Copyright 2023 by James Breitbart, all rights reserved
* * * * *We had to wake up early for the two-hour drive to our vacation
destination. Mom had arranged a trip to a winery for my last weekend of
summer vacation. You might think that a winery would be a
less-than-ideal end to the summer for a ten-year-old, and you’d be
right, but Mom had never really cared about what I wanted. I was always
dragged along to whatever she wanted and treated as either an
encumbrance or an ornament for her to show off how well-behaved and
cultured I was. She hadn’t brought any friends on this trip, so I was
assuming it would be the former. Fortunately, that meant that I didn’t
have to dress up in some sort of ‘cute outfit’ for this trip. Mom had
relented to basketball shorts, a t-shirt, and flip flops.
It
was about 8:00 and we had gotten well up into the mountains when Mom
brightly announced that we were “almost there.” She turned down a
narrow road and we arrived at a wrought iron gate that bore the title
“Naked Boy Winery” in fancy wrought-iron script. Behind it stood a
fountain consisting of a statue of a naked boy with a pronounced
erection. The water flowed from a jug he held in a pouring motion, and
I assumed that the winery took its name from the fountain. We drove a
little farther to the winery’s main building. There was a small crowd
milling in front of it, including some sort of tour director who seemed
to be expecting Mom.
“The Caldwells, I presume?”
“Yes, I’m Monique, and this is my son, Nathaniel.”
“Excellent, I have you booked for the all-inclusive two-day wine and
spa package with complimentary tastings, and the Young Vintner’s
Experience for Nathaniel.” I suppressed a sigh of irritation when I
heard the part about the Young Vintner’s Experience. Whenever we went
anywhere and Mom didn’t want to have to deal with me, she fobbed me off
on whatever kids’ activity the place offered. They were always
embarrassingly juvenile, and they always meant I had to socialize with
a bunch of random kids I’d never met before when I’d rather have been
at home reading a book. At least this time, it looked like the other
kids in our tour group were mostly boys and around the same age as me,
so I wouldn’t be stuck interacting with some five-year-old.
The guide arranged a valet for our car and led the whole tour group out
into the fields, giving a spiel about the history of the vineyard on
the way. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice it to say they were
very impressed with themselves. We arrived at a clearing with a bunch
of young boys stomping out grapes in vats like you see sometimes in old
TV shows. The big difference was that instead of just being barefoot
they were totally naked. It looked like they had each fallen in a
couple of times, because they were covered from head to toe with grape
gunk. I allowed myself a moment of schadenfreude that they, at least,
were going to have a worse day than I was. The tour guide explained
that they were mostly boys from the towns surrounding the winery, who
were hired to stomp out the grapes naked. This, rather than the
fountain, gave Naked Boy Winery its name.
My happiness was
short-lived. The tour guide called one of the boys, Dillon, down from
his barrel. “Each of our Young Vintners will be paired with an employee
for the experience.” I assumed that meant that once these
grape-stompers got showered off and dressed, they would be giving us
some sort of kid-friendly guided tour. Maybe we’d get to taste the
grape juice, although I wasn’t really sure I wanted to try grape juice
that some kid’s feet had been in. “Dillon, you can go with Nathaniel.”
Dillon walked over and stood next to me. “Can you lift your arms up?”
“Uh, sure.” Confused, I did what he’d asked, whereupon Dillon
unceremoniously yanked my shorts and briefs down, leaving me exposed in
front of everyone. I yelped and tried to step forward, but this caused
me to trip and fall face-down in the dirt. My sandals went flying out
from under me, and Dillon quickly pulled my pants and underwear all the
way off. Mom reached down and pulled off my shirt, whispering “If you
embarrass me, I will fucking end you.” That meant that if I threw a
tantrum or in any other way misbehaved during this trip, she would whip
me with a belt or worse when we got home. It was the secret to how
well-behaved I was. Mom was particularly skilled at inflicting
excruciatingly painful punishments that didn’t leave marks that could
get her reported to social services. I knew that, no matter how
humiliating this was, I was better off complying.
