Always a problem if I don't wank in the mornings: I regret it most of the day.
I'd been half hard for most of the day, with heavy balls and permanently wandering eyes as all kinds of guys that I would normally not have looked twice at suddenly seemed like the kind of stud I could use in deeply satisfying situations. All morning at university I'd sat in a lecture staring at the back of Jimmy Boyd's neck, idly wondering what it would look like with my cum splashing all over his hair and collar. At one point I thought I might actually get to see for real, as I got so hot I was on the point of spilling my seed without much more handling than the odd stroke through my jeans. I forced myself to stare out of the window for a while, and the hot load in my balls bubbled back down. Jesus, there was some serious churning going on my nutsac.
About 3 o'clock I jumped in my car and tore away from campus, almost on fire with the horn. Yeah, I know, I really should have had a wank when I woke up as I usually did. A luxurious twenty minutes or so spent fingering my body and pumping my meat and I would have had a good source of protein for breakfast and a trouble-free day. But I'd overslept, and as it was I'd fallen out of bed in a sleepy daze, stuffed my morning glory into a pair of jeans and bolted for the car without anything to eat or even a shower.
I pulled up in front of the large house I shared with four other students at the uni, knowing it would be empty at that time, but also not really caring if it wasn't. I ran up the stairs to the room I had at the back of the house, locked the door, shoved a DVD in to play and collapsed into my wanking chair, a black leather armchair that was comfortable enough to sit in for hours slowly jacking if I ever got the time for a long session. I glanced at my watch - ten past three. Great: One hour and twenty minutes free. Shame it wasn't longer, but still long enough for a good long jerk. I poked at the remote until a favourite fuck scene appeared on the screen, then settled back and lit a cigarette.
For the first ten minutes or so I like to just sit and relax without touching myself, feeling my erection stiffen and throb in my jeans as I smoke and watch the hung boys deep-throating each other. Excellent. My long fat dick, which had been hard most of the day, was now trying to burst out of my jeans. I could feel my shaft fighting for space with my large ballbag inside, feel the delicious stab of pain when a pube got caught in the expansion, feel the whole package of my crotch growing hotter as I got more and more horny. I stubbed out the cigarette and softly stroked my length through the fabric of my jeans. Yum. It throbbed painfully, desperate for release. I mashed it for a few more minutes until a wet patch was clearly visible in the denim. The boys on screen had settled into a long deep fuck. Oh yeah. I lifted my ass off the chair and slowly unpopped the buttons of my fly and slipped my jeans down my thighs, pushing them softly over my skin, leaving my engorged shaft inside my boxers to spring up more happily against my stomach.
Oh wow, those boxers. I'd forgotten all about them.
The morning before, when I had thankfully had the time to deal with my morning erection in the time-honoured way, I'd heard Stevie, the guy in the room next door to mine, thrashing his own dick just the other side of the thin wall. He'd been pretty loud with his groans of ecstasy, and it had been easy and horny to wank myself while I listened to him. Stevie is a hot guy with a good tight chest who plays footie twice a week, and I've had a couple of very hot sessions wanking while I've listened to him boning girls he's brought back to his room. Nothing hotter than hearing some bitch crying "oh yeah fuck that big cock deeper in my twat" or something equally filthy while I lay naked and stroking only feet from their action, imagining driving my own shaft up Stevie's unbearably cute bum. I'd never heard him wank before, but he was sure worked up that morning; maybe he'd missed a few days or something. There was no doubt when he reached his goal. He practically shouted FUCK YEAH!! as his panting was fast and noisy and I imagined him spraying all up his chest and face. Only seconds later I heard the shower running, and within about three minutes I heard him clattering down the stairs and out the front door. I assumed he must have had a morning football training session, and it was too good an opportunity to miss. Still naked, my big erection nodding heavily as I walked, I ventured into Stevie's room to see if I could find what he'd mopped up with. It was absurdly obvious. A pair of dark blue quality cotton Converse All Star boxers, with a red trim round the waistband and white buttons were just sitting on his rumpled bedsheet. Fantastic. I picked them up tentatively, and gently pulled them open. They were absolutely sopping with his cum. It was the most awesome load I'd ever found in all my days as an underwear thief. He'd obviously not used them as a mop-up rag, but worn them while he was jacking and just unloaded his hefty chunks of jizz inside the front panel of the boxers. Well it is less messy that way I guess. I usually like to splash up my body rather than "living with your load" (what my brother used to call cumming in your shorts) but I definitely wasn't complaining about Stevie's technique that morning. When I looked inside, the spunk was still sitting in warm gooey puddles on the cotton. It didn't take even one second to know what I was going to do. I lay down on his unmade bed, naked, my big dick hard as a missile, snuffled the spunky boxers over my face and hungrily sucked at his cum while my fist went ballistic on my own large tool. About thirty seconds later I spunked so hard I thought I would explode. Stevie's cum tasted magic, still warm and plentiful, and as the taste of him rolled round my mouth I unleashed a couple of bullets of juice that landed splat near my nipples and then blissed out as my balls pumped out a surge of cum that glopped over my stomach, bush and shaved sac.
