Captain Haddock was reading the attendance list to make sure everyone had arrived.

Jolyon Wagg? Check.
General Alcazar? Check.
Emir Mohammed ben Kalish Ezab? Check.
Piotr Skut? Check.
Dr Müller? Check.
Cuthbert Calculus? Not arrived yet.
Bianca Castafiore? (Hell, there was no way he would have invited her – she had invited herself once again, that capricious diva, and had brought along her boyfriend, a certain Marquis de Gorgonzola whom Haddock did not know, but who was he to refuse a lady's request? So Bianca was here too. Check.)
Cutts the butcher? Check.
Nestor. Of course. Check.
Chang? Not arrived yet.
Laszlo Carreidas? Check.

The party could begin! They were sitting in the drawing room of the Château de Moulinsart, comfortable and cozy in various 18th and 19th century sofas and armchairs. There even was a récamière which would certainly prove most useful for everyone's fun with -

„Tintin?" Haddock exclaimed in surprise, looking around the room. There was no Tintin. Where was the rascal now? Looking at everyone he soon noticed that General Alcazar wasn't present anymore either.

„TINTIN!" Haddock shouted, rushing upstairs to the hallway that led to most bedrooms. An unmistakable sound led him straight to the correct bedroom. Flinging open the door he was greeted by the sight of Tintin and Alcazar in the midst of frenzied fornication. Tintin was wearing his blue pullover, socks and kilt, moaning loudly and riding the General so enthusiastically that the 17th century four-poster bed creaked angrily. When Tintin noticed the Captain, he waved a shaky hand. „Oh! Hello, Captain...! uhhh- oh! D'you... ahhhh!- wanna join?"

„Augustin Remi!", Haddock shouted, „Billions of blistering barnacles in a barrel! Have you gone insane? The guests are waiting!" That scatterbrain of a reporter, had he forgotten that Carreidas had paid extra for the privilege of having him first?

„I'm... sorry", Tintin panted, eagerly moving up and down on the hard, red and glistening-with-cum cock of General Alcazar. „I couldn't... ahh- resist- um, ah-"

Alcazar just sat on the bed, petrified and staring at Haddock with – probably for the first time in his life - eyes wide as saucers.

„GET UP", Haddock shouted, grabbing Tintin's wrist. The lad was protesting but let himself be dragged off. Alcazar hastily got off from the bed and collected his clothes in silence, avoiding Haddock's gaze as though he was afraid to face a temper tantrum.

„Tintin, I thought we talked about this", Haddock said, looking at the boy's face from which the lustful expression and delicate blush had not yet completely faded. „You can't just let our guests wait. They paid for this and we have to be professional about it."

„Hush, mon capitaine." Tintin carressed Haddock's arm, purring the words near to the Captain's ear. „It's all right, don't worry. I'll take care of all of them, you'll see." He patted his kilt straight, making sure it sat the right way around as they stepped downstairs into the drawing room.

„Well, hello, there he is!" Jolyon Wagg exclaimed gleefully as they entered the room. „And in a kilt! Jolly gosh! My uncle Anatole always said, 'a pretty boy in a kilt is like free beer in a soccer stadium – all consumed within five minutes'! Ha ha ha!"

Laszlo Carreidas stared at the still-flustered Tintin with his usual blank, stern face and said, „Well, Captain, I expect to get my premium back. He's obviously been shagged just now."

How would you know, old sneezer? „Of course, of course", Haddock muttered. „All right, gentlemen! And ladies", he added, glancing at Bianca Castafiore, „I'm sure you all would agree that Tintin deserves a spanking for being late, the naughty boy!"

„What? But-" Tintin began, but Haddock didn't let him finish. He sat down on the sofa and grabbed Tintin by the collar, pulling him onto his lap. Pushing the kilt up Tintin's back he revealed an ass whose peachy, round, firm form elicited delighted gasps from the audience.

„Mamma mia! That must be the finest ass in all of Brussels!" Bianca Castafiore squeaked.

„So the rumours were true", the mysterious Marquis de Gorgonzola murmured. „Indeed, a bonny behind."

„Oh! Is so beautiful!" Piotr Skut looked astounded. „So nice form! Is so much beautiful I fear I will go blind on other eye if looking too long."

Dr Müller and Cutts the butcher did not comment, just stared and nodded approvingly.

There was another gasp from the audience as Haddock placed a loud slap on Tintin's buttocks. Tintin was pressing his lips together, apparently determined not to scream.

„That'll teach you", Haddock said. „Running away from your duties..."

Slap.

„You done soon?" Tintin uttered. „I want to continue with Alcazar."

SLAP!

„Ouch!"

Slap.

„Okay. Done. Now go ahead." As much as Haddock liked to have things organized, he knew that the success of this orgy relied completely on Tintin's own moods and fancies; he would have to let Tintin do whatever the lad pleased.