I stood up,
just as naked as Dillon, and turned to face the tour group. It was
dawning on the other boys that they were about to be in the same boat
as me. Some of them looked resigned to it, some were clearly shocked,
and one boy made a break for it when the tour guide confirmed that
“We’ll be stripping off all the participants in our Young Vintners’
experience and leaving them and their partners to stomp our grapes for
the remainder of the day.”
Dillon took me by the hand and led
me up to the platform. Seeing no other option, I stepped into the
barrel. The green grapes squished between my toes. It felt slimy and
gross, but I forced myself not to react in a way that would give Mom an
excuse to punish me later. She had gotten out the camera and was taking
pictures of me, which only compounded my embarrassment. It was bad
enough having her and all these strangers see me naked, but she was
probably going to show those pictures to her friends and their kids,
and then it was going to get around school that I’d spent my summer
vacation running around naked. I gritted my teeth, but forced a smile
for the camera.
Dillon seemed to think that my anger was
directed at him. “Sorry about the surprise stripping. We find that
sometimes boys are a little reluctant to get naked,” he nodded towards
the runaway, who had been caught and was now bawling and fighting to
get away as his parents ripped off his clothes, “and picking one kid to
go first helps overcome the shyness.” Sure enough, the other boys were
reluctantly, but compliantly, stripping naked under the guidance of
their designated partners.
The runaway, whose name seemed to
be Henry, was finally stripped and forcefully deposited in his
designated tub. The tour guide led the adults, and a couple of girls
who’d apparently been spared the stripping, away. When I was sure they
were out of earshot, I asked Dillon the question that had been on my
mind since I figured out what was going on.
“Doesn’t this embarrass you?”
He answered in a thick country accent. “Naw, I been runnin’ around
naked since I was little. People ‘round here don’t get worked up about
it like they do other places. I admit it’s weird that your parents keep
you in clothes your whole lives and then take you out here and expect
you to get naked, but I get paid, so I don’t question it.”
“You get paid? How much?”
“11 an hour, but I’m on the clock the whole time I’m with you, so it’ll be over 500 for the weekend.”
“Jeez!” 500 dollars to me sounded like a princely sum. I knew
abstractly that the amount of money an adult needed to earn to pay for
a house and groceries and stuff was way more than a kid my age would
ever come into contact with, but Dillon didn’t seem more than a couple
of years older than me. “How old are you?”
“Twelve. I’ve been
stomping since I was eight. That’s the minimum age they let you do it,
but they don’t let you do the Young Vintners until you’re 10, and
that’s another four dollars an hour. You can do that until you start
getting pubes and then you have to either pass the sommelier exam or
switch to picking. Grape picking just pays minimum wage, but if you
pass the sommelier exam, you’re pretty much set. My brother’s helping
me study for it.”
“Does he work here, too?”
“He’s
actually going to be your mom’s personal guide. Y’all are going to meet
later, but right now we’ve got to get these grapes crushed. Get down in
the mash and roll around in it some.”
“Huh?”
“The
juice will keep you from getting burned. It’s like natural sunscreen.
We can’t use real sunscreen because it’ll get in the juice. People
don’t want wine that tastes like Banana Boat.”
“But they’re fine with wine that tastes like boy sweat?”
“Supposedly the salt gives it a citrusy flavor. There’s a filter in the
drain that keeps hair or whatever dirt particles you might have on you
from getting in it. That’s why you can’t stomp once you grow pubes,
they’d clog up the filter and you’d have to keep stopping to replace
it. Now hold your nose.”
I grabbed my nose between my fingers
and Dillon dunked me into the slimy mess, holding me down and making
sure I was fully immersed, until I began to struggle for air. He let me
up to breathe, but almost instantaneously tackled me and we began
rolling around in the muck. I felt his genitals rub against my thigh,
and there was an uncontrollable shock of arousal. My own genitals began
swelling, although there was as of yet not much to swell. Dillon
noticed and reassured me.