Wow. I licked up what had landed on my hand and chest, then left the rest where it was as I recovered from the exertion. My breath back, I stood up and stepped into Stevie's boxers, letting my load soak in with what was left of his. I knew I would not be giving these boxers back: they were bound for my secret collection, pride of place.
And I definitely hadn't wanted to shower all the cum away, either. I wore those boxers all that day, jacking another load into them about 4pm after lectures while I sat on a bog up in the second floor gents in the library. I have in the past used this place to hook up with guys for a quick blowjob or a longer fuck if time permitted, but on this occasion I was happy to make do with a quick solo session. That evening I went out drinking with the boys, pouring out my usual bullshit about pussy and sport and whatever the fuck else I have to spout in order to stay in the with the coolest straight boys on campus. Stevie was there, and I stayed half hard knowing that I was drinking beer with him and laughing with him while I was wearing a pair of his boxers containing two loads of my own jizz and one of his (or rather, what I hadn't eaten of it.) That night I wanked twice more into those sodden boxers, staying up till 3:30am in my wanking chair, smoking and snorting poppers as I ogled the hardcore on the screen, adding yet more spunk to the messy shorts. Staying up so late was not a great idea during the week though; I had overslept the next day, missed my usual morning relief and had to spend the day considering the erotic potential of Jimmy Boyd's neck.
There was a mighty cum-flying climax on screen and then the action changed to a more gentle kissing and sucking scene between two cutie teens. I kicked my jeans off, lifted off my t shirt and sat there, legs spread, in only my socks, a thin brown leather cord I wear around my neck (with a small stone on it that my one and only ever proper boyfriend bought me, before we split up because we both wanted to top all the time: shame, eh?) and Stevie's navy Converse boxers (now crusty, and now MINE!). I relaxed more, lit another cigarette and slid my hand inside the shorts, beginning a slow and gentle massage. This scene is one that I like very much, because it is very close to what happened with me my first time with a guy. I was 16 and so horny I thought my dick would snap. My brother, who I love more than anyone else in the world, saw what agonies I was in and knew what was going on in my mind. He asked a gay friend of his (behind my back, without even telling me that he knew I was gay) to come over and casually get to know me; then my brother would disappear while his friend gently seduced me, took me to my bed and finally relieved me of the virginity that was driving me mad. Well, that's what my brother thought would happen. When he disappeared though, the pace moved far quicker than he had planned. For about half an hour or so me and his friend were snogging and licking like the two guys on the screen. When we got to my bedroom however, the similarity with the tender porn scene ended: I fucked him four times in succession, each climax more fantastic than the last, each time I was more frantic, more happy, more liberated as I finally got to find out why I had been blessed with a beautiful large dick. My brother's friend, Andy, was a total fiend for it. He encouraged me to fuck him more and more energetically till the fourth time we both crashed off the bed just before we orgasmed. I got together with Andy about ten or twelve times before he went off to university, and even though it was very easy to come out to my brother the day after that first time, I doubt whether he has any idea of just how much of a favour he did me that night. One day I will tell him.
Still, staring at the screen in that scene always brought back happy memories of the first half hour or so of that first time with Andy. These two cuties were not megahung (which I like to see), they were just totally into each other (which I like to see even more). As they approached their climax in a 69, I knew they would shortly uncouple and spunk over each other's smooth tight chests. I took my first hit of poppers, and quivered in fucking mad out-of-this-world horniness as I watched them kiss deeply passionately as they both unloaded no-hands at more or less the same time. I bet they were real-life boyfriends.
Super horny from the poppers, I slipped off the boxers and laid them over my face again, trying to get one last whiff of Stevie's cream. It was slightly irritating because there was so much of mine in there that Stevie's had all but been smothered, but I thought there might be one crusty bit that still belonged to him, so I concentrated on tonguing that patch for a couple of minutes while I slowly jacked my boner in vice-tight strokes. My cock was beginning to feel amazingly good so I left to cope on its for a little while as I moved my hand down to my sac and crack, still head back, snorting under the boxers. I just do not know why some guys are not interested in stimulating themselves down there. I've had many conversations with my brother about this, and he says that a girl can do what she likes to his cock, but balls and asshole are off limits. I've teased him and said that this obviously means he's subconsciously scared of the pleasures his anus might bring him, making him probably a homo in denial. I've suggested many times to my brother that we have a wank session together. This is not because I have the hots for him in any way (although, in a certain light...) but because I just know deep down he must make do with some very mediocre masturbation and I would love to show him a few tricks to spice up the daily ritual. According to my brother, having a wank a) takes ten minutes, b) doesn't always leave him relaxed, and c) is nothing like as a good as having sex. This is just criminal in my eyes. Introducing me to Andy did me a very great favour, and one day I am going to work out a way I can repay him by showing him how he can have a bit more (a LOT more) fun on his own, although he always says no when I suggest a little brotherly grope. Oh well. Unlike my brother, I have long known the erotic potential of my asshole. I don't usually choose to take a dick up there, but that doesn't mean I'm oblivious to the appeal. I love fingering myself and using a dildo when I wank, just like the next group of boys on screen.
