then an assistant had taken the camera and both Edward and Carl . . .

"Oh, god, oh holy shit. Fuck me, Edward. It's been so long." I rose up to his chest, reaching down for his buttocks, holding him deep inside me. I bit him on the nipple and he screamed, pushed me down onto the bed and slapped my face, whipping my head to the side. I felt blood in my mouth.

"Get that dazed look," Edward cried out.

"Got it," Carl answered, his voice excited.

Carl moved around us, snapping off photographs. Nario was beside and behind him, holding the whirring video camera.

I lurched up to Edward's chest again. He was pumping, pumping, pumping. God, he was virile. And so big.

I grabbed his head between my hands and brought his lips to mine, letting him taste the blood he had released. He shuddered and lifted me up off the bed, roughly, turned me, and slammed me down into a club chair. I was draped over the back of the chair, totally spent and exhausted after he had finally finished pumping me from behind.

"Yes! That's the look. Perfection," Carl cried out, full of exhilaration, as he moved around me, in post-fuck exhaustion, snapping off shots of my face. Edward reached over and turned me in the chair, and my body just slid down the chair and onto the floor, Carl firing off stills the entire time.

"Both of us now," Carl said with an excited voice.

I knew what was coming. It's how they always ended their sessions with me—even that first one—the one where I thought I was going to die. And didn't care if I did as long as they kept fucking me. It's how they ended their session with Gordon the previous night.

Carl was on his back on the bed. His cock was standing at full attention. Edward pulled me up from the floor and carried me over to the bed, and laid me stretched out on top of Carl, my shoulder blades on his chest. I whimpered, as Edward took hold of Carl's cock and moved it to my channel and helped guide it in. Carl was embracing my torso in his arms and kissing my neck and nibbling on my ear.

Nario was taking all of the photographs now.

Edward knelt between thighs, working my cock with a hand and cupping and squeezing my balls, as Carl fucked up into me from underneath. When I had come for Edward, he moved in between my thighs, positioned his cock with his hand, and slowly entered me, the underside of his cock on top of Carl's already encased cock.

I panted and huffed and cried out for the fuck. Remembering how good it had been. Both of them. Making love to me, making love to each other. I had never risen to such heights since.

Edward began to pump me seriously.

Oh, God! No, I wasn't going to be returning to London on the weekend. Thank god I hadn't aged so much in the past years that they no longer wanted me.

"If father saw you doing this, he'd kill you!" I cried out as I ejaculated.

"Yes, I know he would," Carl answered with a cackle. "Isn't it delicious?"