Page 2 of Baby Duke

Rupert clears his throat, clearly annoyed at the interruption. He ignores my comment completely and continues, "Your aunt is the preferable option, of course. She is a lovely lady. Talked to her on the phone just this morning. She will not be able to collect you herself, so I will accompany you on the flight. We leave in 3 hours.Mrs. Dupree' will spend the next hour with you, as protocol dictates."

My mind is a muffled mess as Mr. Breigh leaves me with Mature Barbie. She has a butt load of questions that I answer numbly, all the while thinking about this unknown aunt of mine and whether blue skies were finally on the horizon for me.

Mr. Breigh snores like a pig gargling mouthwash. I jab impatiently at the button to alert the flight attendants for the hundredth time. Motherfuckers better hurry up before I strangle ol' Rupert with a barf bag. Preferably a used one.

An overly friendly flight attendant hustles over, white teeth glowing in the dark cab. About freaking time.

Without waiting for unnecessary greetings, I lean around McSnort-Face with a forced smile.

"My grandpa needs vodka, stat," I say, waving Rupert's credit card (that I may have stolen) at the lady. "Add a packet of Skittles and some headphones." I smile sweetly at the reluctant lady. Before she gets the chance to refuse, I quickly intervene, "Listen… Harriette, is it?" I read her nametag. Fuck, her name was worse than mine! I continue inan innocent whisper, "Grandpa is an addict. He gets aggressive when he doesn't get his booze." I finish with a tremble of the bottom lip. Hollywood, look out.

Harriette's face transforms into concern, and she eagerly nods, snatching the credit card off me.

Not 2 minutes later, she returns with my bounty. She glowers at Mr. Breighs' snoring form before sending me a sad, understanding smile and rushing off to attend the next dweeb. Bitch got hustled and doesn't even know it.

Popping off the lid, I take a decent mouthful of the burning brew before dropping a handful of Skittles into the little glass bottle to sweeten it up a touch. Using one hand to secure the headphones in my ears, I slip Mr. Breighs' wallet back into his pocket. I will be long gone before he even notices the overpriced purchase.

I flick my mini TV to some romantic comedy and snort at the corny jokes and cringey romance.

With the movie on and the dying pig sounds diminished, I can finally process what Mr. Breigh told me on the drive to the airport an hour ago.

Auntie Katherine. What a typical white person's name. I am what they call half-cast. Half white, half black. My mother was an Australian aboriginal. Grew up in the middle of nowhere. Lucked out in school and got ascholarship at some rich person's high school. That is where she met my dad. Then you got the typical boy meets girl, they fall in love and fall pregnant at an early age. Dad was disinherited by his family; Mom was disowned. Together, they went off on their own to raise little ol' me.

Now, here is the shit I didn't know. Dads' family were a bunch of rich bastards, which I guess I should have realized with the whole private school bullshit. Katherine is Dad's younger sister. And I mean "why-the-fuck-are-my-parents-still-fucking" young. She was four when my dad knocked up Mom. My aunt is literally 4 years older than me. We might as well be sisters! Anyway, her mom and dad, my grandparents, died last year, leaving Katherine a shit ton of money and a freaking mansion. And I get to live there.

The big fella also mentioned something about attending some posh high school and receiving tutoring privileges, but I stopped listening at 'mansion'.

I tilt the Skittle vodka back and down the cocktail in one big swallow. I lick my lips and pop a few spare Skittles in my mouth when I notice dear Harriette scowling at me.

I send her a wink, knowing full well she will not snitch on me for fear of losing her job, before settling down to enjoy the movie.

Chapter Two

West

"I can't wait to see you, baby," Sherry's nasally voice screeches through the phone, immediately awakening a brutal pounding in my temples. "I miss that juicy cock."

I almost hang up on her there and then. Sherry knows full well what we are. I don't do the whole label bullshit. I fuck. Hard. And I move on. Don't get me wrong, Sherry's hot as fuck, and her tits are the best for a tittie fuck. But you can only fuck someone so many times before it loses its appeal.

"What do you want?" I grumble, my teeth clenching in annoyance.

I can almost hear the pout her lips have undeniably taken. "West, baby, don't be like that. I haven't heard from you all holidays. Did you even watch the video I sent y-?"

I hang up on the slut. Yes, I saw the damn video. Her and Holly sucking some lanky prick off together. I deleted that shit straight up. If I wanted to watch a porno, I would watch a fucking porno. None of that amateur bullshit, either. I'm talking double D's, deep-throating, and gang bangs. Not some high school slut's idea of making someone jealous.

Not that I needed porn in the first place. If I want my cock sucked, I get my cock sucked. My father is a rich fucker. He owns a multitude of Australia's biggest enterprises, the Mazzuchelli's Hotel franchise being the most profitable and known. Inherited, of course. He could not have earned that job if it slapped him in the face. I don't know why Pop didn't just hire some smartass nerd to run the show for when he stepped down, not that he ever got the chance to do that before he died. He probably would have been much more successful and less of a manipulative corporation if he had.

"Queen Bee craving some dick again?" Brett Leacher asks from opposite me.

We are on the jet home (private, of course) from our two-week holiday on the Gold Coast, the party central of Australia, where the chicks are hot, drunk, and down to fuck. Honestly, I have never seen so many plastic tits and asses in one room before. Don't get me wrong, I love a fit body, but natural beauty is a hell of a lot more of a turn-on than the fake dolls we Dukes attract. That's me and my boys. The Double Bay Dukes; Brett, Lawson, and I. We come from the richest families in Australia and are set to inherit billions of dollars upon graduation. We are the mosteligible bachelors in the country. Yeah, we are high school students, but people know not to fuck with us.

"Damn slut's getting on my nerves," I reply with a nod. Yeah, Sherry is hot as fuck, she is the most popular girl in school, and she comes from money. That doesn't excuse her bullshit bantering. I would put her in her place myself, but the bitch would think she has won. I will have to get the football boys to tag team her. Get her on her knees, where she fucking belongs.

Lawson chooses that moment to rejoin us from the private bed chamber, shirt slung over his shoulder and jeans still unzipped. I can see the fuckers semi trying to pop out. The two flight attendants follow him, both wearing sly smiles as they dab around their mouths with a damp cloth. One of them has missed a spot; a pearl of cum sits by her right eyebrow.

"What did I miss?" Law asks, finally zipping his prick away.

Brett shoves a handful of potato crisps into his mouth and replies, crumbs flying everywhere. "Sherry's thirsty."

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