Theree and I separated as we walked back inside. He staggered like a hunchback through the hallway back to his lair, and I ran into the shower, feeling somewhat guilty about exposing him to things he may not have been entirely ready to process. Perhaps it was a good thing though–finally opening up parts of him that he may have been ashamed of, or even bringing to light parts of his true self he never knew existed. This overthinking, however, quickly slid off my bronzed body down the drain, as the sound of the sportscar rolling into the driveway cast me out of the shower and into a towel–for I knew I would soon be off to better and bigger things.

I walked down the stairs casually, dressed only in my tank top and gym shorts as they piled through the garage door.

“Well, look who it is,” Patterson interrupted Schultz, looking up at me. I had entered the living room just as the men sat down on the chairs and couch with a collective sigh. I plopped down on the chair next to Patterson and he gave me a friendly noogie and nod.

“We thought you may have walked back to America while we were gone,” laughed Gannerheim.

“Sorry we kept you waiting–we ran into some old friends,” Patterson said as he put his hand on my knee. “What’d you do all day?”

“Just did some reading, writing. Followed your guys’ advice and strolled around the property. It really is beautiful. At sunset I brought a little picnic out with–”

“Theree, bring us out some ale,” Gannerheim shouted back behind him. “The Belgian stuff we got back in the Spring.”

“Be thankful you didn’t have to partake in our drive,” Falem said to me with a glazed, weary look in his eyes.

“Oh, he’s used to it,” Patterson retorted. “American roads can be just as treacherous–just with less scenery and far too many billboards.”

“Tell me about it, some of those Appalachian roads–”

“Ah, here he comes,” Patterson said, interrupting me ecstatically.

Theree approached each of the men, carrying a tray of ale-filled glasses. When he got to me, he handed down the glass with passionate eyes that somehow said kiss me and kill me in the same pitiful stare.

“Good call,” Schultz murmured, following a foul burp. “I forgot how good this stuff was.”

“It really is quite good,” Falem agreed. “It reminds of that stuff in Berlin we had, that night by the river.”

“What a night that was,” Gannerheim laughed. “No one parties like Berliners–I tried to tell you.”

“What are you guys talking about?” I said giggling, trying desperately to mold into their conversation after being rudely interrupted.

“We used to go to clubs in Berlin a lot when we visited the city,” Patterson said, and then drunkenly whispered: “Sex parties.”

“The Dutch–” Gannerheim swigged from his glass and then leaned forward towards me as if he was about to tell a long-winded sea story. “The Dutch wear their sexual depravity for aesthetic's sake–a cheap, empty trick for tourism and New Age optics. We Germans live it.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you mean,” I responded innocently, knowing exactly what I was doing.

“We can show you.” He took a long sip from his glass without breaking eye contact. “If you’re up for it.”

“I think I’ve proven I’m quite up for anything.” I looked around at the other three, who were sipping their drinks and watching us with suspense.

“Then you better get on your knees,” he said nonchalantly, as he wiped his moustache and began unbuckling his trousers. I slid off my shirt and shorts and fell to my knees facing him before he could even stand up. As I rubbed my naked body I heard the other three unbuckling, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by the men, though this time their cocks were partially soft–but still magnificent.

A lustful suspense simmered in the air as I looked up around at them, until Gannerheim’s yellow stream shot out in a magnificent airborne arc onto my chest and stomach. My eyes widened in shock–I didn’t know that peeing on someone could even be deemed a sexual act. The others joined in, and I felt their streams melt across my shoulders, my scalp, the entirety of my body–four warm rivers of sin baptizing me in a filthy, wet world I didn’t know existed. The smell, the warmness melting across my body, the depravity–I suddenly understood the allure of the practice, and to prove it to them I shifted my mouth to Gannerheim’s stream, let it fall into my mouth, and swallowed.

“I think he has a little German in him after all,” Gannerheim laughed.

I pointed my face to the streams of the other men and gargled their piss up at them, letting it flow out of the corners of my mouth down my neck and body. The men began lightly slapping their cocks against my lips as their gliding streams turned into trickling drops, until I felt Gannerheim grab my hair from behind.

“Let’s bring our little urinal outside–we’ve already made quite the mess.”

As he lifted me by the scalp and marched us towards the door, I could feel the men smacking my ass and arguing about who was going to fuck me first. The way they led me to the door and talked about me as if I was some sensual accessory was a new, foreign feeling–an electric feeling of dehumanization that I couldn’t help but welcome. As they threw me on the patio table I shifted my ass into the air and held my mouth open in anticipation.

Schultz took the lead and began violently fucking my mouth, and I could feel the other three taking turns tonguing my hole and smacking my ass. The warm piss was still dripping off my body onto the table; the trickling sound reverberating in a sloppy, wet harmony with my muffled moans. I felt one of them enter my hole and pull on my hair as they took turns railing me. After several minutes, as I was floating above myself in an anal ecstasy completely removed from any sense of time, they grabbed me by the shoulders and lowered me off the table onto the patio, and I adjusted onto my knees in the puddle of piss that had trickled off the table; my eyes closed, my senses still slowly coming back to me. I didn’t even have time to open my mouth as the men shot their loads onto my face.

