Here I was, on a plane to New Orleans, to attend the funeral and the reading of the will of my Uncle Woodward. I had been a favorite nephew of "Uncle Woody" since I'd been 16, always traveling for summer vacation to his ancient, vast plantation on the outskirts of New Orleans. The slaves and cotton were long gone, but Uncle Woody held onto the land and the old rambling plantation house, its value triple what it had been in the early days. I first met Uncle Woody at 16 when the family went back to New Orleans for my Great Aunt Tabitha's funeral. Still spry and active, Uncle Woody at 80 wore my sixteen year old body out with running about the plantation and the old slave quarters (now just a museum that still made major bucks for Uncle Woody). He invited me to stay behind with him after the family left, saying that he needed a young buck to help him out with things, and my parents agreed. Nothing sinister ever happened, but I knew that Uncle Woody liked watching me run about the plantation in nothing more than shorts and sandals and I obliged him, because I liked being admired by him.
Now 21, my thoughts turned to those five years that I'd been spending summers with Uncle Woody and with the knowledge I'd built up in those five years, I knew in hindsight that Uncle Woody had been queer. Why else would he have wanted a sass-mouth, know-it-all 16 year old male hanging around him when he could have had any woman he wanted? Uncle Woody wasn't ugly by any means; when I was 80 I'd hoped I looked that good. Sure, his hair was gray/white all over his body, but he'd retained a lot of the muscles and firm skin of his earlier years. He had a vitality and energy that was enviable, almost better than that of me at 16. I recalled later those bright blue eyes of his watching me as I scampered around, but like I told my ma when she nervously asked at the end of the first summer, nothing at all happened between Uncle Woody and me. That was the truth.
The plane touched down and soon I was in an air conditioned limo heading for the old plantation house as stated in the will left by Uncle Woody. I was on summer break from both a decent part time job and second year of college, and was wondering who else would be at the reading of the will. I knew Uncle Woody had no family after him, having never married and his family dead. My father, who had died about the same time Uncle Woody came into my life, was the last surviving sibling and the parents on both sides had also gone onward. I figured that there had been other nephews like myself that Uncle Woody had plucked out of the families and befriended them, still keeping his hands off and only eyeing their young male bodies from afar…
We arrived at the plantation house and strangely there was only one other limo there. I got out, tipped the driver like a good southern gentleman would, and headed into the house, the familiar feelings coming back as they had done for the last five years. I turned at the sound of a voice calling my name and in the old parlor sat a very old man, portly in the manner of rich lawyers at the time and the only person seemingly in the house.
"Mr. Stephans? My name is Judge Franklin Whitehead. Thank you for coming at such short notice. If you would have a seat, I have some refreshments in the kitchen that we can have after I read the will and last testament of your uncle Woodward Josiah Masterman."
I looked around and asked, "Are we the only ones here?"
He nodded and said, "The will was very explicit that you are to be the only one present at the reading. By Louisiana law, that is binding and unbreakable. Please have a seat." I sat down in my old favorite chair and the judge took one just across from me.
He began reading rather sonorously the last will and testament of my uncle, and the cadences began lulling me (along with the heat) into a torpid state, my mind drifting until I heard my name again and a particular phrase.
"Excuse me," I said, sitting upright and shaking my head to remove the lethargic cloud that had formed inside it, "did you just say my name and 'sole beneficiary' in the same sentence?"
"That is correct, Mr. Stephans, you are the sole beneficiary of your uncle's estate. According to this will, all of his estate belongs to you as of this moment. You have just become a very, very rich young man." The last part of the will was read, nothing surprising, and lastly I was handed an envelope with my name scrawled on it. I recognized Uncle Woody's writing and had started opening it when the judge intervened.
"Oh, no sir!" he said as he hopped out of his chair and, rather spryly for an old gentleman, zipped around the coffee table and stopped my hands. "You must wait until I have left to open that very personal, private letter. First, let's partake of the refreshments and you may ask me any questions you wish, then I must be leaving for my office. We can sort things out tomorrow morning as there will be papers of transfer for you to sign as well as a new bankbook and other items." I put the letter into the pocket of my suit jacket and we entered the old kitchen, cool and dark like they built them in those days. Upon the old oak table a platter of my favorite cookies and a large pitcher of lemonade with glasses of ice. The judge poured us each a glass of lemonade and handed the platter of cookies to me. I selected one as did he and we 'refreshed' ourselves for about an hour before the judge stood up, brushed a few crumbs off his large belly, and asked if I had any other questions.
"We assumed that you would be staying here, so no hotel reservations were made," he said as he gathered his briefcase and hat from the parlor. "Will you be all right here by yourself?
