What Would You Do If You Won the Lotttery?

By Willie Cici
published June 1, 2019

Jake pondered the question posed to him by the store clerk. Zane had pondered it earlier …

“What would you do? If you won the lottery?”, the older woman said.

Jake Knapp stared at the clerk at the convenience store. “Get a better boat.” For Jake, he lived for his time on the water, navigating the rocky cliffs that lined the coastline of the North Island of his native New Zealand. His beat-up wooden vessel served his humble needs, but the blonde stud, now in his mid-30s, fantasized about a prosperous life, not the bohemian lifestyle he continued to live. He earned his keep on the water. He lived on his boat, moored at the marina located on the Hutt River, close to the estuary that fed Wellington Harbour. His good friend, Zane Andrews, managed the marina, allowing Jake to utilize the amenities at the marina’s member’s-only club.

Jake hopped on his bicycle and pedaled back to the marina. As he walked to his boat, his friend, Zane, called out and ran up to him. Zane handed Jake a little plastic baggie. “Even better than last time.”, Zane said. Jake smiled as he sniffed the little plastic baggie filled with hand-rolled cannabis. The Kiwi Weed, as he called it, bore a strong, pungent odor, but burned beautifully. He knew he would enjoy the weed on his jaunt.

Jake boarded his boat for a late afternoon excursion to do some fishing. He cast off and headed out of Wellington Harbour towards the mouth of the inlet. Eventually, he dropped anchor and decided to drift. (To see Jake on his boat, click here). He retrieved his fishing gear, baited the hooks and tried his luck at catching his dinner. He had promised Zane some tuna and did not want to disappoint.

After an hour, Jake abandoned hope. Nothing was biting. “Too many boats.”, he muttered to himself. He hoisted the anchor and revved up the engine. He coasted away slowly, not wanting to create a surging wake for the nearby boats. After thirty minutes, passing through Fitzroy Bay and heading for Taputeranga Island, he spotted a cove, where no other boats were anchored or drifting. “Can’t hurt.”, he thought to himself. He dropped anchor and watched his boat circle around the anchor until finally the boat rested. Jake baited the hooks again with fresh bait and lowered the hooks over the boat’s edge. He fitted the fishing rods in the rod holders and secured them tightly. The afternoon sun beat upon his brow. “Time for a smoke.”, he thought to himself. Jake opened Zane’s baggie, pulled out a joint of Zane’s Kiwi Weed and smoked the sweet-smelling weed. The mellow, mind-numbing weed left Jake hyper-relaxed and laid-back. He reclined upon the deck, deciding to catch a few z’s and sunbathe at the same time. (To see Jake sunbathing on his boat, click here).

“What would you do if you won the lottery?”: Jake pondered that question posed to him at the convenience store. He pictured himself on his dream boat: a 45’ sail boat. He would abandon his wooden vessel, a 1971 Chris-Craft, with a rebuilt engine held together by paperclips and prayers. For now, it mattered not. He was aboard his boat.

Within several minutes of daydreaming, Jake fell asleep. The waves rocked him like an infant in a cradle. After a short nap, Jake opened his eyes. He sat up and stared straight, then to his left and then to his right. “Where am I?”, he thought to himself. He was not on the deck of his boat. This was a luxury cruiser, not his beat-up wood Chris-Craft. “How did I get here?”

Suddenly, Jake heard noises. Then, he saw three young men standing around the bow of the boat. “Where did they come? And … where am I?”, Jake thought to himself. The three young men stood proudly and smiled at Jake. Their taut, ripped physiques, tanned from the strong Kiwi climate, looked incredible, packaged in skimpy red bikini swimwear. (To see the young men, click here).

Jake called out. “Who are you?”

The three young men replied. “The crew.”

“The crew?”, Jake answered back with another question. He did not have a crew. He was the crew. Before Jake could say anything, the three young men scurried to Jake. They removed his olive jammers and exposed his dangling baby-maker. “Hey, guys! I don’t know what you’re doing, but …” Before Jake could finish his sentence, the three young men began licking Jake’s cock and balls. When one of the young men swallowed Jake’s cock, he moaned aloud, “Fuuuuuuck!!!” The men in red trunks ignored Jake’s shouts. They caressed and fondled Jake’s perfect body, making sure that his cock and balls always enjoyed the feeling of someone’s mouth sucking and licking his genitals.