„Nestor", Haddock shouted, „get the champagne and the lube!"

„Very well, master."

„I won't need the lube", Tintin said, an innocent smile on his angelic putto-like face. „I'm still all wet and slippery inside from Alcazar's cum."

As the Champagne arrived, Tintin was back at business with Alcazar, riding him on the sofa; and though the General had been a little shy at first, he soon was inspired by Tintin's carefree shamelessness. The guests watched them with unveiled curiosity (Dr Müller was even mumbling some German words to himself as he stared at Tintin), and Jolyon Wagg commented on Alcazar's manhood that „my uncle Anatole had a bigger one; it was 23 centimetres when erect."

Haddock made sure that everyone had enough to drink, then went to the record player in the corner, wondering which music would be appropiate. Cutts the butcher whispered something to him. „Um, Captain? Sir?"

„Yes, what is it?"

„I was wondering – do you have an, um, private place somewhere here?"

„You want to wank, just do it here. That's why I put towels all over the place. Just be careful not to get your man syrup onto the cat or the dog, all right?"

„No, no, I mean... I need a private place to consume some, um, substances-"

„Thundering typhoons! Is this an opium den now?"

„All right, all right." Cutts the butcher walked over to the couch table. „I'll do it here."

„Don't give any to Tintin, you hear me!" Choosing a rock 'n' roll record, Haddock turned the music on.

„Oh, Captain Hardcock!" Bianca Castafiore was beaming with delight. „Tintin's such a sight, the most wanton-"

„Blistering barnacles! For the last time, lady, my name is-" He paused, realizing what she'd just said. „Um... well, nevermind."

Tintin was still riding Alcazar and moaning noisily, moving atop the General with unbridled passion. They all stared at him wide-eyed; the only person whose face somehow managed to stay blank, brows furrowed, was Carreidas 'the millionaire who never laughs'. Dead serious as usual, he watched unfazedly as Tintin finally came, sending a spurt of semen across General Alcazar's chest.

After a moment, he shakily got up from the sofa, a sated grin on his round face and cum trickling down the insides of this thighs. „Captain", he chirped between exhausted breaths, „whom do you want me to do next?"

„It's up to you, lad, as always."

„You're supposed to be handing me around, mon capitaine!"

„Not me. I need a minute." Cutts the butcher was kneeling on the floor, snorting a trail of cocaine from the glass couch table. It went up his nose with a noisy hrrrrüüüph.

„Me!" Dr Müller shouted. „I want to be next!"

„NO! Me!" Carreidas screamed. „I paid extra-!"

„Me, me!" Emir Mohammed interjected. „Please, Tintin! Let's make a deal! If you let me have you now, I'll promise to never bring Abdallah here again!"

Tintin and Haddock looked at each other. „Best deal of all my life", Haddock finally said. Tintin nodded and threw himself at the Emir. „I'm yours now, Emir", he cooed playfully. „Let's have fun."

Hrrrpph, snort, phiüüüh. Cutts the butcher inhaled more cocaine.

Tintin had undressed completely, scattering the pullover, socks and kilt over the floor; and Dr Müller started touching himself while staring at Tintin's stellar butt.
The Emir was ravishing Tintin, kissing him wildly, wetly and sloppily while Tintin simultaneously tried to find the Emir's manhood under manifold layers of musty robes.

Everyone was getting quite drunk, except – most notably – the Captain. Not only could he stomach more alcohol than those lily-livered landlubbers, but knew he needed to keep a clear head as the host of this party. Under no circumstances must it end like the last swinger orgy that Jolyon Wagg had organized which had ended with the intervention of the fire brigade, the National Guard, and Jehovah's Witnesses; and had left Jolyon's villa in ruins. (He didn't remember, though, how that had happened. He must have been quite drunk or stoned; possibly both).

No, Haddock would make sure his own swinger party stayed civil, casual and fun.

Bianca was sitting on the sofa, cuddling and flirting with her boyfriend, the mysterious Marquis de Gorgonzola. Haddock had an inkling he'd seen the guy before, but he could not place that mug. He looked Botoxed and wore a formal, dapper black suit. Bianca had introduced him merely as someone „influential, and he loves a good party".

Emir Mohammed was obviously enjoying Tintin, ravishing him without making an effort to get his clothes out of the way. Entangled in metres of cotton and silk, they frolicked frantically, fucking fanatically and forgetting everyone and everything around them; not even noticing when Dr Müller shot a well-aimed squirt of cum onto Tintin's quiff.
Haddock sighed. That stuff was always difficult to wash out of hair.

„Will you be needing anything else, master?" Nestor asked with his usual professional blank face. „Furry costumes, vibrators, video equipment, anal beads?"