I nodded and thanked the judge, then saw him outside. "Don't forget to open that envelope after I've driven off, young man," called the judge from his car window, "the will was very clear about that. We will see you at my office tomorrow, say about 10?"
"Yes sir," I said as the car drove off and I walked back into the cool of the house. I had brought some more comfortable clothing and, heading to my old bedroom, quickly changed into the shorts and sneakers that my uncle had loved me to wear. The old bedroom had not changed at all, the bed and a nightstand with a small lamp on one wall, a closet of my uncle's old clothing, and a highboy with drawers I used when I had visited along another wall and a chair beside a full length mirror beside the doorway of the bedroom along that wall. Seeing the jut of the envelope from the inside pocket of my jacket as it hung off the chair, I fetched it and stopped briefly to admire my body in the mirror.
Many young adolescents between the ages of 15-19 begin to fill out in all the masculine places, chests and shoulders, arms and legs, etc. My change from gangly boy to young man happened right after my 15th birthday, and by 16 my shoulders were wide, the beginnings of a great set of pecs and abs from pumping iron and sports were showing, and all the baby fat from the previous year had disappeared, leaving a lean, strong body. Now at 21, the pecs had filled out to twin pads of muscle and my nipples perky and full atop their mounds, and my abs had defined so that I had six distinctive ripples down my belly, eight if I lowered my pants just a bit more and allowed a hint of pubic hair to show. My arms and legs had muscled up as well, and from 18 on I had an impressive set of equipment that hung between my legs. I could see the outlines of my heavy balls and long slender cock through the tight shorts I wore, and the swell of my muscled butt as the fabric strained across the huge mounds of my glutes. I grinned when I'd come at 18 to Uncle Woody's and his eyes first beheld those outlines and my newly muscled body. I thought he would faint, but he recovered quickly and everything was the same as the previous years. I patted the snake in my pants lovingly and pulled out the envelope, taking it with me as I walked back down to the kitchen to finish off those cookies and lemonade. I needed to see what food there was and what else I needed to get organized for the night, so I took the remainder of the food to the small, dark parlor and sat down in my old chair to eat, drink and read this enigmatic letter.
"Dear Mike," the letter began, Uncle Woody's handwriting a bit hard to read but manageable, "I hope that my passing wasn't too sad for you and that you are not overly burdened with my estate. I wanted to leave you everything because for the last years of my life you have brought me such happiness and unconditional familial love that I wanted to give you something back, something you could have for your very own.
"As you probably guessed many years ago, I was queer. Ever since I was 16, I had known that I was different than the other fellows that were my friends, and back then it wasn't something one shared with anybody. Many nights I would pleasure myself thinking about those handsome young gods I would see in the locker rooms and steam baths and hoped I would find somebody who would be my lover. It never happened for me, but I kept my sexuality quiet until I was rich enough not to care anymore what people said and then still, from years of being reticent about my sexuality, kept it quiet until now."
"Many people have commented on now good I looked, how 'well preserved' I was and other complementary things. I will tell you now Mike that keeping sexually active is what did it for me. There is a lot of truth to the concept that you are only as young as you feel, and that your virility keeps you young and healthy. You now are at the perfect point in your life to keep yourself just as you are for the next 60 years or more of your life."
I set down the letter, thinking of my uncle and strangely not having any problems thinking of him as a sexual being, his strength, vitality and health last year undiminished by his age in any way. Nibbling on a cookie, I thought back to the last few summers I spent with Uncle Woody and remembered how strong and handsome he'd seemed to me from my viewpoint as a young man. I picked up the letter to read the last paragraph.
"Upstairs in my, now your, bedroom, inside the closet and under an old suitcase you will find a floorboard that has a small knot at one end. Press that knot and remove the floorboard. You will find the secret of my vitality and virility inside there. I have loved you, Mike, from the first time I saw you to this last time, and I want you to be a happy, healthy young man. May your life be all that you can be. With love, your Uncle Woody."
Oh great, I thought as I set down the letter beside the empty platter of cookies and finished off my lemonade, a treasure hunt. I cleaned up after my refreshment, taking the dishes into the kitchen and rinsing them in the old fashioned sink like I'd done every summer, and then headed upstairs to Uncle Woody's old bedroom.
