We’ve been taking this trip out here in the summer for years now, just me and the boy. Well, he’s my boy out here of course, but when we’re back in the city, he’s my nephew. We’re close then, but not this close. I think, at times, he suspects something when he comes over with the guys for a poker night, when I purposefully smoke the same cigars I do when we’re here, at the cabin, and he pops a boner for reasons he can’t understand (the rest of the guys are all in on it, of course, but none of them say a word–if they did, they wouldn’t be getting another invite out here, that’s for sure.)
He’s been mine since he was in college, when he found that odd little mushroom in the woods and wasn’t as careful as he should have been with it. It fucked up his brain for hours–but I found out, in the midst of his trip, that he was, well, highly suggestible. When he came to, and couldn’t stop himself from begging his big burly uncle for his cock, no matter how humiliated he felt–well, let’s just say we spent the next few days hunting for more mushrooms, and the boy has been on quite a few trips since.
I make sure he forgets most everything when he goes back home, but in the summers, when we drive up here, I can always see…flickers of his memory returning, but there’s nothing he can do. The boy is so deeply under my control at this point, that even his resistance is planned ahead of time by me, and each summer I make sure to send the boy on another trip, and deepen that hold I have on him a little more, push him to new horizons, find new ways to bend him into a the proper boy. It’s a shame he’s related to me, or else I’d have him as my boy full time. Still, the mushroom dries remarkably well, and it’s helped me cultivate a whole stable of obedient slave boys back in the city that me and my friends get to use the rest of the year.
No–I’d rather these summer weeks be special. Just a leather uncle and his unwilling, but helpless, nephew–worshiping him, falling deeper and deeper into depravity each time. I think this time, he’s going to leave a proper smoke and ash pig. I’ve been encouraging him this last year to pick up the cigar habit like me, but he’s been stubborn–I hate that stubborn streak of his, when it pops up, so it’s time to make him a proper addict. Cigars when he can, dip when he’s inside–and of course, an inexplicable desire to eat his own ash and drink his own spit–as well as other guys’ as well. In a couple of weeks, he’ll be smoking more than me I bet–he’ll hate it I’m sure, but he’s my boy, whether he likes it or not. Besides, quite a few guys back home have been wondering when he’ll be a proper smoke pig like I keep promising–and I’d hate to disappoint them when we get back.