“No worries. That’s just another
perk of the job.” I sat there, pondering what Dillon could have meant,
while he began stomping the grapes around me. After a while, he must
have decided that he’d had enough of me not helping, because he
play-tackled me again. I had relaxed a little by this point (it helped
that the adults had left, and we were spaced far enough apart from the
other kids that we could more or less ignore them), and reciprocated.
Soon it turned into a wrestling match. I was normally never allowed to
rough-house, but I felt the danger of Mom coming back here was slight,
and before I knew it, I was actually having fun.
Dillon was
a good bit bigger than me, and probably much more experienced at
rolling around in smushed grapes. Within a minute, he had pinned me
against the wall of the tub. His penis, now erect, was pressed firmly
against my thigh, and he began rubbing against me. Dillon’s arm reached
around me, and his hand grasped my cock. The grape sludge acted as
lubricant as Dillon simultaneously masturbated me and humped me until I
was overcome by a dry orgasm. At the same time, Dillon held me tighter
and stiffened until he was overcome by his own orgasm.
“Have you ever done that before?” Dillon asked once he’d recovered.
“Not with anybody else,” I admitted.
“We’ll get the chance to do more than that later,” Dillon promised,
“but for now, I think this barrel is played out. He told me to get out
of the barrel, and marked the bucket the juice had drained into with a
felt pen (he would later explain that because he’d cum into it, the
wine made from that bucket would obtain a higher price). A few minutes
later, a worker came around and replaced both the bucket and the grapes
in our tub. Dillon explained that we were expected to go through two
tubs in a day, so we got back in and started stomping the grapes again.
Whatever fun I’d been having soon wore off. Dillon seemed focus on
getting the tub finished on schedule, and wasn’t as talkative or
friendly as he had been. As the sun got higher in the sky, it got hot,
and I began sweating through the sticky grape juice that covered my
body. I also started to get hungry.
When another tour group
showed up with their cameras, Dillon kindly suggested that I duck down
in the tub to prevent them from getting pictures of me. I found that it
was a little cooler lying in the grape muck than standing up in the hot
sun and stayed down there, rolling around occasionally, until we had
squished out all the remaining juice. Dillon helped me stand up in the
slippery mess, and I discovered that the adults had returned. Each was
accompanied by a naked boy who had grown pubic hair. The one standing
next to my Mom looked a little like Dillon, and I assumed was his older
brother. Dillon confirmed this when he led me out of the tub and to my
Mom.
“Nathaniel, this is my brother Zach. He’s been showin’ your Mom around the winery.”
Zach shook my hand. I noticed he wore earrings, which I thought were
cool, even though I knew my mom would never let me wear them. “And now,
we’ll be showing you to the restaurant.”
Without even the
mention of a shower or an opportunity to get my clothes back on, Zach
led us up the hill to the main winery building. There was a restaurant
on the ground floor staffed by naked male waiters. The other diners,
most of whom were old and rich looking, turned to look at us as we
walked past, and I heard a few comments about how ‘cute’ Dillon and I
looked covered in grape juice. I was totally humiliated, but Mom seemed
to be enjoying the attention.
Trailing grape juice footprints
behind us, we reached a table right next to the window, through which
yet more tourists could gawk at our naked bodies while we ate. Dillon
did me a favor by taking the inside seat, which meant the tourists
could see more of him than me. Zach left us there for a couple of
minutes and returned with a set of menus. It turned out that he would
be our waiter for the evening. Mom decided to start off with a
‘flight,’ which is when they pour a little bit of several different
wines in a glass for you to try and see which one you like best, sort
of like those free samples you get in supermarkets.
Before I
could look at the menu, we were interrupted by an older couple who
wanted to get a picture of me and Dillon. Of course, Mom was thrilled
about that, so I had to pose and fake a smile for them to take the
picture, and then pretend I was enjoying myself while Mom told them all
about how wonderful the Young Vintner’s Experience was. She was so
effusive that the old couple decided they’d sign their grandsons up for
it next year. I probably should have felt sorry for the kids, but to be
honest I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.