I opened the door and, after the musty odor had dissipated somewhat, entered. I had never been inside my uncle's bedroom, as he'd not been in mine, and I guess that was because of his fear of the talk and gossip that might come from it. His bedroom was much bigger than the one I'd occupied, and I figured I should move into it after I got it cleaned up and arranged. A large bed with a canopy and drapes sat in the middle of the room, the drapes pulled to each post and tied with a piece of black leather. The same color drapes closed over a large window that overlooked the front of the house, and as I pulled the drapes open, I found more of the black leather ties attached to the wall on either side of the window. I tied off the drapes and they allowed quite a bit of light into the room. Uncle Woody's dresser, mirror and a wardrobe stood across from the foot of the bed, two doors on either side opening to a bathroom on the left and a walk in closet on the right. I found that the bathroom and closet connected with a pocket door that had not been opened for many years and groaned in protest as I manhandled it open. I turned and exited the bathroom into the bedroom and was struck by the wall behind the bed. Many photos of myself were there, all shirtless and in boyish good looks, throughout the entire five years I'd come to Uncle Woody's. There were pictures of men as well, many naked and with boners, others more artistically posed more for the masculine form rather than as sexual bodies. I seemed to be the only one on the wall that was younger than 21, for some reason this impressed me.
I turned away from the picture wall, giving another look at a particularly well endowed young man who's cock was firmly pointing upwards against his tight abs and heavy balls almost bigger than mine riding low against his thighs, and moved towards the closet. With a bit of luck and remembering the letter's directions, I found the floorboard and, pressing the knot, heard a small click sound and pulled the board up from the released lock. Inside the small area were another letter and a wrapped object, about nine inches high and perhaps 4-5 inches wide near the top. I set the letter aside and opened the wrapped object, still kneeling bare legged on the dusty floor and coughing occasionally as an eddy drew the dust upwards to me. The wrappings fell away, and I beheld a small doll, similar to a boy's action figure, but with some very important differences. The figure was anatomically correct in all details, right down to the inch long cock and almost half inch balls that hung low behind the flaccid cock. Firm pecs and tight 8-pack abs, thick muscled thighs and biceps, full calves and forearms, even the haircut and the small mole that sat upon the left side of the full bubbled butt, this doll was the spitting image of me!
I almost dropped the doll right there, but noticed that as I held the doll, the features began to almost melt away and soon the figure was nothing more than a man shaped wax model, only a hint of muscularity and a tiny group of bumps where the cock and balls would be. Puzzled, I set the figure down and opened the next letter, this also written in my uncle's handwriting and began to read what he'd written.
"Mike, you by now know my deepest secret, that of my special doll. I received this doll from my old Uncle Dolph, who received it from one of his queer uncles. It is said that it was made by a queer voodoo master who befriended our family after being freed some two hundred years or so ago. The doll is given to each nephew on his twenty-first birthday, and the secret of the doll is passed along. There are two secrets to the doll, one you probably already saw as you opened the wrappings, that of the ability to take on the image of the person you wish it to become. The other secret that you may have not seen as yet, is that after the image has taken upon the doll, it will then grow and become the exact duplicate of that person."
I looked in disbelief at the wax figure that lay upon the old cotton wrappings, and then continued reading…
"I suspect you don't believe me, I didn't when I read Uncle Dolph's letter to me. I also saw the doll holding my image before it returned to its neutral state. Just as Uncle Dolph said, so shall I: Go into the bedroom with the doll. Place the doll in your left hand and cover its chest with your right hand. Think of the person you wish the doll to become, do not let any other thought intrude or the doll will be unable to get its instructions. When you have firmly fixed the image upon the doll, it will begin to glow. Set the doll upon the bed and wait. You will no longer disbelieve me."
What the hell, I thought as I left the closet with the doll in my hand. I walked up to the bed and sat down, adjusting my hold on the doll as instructed by the letter. Placing my right hand over the doll's waxen chest, I closed my eyes and began thinking of one of the guys I'd met in college, Tristan, who had occupied my mind during every jack off session as I'd envisioned his meaty body pressed against mine. I knew what his body looked like as we'd showered together in the communal dorm showers and I also knew that the possibility of any sex was nil as he had a girlfriend that he regularly fucked. As I thought as hard as I could about Tristan's body and all its masculine glory, I felt the doll move within my palms. I opened my eyes, still thinking of Tristan, and watched as the doll's features begin to blend into Tristan's! Suddenly, a glow appeared around the doll, and as directed I stood up, turned and set the doll down upon the bed. It immediately began to grow until it was the exact proportions of the real, live Tristan! The glow faded, and Tristan's eyes opened, blinked a bit, and then turned to focus on me.
A smile spread over his face as he stretched and then sat up, his naked body moving to press against me as he placed his arms around me. "Master?" Tristan breathed into my ear, "what shall you wish of me?" Exactly Tristan's voice as well, this doll was perfect. "Wait there," I said, and the Tristan doll obediently sat on the bed while I scrambled up and grabbed the letter from the closet floor to finish reading it.
"You by now have found out the magic of the doll," my uncle had written, "and now there are only a few things to say about it. The doll may never leave the house or be seen by another person. If you have opened the drapes in my room, please go close them as sunlight will affect the doll adversely, although I never wanted to risk it." I stopped reading there and got up to close the drapes, then turned on a handy lamp beside the bed and finished the last paragraph.