Jake lay on his back. He watched the three men take turns sucking his cock. He had no idea from where these young men came, and at the moment, did not care, for he was enjoying the sloppy mouths of the crew as they suckled and feasted on his thick, juicy shaft. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the physical sensation of his orgasm that slowly boiled, surged and exploded.

And, then, it stopped. Jake opened his eyes. The three young men had disappeared. He sat up on the rear deck and looked around his vessel. He was no longer aboard his Chris Craft. The simple wooden cruiser had now become the 45-foot sail boat, the dream boat he always imagined he would own someday.

From the cabin of the ship emerged four young men in tight white sailor-like costumes. Their taut, muscled bodies poured into tight white pants. Sailor caps topped their heads. From the looks of them, Jake assumed these sailors spent more time in the gym then aboard a sail boat or ship. Shirtless and handsome, they formed a chorus line and saluted Jake.

“Who are you?”, Jake asked.

“The crew, Captain.”, they answered, in an effeminate tone that confirmed that they were not sailors. Jake could not believe his ears. He shook his head, disbelieving his eyes. “Where are we headed, Captain?”, one of the young men asked.

“Just cruising the bay.”, Jake replied.

The faux sailors approached the reclining Jake. They caressed his muscled physique. (To see Jake and the crew, click here). Jake did not stand a chance. His crew committed mutiny and rendered Jake helpless to their roaming hands, caressing touch and suckling mouths. The crew positioned Jake face down. Slowly, each member of the crew lowered their trousers, taking turns shoving their cocks in Jake’s mouth. Rock-hard cocks deserved a tight hole. The boys rimmed Jake’s hole, wetting the rosebud with their spittle. The boys fucked Jake’s mouth and ass, enjoying the dazzling sun of the late afternoon and whishing winds of the bay.

And, then, it ended. Jake opened his eyes. He looked about the deck of the sailboat, wearing his olive jammers. “I’ve got to stop smoking that Kiwi Weed. The dreams I’m having are freaky.”

“What are you babbling about?”, a voice called out. Jake looked up and stared at the underwear clad stud. “Jake, you’ve been sleeping for hours. Are you okay?”

“Yes, Sir. I must have …”, Jake tried to say. All of a sudden, Jake felt this incredible surge of energy. He stared at his groin: a massive hard-on. He stared at the underwear clad stud. “Zane, what are you doing on my boat?” (To see Zane, click here).

“Your boat?”, Zane replied, with a lilt of laughter. “No, Jake. My boat. You work for me.”

Jake closed his eyes and shook his head. “When did that happen?”, he thought to himself. He opened his eyes and stared at his underwear clad friend. Zane looked incredible, the late afternoon sun shimmering upon his lightly tanned skin.

Zane walked closer to Jake and said, “It’s okay.”, Zane said, as he lowered his briefs.

Jake stared at Zane’s flopping dick. He fell to his knees and swallowed his friend’s cock. Jake understood that his duties included sucking Zane’s cock.

What would you do if you won the lottery? For Zane, the answer was simple: buy the marina that your father lost in bankruptcy; buy the sailboat you always wanted; buy the stud you lusted for since childhood. Luckily for Zane, his ancestors cultivated a strain of cannabis which he affectionately called ‘Kiwi Weed’.

And, then, it happened. Zane won the lottery. He maneuvered the buy-back of his father’s marina. Then he purchased his dream boat, a 45-foot sail boat. And then Zane fed Jake, his childhood friend, his Kiwi Weed. Jake smoked Zane’s weed every day aboard his beaten-up wooden cruiser. He happily accepted Zane’s freebies, never suspecting that he would fall prey to the Kiwi Weed’s effects. One joint and you were entranced for the day. Two days of smokes left you in control for a week. Zane fed Jake his Kiwi Weed every day for a month. Jake became Zane’s man-toy, captain of the sailboat, master of the blowjob, servant to his lust.

What would you do if you won the lottery? For Zane, the answer was simple: live your wildest dreams. And smoke a little weed.

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