When I finally
got to look at the menu, I realized two things. One, that I was
famished from being outside stomping grapes all day with no lunch, and
two that everything on the menu was the type of fancy grown-up food
that I didn’t like but Mom always insisted on me ordering when we went
out with her friends. For some reason, they were very impressed that
she could get me to order from the adult menu, and she loved telling
them how she did it (officially, by exposing me to lots of different
foods from a young age. In reality, by threatening to lock me in my
room without any food at all for a weekend if I tried to order from the
kids’ menu).
Dillon noticed me scanning the menu for
something more palatable than fish with creamed kale and celery root
and whispered in my ear. “The strozzapreti is basically just spaghetti
with meat sauce.”
“Thanks,” I whispered in return. When Zach
returned, I ordered the strozzapreti, and Mom ordered the fish. Zach
explained that the recommended wine pairing with her order was the same
brand of wine Dillon and I had pressed the day before, although this
vintage was two years old so it wouldn’t actually be the same wine.
Each bottle had the name of the boys who had stomped it on the label.
In the case of the bottle Mom ordered, it had been pressed by Evan Holt
and Jason Huber. I wondered where they were and if their experience had
been as miserable as mine was.
Before the main courses came,
Mom had ordered an appetizer of oysters, which she didn’t offer to
share with me. I had to watch her eat them while flirting with Zach,
who stayed at the table with us until she was done with them. It turned
out that he and Dillon were going to eat with us, and when he brought
out the entrees, he brought a bowl of soup for himself and a plate of
the same pasta I’d ordered for Dillon. I was famished, and started
scarfing down my pasta, but Mom immediately chided me.
“Nathaniel, where are your manners? I know I didn’t teach you to bolt your food like that.”
“I’m sorry.” I slowed down and ate more carefully. It seemed like a
crisis had been averted, at least for the time being. Mom was in such a
good mood that she actually let me order dessert. I had a chocolate
cake and she had some sort of fancy Italian cake called tiramisu, which
she fed bites of to Zach. It was obnoxious, but I was just glad she was
distracted by him from harassing me any further. Zach took the check,
along with a generous tip from mom, and then showed us to the winery’s
hotel.
We had reserved a two-bedroom suite. Dillon and I would
be in one bedroom, and Mom and Zach were in the other. It was pretty
obvious by this point that she was planning to have sex with him, but I
didn’t care. Remembering what had happened earlier, I thought there was
a chance that I might get lucky myself. My hopes were raised further
when Dillon suggested that we shower off together.
We both
got in the shower, and Dillon squirted shampoo into my hair. The warm
water relaxed me as he soaped me up and washed the accumulated grime
off my body. He got to my penis and masturbated me just a little, but
didn’t bring me all the way to orgasm. I reached over to return the
favor, but he blocked me.
“Not just yet. The package you bought comes with sex, so I’m going to fuck you when we get out of the shower.”
“Cool!”
“First, I have to make sure you’re clean down there. Spread your cheeks.”
I did as Dillon had instructed, and he attached some sort of nozzle to
the showerhead, which he used to squirt warm water up my butthole. It
felt uncomfortable, as though I really had to go to the bathroom.
Dillon told me to let it out in the toilet, and we repeated the
procedure a couple of times until he was satisfied that I was clean.
Dillon turned the water off and we got into bed together. It felt
really good to be clean after a day of mucky grape slime, and the
feeling of Dillon’s warm, soft skin next to mine turned me on. He had
me spread my butt cheeks, and worked some sort of lotion into my hole.
At first, having his finger in there kind of hurt, but I could feel
myself start to relax as he kept going. Then he lay back on the bed,
his erection pointing into the air.
“Straddle me and sit down on my cock,” Dillon instructed, “that’ll be the best way for you to control it.”
I squatted over him and very slowly sat down, allowing Dillon to guide
his penis into my hole. It stretched me, and felt good filling up my
body. Finally, I got it all the way in and sat down on top of Dillon,
breathing heavily.
“Okay, when you’re ready, start sort of rocking back and forth.”
