Desert Island Daddies

By Peter Schutes

A plane crash. A seemingly deserted island. Two strangers forced to face the unknown.

Butch, a seasoned pilot with a gruff exterior and a huge, dangling problem, and Pinky, an effete playboy with nearly nothing between his legs, find themselves stranded on a lush, uncharted island.

As they struggle to survive and give themselves over to sexual pleasure in paradise, they discover the island holds a secret: its male inhabitants are required to give birth to keep the civilization alive.

Can they endure the island's mysteries and find their way home? Or will they succumb to the temptations of the flesh and the island's dark allure?

Dive into a graphic tale of sex, survival, discovery, and male childbirth.

Warning: This book contains explicit content and is not suitable for all audiences. If you are faint of heart and do not enjoy this extremely graphic, masculine depiction of pregnancy and childbirth, do not read this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Schutes
• Release date: Dec 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215243329

Peter Schutes

Peter Schutes Publishing promotes "unheard voices" from all walks of life. In addition to the hypermasculine pulp-style erotica of Peter and his associates, the press seeks out authors with stories that need to be told. Erotic fiction pushes boundaries, as does transgressive fiction about LGBTQ+ issues and neurodivergence, the hallmarks of Peter Schutes Publishing.Peter Schutes is the nom de plume of a prolific and acclaimed novelist. As Peter Schutes, he is the author of Slaves of Rome, Dark as a Dungeon, The Gospel of Priapus, and Panama Heat. He writes in the style of vintage pulp authors from the 1960s and 1970s. He lives in Los Angeles.

Book preview

1

THE PILOT AND THE PLAYBOY

Randall ‘Pinky’ Sunderland was a millionaire’s son. His father was a real estate magnate in New York City with a significant ownership stake in various skyscrapers and high-rise apartments. Pinky had no interest in the family business. He lived to play. While in boarding school, he spent his holidays flying his friends to exotic destinations. His money bought acquaintances, influence, and good grades, but it didn’t buy true friends or love. It never does.

Pinky didn’t love himself much. Like his father, he’d been born with a tiny penis. Money couldn’t change that either. It was a source of shame and ridicule until he started throwing his money around. That shut up anyone who wanted to take a private jet to the Bahamas for Spring Break. Pinky’s nickname, ‘Pinky,’ was the last remnant of the taunts and jeers that haunted him from his younger days.

As much as Pinky knew it was proper to marry a woman and settle down, he didn’t want that. He found fleeting pleasures with the boys in his dorm who were desperate enough to let Pinky blow them. It was the kind of thing nobody spoke about. His long list of suckable cocks didn’t grow by word of mouth. Each man thought he was the only one, and that’s how Pinky wanted it to stay. He had a regular 3:00 pm in the locker room, a 4:00 pm behind the smoking pavilion, a 5:30 pm in the chapel before vespers, and a nightcap in the music rooms just before curfew.

The boys didn’t take long. He had room for the random boys who slipped into his schedule at the last minute. There were days he ate so much cum he skipped dinner. There were big cocks and small cocks, but none as small as his. He loved other men’s cocks and hated his own. It left him feeling hollow inside; he used his money to plug the hole.

Some of the boys wanted more. Pinky dreaded undressing in front of them, but he cherished the warm invasion when they pressed into his bottom and slipped inside him. He grew so comfortable with anal sex he scarcely noticed when the young men penetrated him. He wondered why so many men feared it and treated it like some painful, awful, demoralizing act. It was sheer bliss. A few of the really big boys gave him pause. He might put a flat hand on their thigh and push gently to slow their entry, but he never turned anyone down. He was just built to be a cocksucker and a catamite.

Pinky had to rebuild his network once he got to college. At the many frat parties and school dances, he met new boys anxious for a bit of relief. In college, the men were more open. As a result, through word of mouth, he suddenly had a long list of guys requiring his services. He had a private dorm room that quickly became a free brothel. Some nights, there was a line in the hallway. Pinky was often too full to eat supper; his ass overflowed with cum. He was a kid in a candy store. The sweets came in all sizes. Some were so big he couldn’t suck them. Those boys were always eager to fuck. Pinky thought they would split him in two, but he learned to accommodate the big boys and relish the regular guys. As long as they left some cum in his mouth or ass, he was their slave.

For Reading Week, he offered ten of the cutest boys a massive trip. They were impressed, as most of them were scholarship students. Pinky paid for everyone’s ticket to Bangkok. They were going to meet up in the seaside resort town of Phuket. Pinky went two days early to be sure his many party plans were all in order. Just his luck, when he landed, the country was in the midst of a two-day air and rail strike. His friends would likely not be affected, but Pinky could not get to Phuket except by a 24-hour bus ride or a private car. He tried to hire a limousine but discovered the journey would be eighteen hours, which was unacceptable. He asked around the airport to hire a private pilot. They sent him to the hangars.

He found a pilot. Joe ‘Butch’ Hopper was a giant of a man who owned a twin-engine seaplane. Butch lived up to his name. He looked like a sweaty, overgrown bodybuilder with a five o’clock beard, grimy white dungarees, and a tropical linen shirt that had seen better days. His wiry chest hairs poked through the linen, which he frequently buttoned and unbuttoned to combat the heat.

Pinky found Butch seated at a desk in a sweltering hangar on the edge of the airport.

Hello, do you speak English?

Butch grinned. American English, yeah. Why, what’s it to you?

Pinky usually carried himself with the haughty arrogance of the super-rich, but there was something disarming in Butch’s demeanor that gave him pause. He found himself stammering. Uh, yes, well, see, I need to go to Phuket with some urgency, and I’m to understand that you have a plane for hire.

Butch appraised the boy as he chose his words. Yeah, I got a plane. Twin-prop, twin-seater. Nothing fancy enough for a jet-setter like you.

Pinky blushed. Oh, no, it needn’t be fancy. Just fast. How long to Phuket?

Butch scratched his chin. I’d say two hours tops once we’re airborne. Is that fast enough for you?

Pinky nodded. I’m sorry, how rude of me! I am Pinky Sunderland. And you are? He extended a hand.

Butch’s hand swallowed Pinky’s like a whale eating a goldfish. Name’s Joe, but they call me Butch.

The hangar was damp with humid, hot air. A droplet from the ceiling landed on Pinky’s brow, startling him.

Butch put out his cigarette and stood, revealing the full size of his frame and a troublingly large lump down one leg. Pinky squinted, then wiped the sweat from his eyes, unsure of what he’d seen.

Oh, it’s real, I can assure you. Butch grinned as he adjusted himself, revealing the monstrous outline.

Pinky wasn’t used to men reading his mind. It should have felt infuriating, but he was too hot to be angry. He felt faint and sat down hard.

Here. Butch opened a lukewarm bottle of Coca-Cola and passed it to Pinky. The wealthy young man gulped it down, grateful for the momentary relief from thirst. He felt the lightheadedness pass.

Butch said, Usually, it’s the women that faint when they see it.

Pinky blushed crimson. He didn’t give a fig if the guy was hung like a horse; it wasn’t his thing. He didn’t like when a man was too big to suck, and Butch was clearly in that category.