This scene is undoubtedly one of my favourites of all time. Four hung young guys, early 20s, smooth and toned start off with the beers and then get into watching some straight porn. Pretty soon it's a jerk-off party. The guys never go beyond mutual jacking, which some might argue is a bit of a waste because all four cocks are completely fabulously suckable, and fucking is likewise miles off the agenda. But the way in which they just get more and more feverish with their wanking, sometimes feeling each other's cocks and balls, and gently rubbing proud nipples and tender little anuses, it just does my fucking head in. This is a major fantasy of mine and I haven't yet been able to live it, although four times I have tried to have a group wank.
On one occasion the guys I'd roped in were just too shy, and wanked with their hands down their shorts. On another, there was a guy present who didn't fit the mould, and the other guys, including me, felt self-conscious in front of him. And on the other two times, it was too successful, in as much as after about ten minutes the four of us were in a sucking/fucking heap on the floor, with the porn irrelevant. But I still hanker after having a wank like these four on screen. Just four completely hot guys, doing what comes naturally, with no hang ups. Watching each other wank, enjoying each other's arcing cumshots, gently massaging your buddy's balls to give him more of a lift. It's this kind of scene, an intimate rather than sexual one I guess, that I hope one day to share with my brother, and maybe a couple of other guys to make it less weird for him. And these four guys on screen are dynamite. They love wanking, they love watching and being watched, lending a helping hand, they love porn, they know how good it is to fiddle with your own asshole, and how great it is to feel the ultimate release of orgasm in the presence of your mates. I take the boxers off my face so I can watch more closely, gently rubbing them over my chest as I have two finger tips slicking over my ring piece and then gently easing their way inside. My cock slaps involuntarily against my stomach, dripping precum and aching from its rigidity. OH YEAH! Masturbation is the best way a boy can spend time. I spark up another cigarette and watch the group wank progress, wishing more than anything that I could be right there with them.
I glance at my watch again - shit, it's nearly 4pm, I've got to crank it up a gear or I'm not going to be done in time. This is the one problem with wanking. However long you have available, it's never enough. I could carry on like this for hours. I decided that the next scene will have to be the last one. This is another blockbuster. A dark-haired, hot young smoothy, looking no more than 18 but packing major meat, hooks up with a guy in his mid-30s, who's got a fabulously defined musculature covered in a thin coating of blond fuzz. The kid's dick is definitely the bigger of the pair, but there's no doubt who's playing which role here. They grope each other as the older guy drives them in an open-top jeep out into the wilderness or somewhere, then they park up and off come the shorts for a long rimming session. They both lick hungrily at each other's back doors, then the kid turns to face the bonnet of the jeep and the muscle guy slips his length up there in one go, bareback. He then fucks the kid every which way you could imagine. Total, manic masculinity obsessed with complete possession of this young hole. All the while the kid stays bone hard, and they finish up with the guy on his back on the bonnet with the kid riding him, slamming his ring up and down the guy's shaft. The kid's hugely impressive erection flaps out of control between their two stomachs until the guy grabs his young partner's meat and jacks it hard while he fucks harder. The young lad loses it totally and lets the guy milk a monster load from him, which goes over his fucker's chest and face. Then, just when you think you're going to pass out from watching it, the boy lifts his tight little twat off the guy's cock, which we see spunk no-hands all over the boy's hole and thighs, then the guy lets the spunk splurge down his straight rod for a couple of seconds, then buries it, still no hands, right back up where it's spent the previous 20 minutes.
Phew. At that point I usually spunk my own load.
But that day I was so hot it deserved taking slightly longer. As the DVD progressed to a final scene, I shifted my attention away from the screen to concentrate on my own body. I took a hit of poppers, eased a small dildo up my hole and upped the pace of my wank strokes on my dickshaft. This small dildo is better than either of my larger ones because I can sit in a certain way that angles it straight at my prostate. Head back in popper-heaven, I reached for the shorts again, and took a blast of the smell of mine and Stevie's spunk in the navy fabric. Oh man. My ass was clenching hard around the invader, and loving it, and I knew I would let the orgasm rise all the way this time. I went faster, the boxers slipped off my face and I watched in delicious enjoyment as my sopping purple bellend appeared out of my elastic foreskin every time my fist pumped. I imagined Stevie riding on it, facing me, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, delirious with the joy of being shafted by my beautiful big dick.