"The doll will remain until you have sex with it, or if you place the cotton wrapping anywhere upon its body. You can dress it if you wish, the only thing that will return it to neutral is the cotton wrapping. If you have sex with the doll, which can be anyway you prefer, you can reawaken the doll again and again if you continue wishing sex from it. My first night with the doll I spent reawakening it and having sex with it until I was so sore all I could do was jack it off. The magic 'fountain of youth' comes from receiving the essence of the doll's sexual fluids. This can be any way you prefer, I always liked receiving it anally. Good luck, Mike, and know that I love you even from wherever I may wind up. Your Loving Uncle Woody."
I folded the letter up and set it aside, returning to the closet to retrieve the cotton wrapping. I placed it upon Tristan's thick hairy thigh and watched as the doll returned to neutral, although Tristan's features stayed upon the doll. I found that it took less time to get the doll to glow and grow as it had retained Tristan's features, and now I pulled off my shorts and sneakers to enjoy myself.
"Master, what is your pleasure?" the doll said in Tristan's deep voice. I moved to where Tristan's cock lay nestled in his pubic hair and began sucking it, one of the many things I'd wanted to do to the real Tristan when I first saw that monster swinging between his legs. The cock swelled to the seemingly right proportions, and soon I was rewarded with a deep groan and liquid moving into my mouth at orgasmic speed. I sucked and swallowed as fast as I could, and it still came, over and over, for a good ten minutes. When the deluge was over, I sat back, gasping and wiping the jism from my mouth and cheeks and licking it off. The Tristan doll was smiling as it sat up and said, "Master has been fed," then kissed me and laid back upon the bed to shrink back to neutral position.
As I watched the doll shrink back to normal, I became aware of a flowing well-being similar to the echoing afterglow of a good fuck. This well-being was different, in that it wasn't dissipating, but rather was spreading through my body from my chest outward to my extremities. I felt really, really good, and looked down at myself, noticing I was slightly aglow like the doll and walked over to the mirror. The mirror revealed my naked body from the crotch up, and I could almost see my cells repairing and revitalizing, as my energy levels rose and my body firmed up and grew a bit more muscle where I'd wanted it. I turned and watched my already bubbled butt increase a teeny bit, still firm and hard but still very fuckable.
Indeed, my asshole was almost burning as I turned from the mirror and approached the bed and the doll, still looking like Tristan and in my hands within the second I reached the bed. Soon Tristan was inside me, my calves over his muscled shoulders as his hips thrust his cock into my ass. I'd instructed him to not come so quickly, and he was very obedient, I soon discovered that I controlled the liquid release and when I was ready to blow I cried out , "Now, Tristan! Shoot your wad!"
Tristan's eyes glazed over and he grunted in time with his thrusts as his seed shot into me. I could feel the jets hit my insides as he continued thrusting and shooting, again a good ten minutes before his thrusting ceased and he carefully pulled out of my ass. He lay atop of me for maybe another five minutes, then said the magic phrase, "Master has been fed," and then rolled over to shift into his neutral form. That night "Master was fed" a good five more times before every sex hole I had was too sore to continue, my orgasms were dry and becoming a bit painful. When I called Tristan to me one more time, I found that jacking him off and then licking his seed up from his tight abs was almost as satisfying as sucking it out. With one last "Master has been fed" phrase, he shifted to neutral and I shifted to deep sleep.
The next morning I got up, found some food for breakfast and got my day started. I made it downtown to my appointment at the judge's office and paperwork was presented and signed. The judge eyed me speculatively throughout the entire meeting, and as we shook hands before I left, he commented upon my relaxed, yet energetic stance. I just smiled and thanked him for his complement and headed out to the store for some supplies. When I returned, now the full owner of Uncle Woody's house and all its belongings, I locked the front door and headed upstairs to the bed where I'd left Tristan. I smiled as I pulled off my clothing and, after reawakening Tristan, slipped under the covers with him. His warm body curled around mine and we soon drifted off to sleep, awakening later for another round of fucking, sucking and many other delightful activities. As I let the doll slip back into neutral that early afternoon, I stretched and thanked my Uncle Woody wherever he was for the great and loving gift he'd left me. I grabbed pen and paper and began writing letters to my school and to my old job, letting them know that I was staying in New Orleans and perhaps transferring to a school there after I'd adjusted to my new fortunes. I found stamps and envelopes and, after addressing them, put them out in the mail. Relocking the door, I decided I was ready for more and headed up the stairs, a spring in my step as I returned to the bedroom to my own sexual 'fountain of youth.'
The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Ric Rodello
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