I heard Schultz’s voice come from inside, I hadn’t even realized he had finished minutes before: “That was Philipe who called. He invited us down to town for drinks. What do we say, fellas?”

“I could go for another drink,” Gannerheim said, his cock still hanging over me.

“Me too,” Patterson said. “Tell him we’ll be right there.” He looked down at me as the other three walked back inside. “Good job, Jake.” He ruffled my hair with his hand as I looked up at him through cum-vision. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

I heard Falem talking from the living room: “No, no, no–I’m driving this time. Last time–”

The four men walked back inside and shut the door without even looking at me. I stared at my reflection in the glass door as I heard the front door to the house open and close. I stared back at my naked self, covered in fluids, lying in a puddle. I looked abandoned, sad; like a newborn deer that had had to be left behind by its mother due to the sudden arrival of a ferocious predator.

I sullenly opened the door and walked into the home sulking over the men’s rude dine-and-dash, as I met eyes with Theree, who was mopping up the puddle on the living room floor.

“Hey, Theree,” I said politely, trying to walk past him as casually as possible while wiping bodily fluids out of my eyes.

“Jake.” I stopped and looked over at him, and he gently put the mop down and walked over to me awkwardly. “Could I come up to your room a little later tonight?”

“Sure, Theree.” I politely nodded at him and scurried up the stairs. I wasn’t all that enthused about another sexual experiment with the piss-mopping custodian, but I knew it could help combat the aching feeling of complete aloneness I suddenly felt. The worshiping the men had shown me the previous night had seemingly turned into something else. The interrupting when they first arrived, the way they fucked me this time, the abandonment without acknowledging me–it was different than that magical first night. Though I thoroughly enjoyed it, for the first time since the beginning of the trip I suddenly felt completely and utterly alone.

A few minutes after I got out of the shower I heard a knock at the door.

“You can just come in, Theree.”

I was lying on the bed, only in my underwear, and reading as he walked towards the bed slowly, seemingly in a shell-shocked trance.

“May I lay next to you?”

“Sure, Theree.”

He walked over with his stiff legs and accidentally knocked over a pillow as he climbed onto the bed next to me.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, bending over to pick up the pillow.

“It’s quite alright. What can I help you with?”

“Would you kiss me again?”

“Sure,” I responded, wiping my hand across my mouth to hide my smirk. He shut his eyes, leaned towards me, and kissed me with way too much tongue.

“Would you suck me again?” he asked, as our faces drifted apart. I couldn’t help but feel that the encounter was transactional, as he slid down his pants and stared at me, patiently waiting for me to service him. I leaned onto his lap and sucked him to completion with deep strokes from my throat–he lasted just over a minute this time.

“Thank you,” he said, buckling his pants as I stared at him with his load still in my mouth. He scurried off the bed and shut the door behind him, and I walked to the bathroom to spit out his bitter cabbage-cum. I was overcome with a heightened state of mixed emotions as I looked into the mirror. The welcoming and worshiping shown by everyone in the house the first night had been so quickly replaced by the harsh feelings of being outright used and neglected. I looked into the eyes of my reflecting self for several minutes, unable to look away, cum still dripping down my chin. I suddenly understood that in this magical place, an entire ocean away from everything I’d ever known, it was only he and I who had each other.

As the days went on in that sunny, green, alpine June, my realization of that night began to play itself out, and to be honest–it was quite lovely. My day-to-day relationship with the men became increasingly distanced, as they got carried away with their increasing workload in whatever their business was, and I began to thoroughly enjoy my solitude. Every night I would exchange pleasantries with the men, service them with ferocious depravity, and return to my room to shower and sleep. By the middle of the month, I had stopped wearing clothes entirely and began to fully embrace my daily Bohemian routine of reading and writing in my room and the little spot of paradise off the trail. My little world felt like it was expanding every day, as the reflective solitude, the inspirational beauty of my surroundings, and the routine sexual release opened up a living world of freedom, of poetry, of creativity within myself that I’d never encountered before.

The men ramped up their depravity, as piss-drinking became a nightly routine. On many nights I wouldn’t even say a word to them. They would all simply give me a nod of greeting and talk among themselves as I began to service them. Though I never openly showed it, I began to intensely dislike the men–though some undeniable trickles of warmth towards Patterson were left over from our time together before the trip.

Theree continued his brave journeys to my room throughout the month; I never found out if his uncle knew or even cared. Every night, at 11 O'clock sharp, I would hear a quiet knocking. I would greet him with a welcoming “Hey, Theree” and as he stiffly laid next to me I would give him pity-head as he moaned like an elderly man stuck in a supermall massage chair. This nightly ritual quickly became mechanical, too mechanical for my taste, (Though one night he finally built up the courage to finger me) and I began to make excuses that I was “feeling under the weather” or “too tired” for our sessions. After several evenings in a row of these excuses being met with his disappointed gaze, he stopped coming. I guess he finally took the hint–God bless his dull, vanilla little heart. Though I knew it wasn’t entirely his fault, I began to feel that his usage of my talents was even emptier than theirs.