I did what he said, and it felt even better! Dillon’s face contorted
with pleasure. “Oh, yeah. That feels good.” Driven by instinct, I went
faster and faster. Dillon’s penis was pressing against something inside
me that felt really good, and he started masturbating me even while I
continued to gyrate on top of him. Finally, I couldn’t take any more,
and was seized by the strongest orgasm of my young life. This brought
Dillon over the edge, and I could feel his warm spunk flooding into me.
When I had recovered from the orgasm, I quickly realized that I was
thoroughly exhausted. Without another word between us, I fell asleep in
Dillon’s arms.
My mom woke us up the next day, roughly shaking
me until I sat up to prove to her that I wasn’t going to go back to
sleep as soon as she left. I noticed that she was wearing a loose
nightgown, and Zach was standing behind her. They had definitely had
sex the last night.
“Rise and shine!” she exclaimed, using the artificially cheery voice she employed when she wanted to seem maternal.
I groaned, remembering that our reservations had been for two days and
assuming that meant I had a repeat of the day before ahead of me.
Dillon quickly assuaged my fears.
“The second day of your package is a spa day.”
I instantly brightened. “Can I have my clothes back?”
“’fraid not. But it’s inside.”
That was something at least. After Mom had gotten dressed, we went back
to the restaurant for a breakfast of yogurt and granola, and once again
I was subject to stares and whispers from the other diners. The
embarrassment came flooding back and the relatively good mood I’d been
in from the sex the night before evaporated.
The two pairs –
me and Dillon and my Mom and Zach – split up after breakfast for our
spa treatment. Mine began with a massage, administered by yet another
naked teenage boy.
“Jeez, your muscles are really tense,” he remarked as he pressed against my back – hard.
“Aaargh…”
“Let me try working on your feet a little.”
I felt him rub the soles of my feet with broad, gentle strokes that
gradually grew more intense. It relaxed me a little, and then he
returned to my back, pressing into it deeply until the knot that was
pretty much always there seemed to release. By the end of the massage,
I was much more relaxed, but sore all over. Dillon handed me a big cup
of water and waited until I’d drank it all before proceeding to the
next room, where yet another naked boy rubbed some gunk onto my face.
After that, Dillon led me into the sauna. For the first time that day,
we were in front of other boys. It looked like the same boys I’d been
trampling grapes with the day before. I recognized Henry, the boy who’d
tried to escape, but didn’t recognize any of the rest of them. It was
awkward, and I looked down at my feet.
Dillon, on the other
hand, seemed to be good friends with the other tour guides. They talked
among themselves about their friends and the upcoming school year. I
didn’t know the people they were referring two, and their country
accents were a far cry from how the kids at my school talked, but there
was something familiar in their concerns with which teachers to avoid
and who was likely to make the junior high school’s sports teams. If
nothing else, it broke the awkwardness somewhat and kept the burden of
making conversation off me and the other ‘Young Vintners.’
After a half hour in the sauna, Dillon led me out to the final step of
the treatment, a pedicure. Another naked teenager rubbed the calluses
off the soles of my feet with a rock, then massaged them with some sort
of grape-scented lotion and applied a clear polish to my toenails.
“And now you’re done,” Dillon informed me with a smile.
“So, do I get my clothes back?”
“Yeah.” Dillon walked over to a closet, and retrieved my clothes. I
eagerly pulled on my basketball shorts and t-shirt, and jammed my feet
into the sandals. “Your mom’s waiting outside,” Dillon explained.
“Okay.” I began walking towards the door, but stopped just before I
opened it and turned back to Dillon. “Thanks for everything. This
weekend would have sucked a whole lot more if it weren’t for you.”
Dillon smiled back at me. “Just doin’ my job.”
I opened the door to find Mom standing in the hallway. Wordlessly, I
followed her out to the car, and we drove back to our everyday lives.
In the back of my mind, I knew that I should probably have been
worrying about what Mom was going to do with those pictures, but for
the time being I was just glad to have my clothes back.