"Stevie," I moaned. "Take that big cock up your cute little asshole, you sexy fucker."
A young man, a mind open to fantasy, a healthy cock, uninterrupted free time: only one outcome.
In my mind I grasped Stevie's erection, but in reality it was my own. I let the speed of my wrist go through the roof as my body tripped into orgasm. Great wracking spasms of muscular bliss tightened my body to beyond breaking point and my ejaculation fired up my chest. I gaped my mouth open wide in the frantic hope that some of it would hit my tongue. Wrist pumping, body trembling, the spunk went everywhere as my voice let out a volley of filthy release language that I had no control over.
The finest moment of the day.
(Or, one of them, of course.)
After a couple of minutes of utter wonder, my cock stopped oozing juice and my body stopped shaking. The porn was still playing, and I lit a final cigarette. I eased the dildo from my tight grip on it, and scooped up some of the spunk all over me for a taste. I mopped most of the load up with the same boxers. I stood, looking at my naked body in the mirror. Fucking awesome. My cock sits nicely over my ballsac when it's soft, and even more nicely when it's half hard, as it was then. I stubbed out the cigarette, stepped back into the boxers and looked at the time again. 4:25pm. Excellent timing.
Pulling on jeans and t shirt again, I went to the bathroom, stood in front of the bog and fished out my dick one last time. Still not really soft, it glistened with the slickness of the coating of spunk along its length. As I let go a torrent of piss, I eased my foreskin back and licked my fingers, tasting yet more spunk from my bush and shaft. My cock was definitely not interested in going totally soft. It lay in my hand, not really hard or soft, but still engorged with the feeling of great climax, while piss streamed through its tubes, washing yet more spunk out of my system.
It's happened before, and I sensed it could happen then as well. My hand closed around the length as the piss flow faltered. My cock hardened once more, my balls twitched. I could do it again. Right here, right now. Perhaps I hadn't yet got rid of all the frustration of the morning with no wank, and the image of Jimmy Boyd's neck splattered with my jizz. Many times in my life, I have wanked again immediately after climax. And on two of those occasions, I shot within about 2 minutes, like a supplementary orgasm to the first which wasn't quite finished somehow. I looked at my watch. 4:27pm.
I had time.
Just this train of thought got my dick back up to full working size. My hand quickly shafted along the spunky skin. Four long strokes, then four more, then a pause then a dozen or so quicker, really hard strokes. The scent of spunk, unshowered crotch and funky boxers rose to my nose, and I felt something stir in my balls.
Jesus. I was going to cum, again. I fisted faster, just standing over the bowl, still unflushed since my monster post-wank piss. Something was rising. It wouldn't be a big load, or be a bone-crunching climax, but it would still be worth having.
Oh yeah! Here it comes! Incredibly my balls were preparing for another orgasm, five minutes or so after my last. I threw my eyes left to the bath, and imagined Stevie bent over the edge as I shafted his delicious hole.
Just then the doorbell buzzed loudly throughout the house.
I tried to look at my watch while still pulling hard. 4:28pm. The fucker was early. My balls were churning, and I didn't know what to do. Thirty more seconds would see me home. But I couldn't afford for my guest to go away thinking I wasn't around.
Bugger. I stuffed my erection back inside the shorts, buttoned the jeans and flushed the bog. Fucking bloody bugger.
As I tore down the stairs, I could feel my meaty erect shaft rolling around inside the boxers, while my low-hanging ballbag rubbed beautifully against my thigh. Oh well. My body was crying out for attention, furious at being abandoned right on the edge. I would just have another session when he was gone. He was only booked for an hour, after all.
University is expensive. My parents and brother had warned me that I might have to work, but I still wasn't really prepared for how much money I was having to borrow to stay on top of rent, beer and other vital expenses. I had tried a number of ways to earn money, but frankly they were all shit. I had a couple of sessions a week serving at the union bar, which paid next to nothing but stopped me buying beer two nights a week. More lucratively there was Mr McCloud, a guy in his late thirties who lived a couple of streets away whose garden I tended once a week, which also paid peanuts until I caught sight of the inside of his house, made a few deductions and a calculated risk, and offered him the chance to suck my cock once a week for a significant increase in pay. He accepted the offer without any shame, and now I look forward to Saturday mornings. But overall it was the money I received from that afternoon's guest, Mark, that made a great difference on a day to day level. Mark's mother, our neighbour from three houses down the street, had advertised at the beginning of term for a university student to coach her son in some school work he'd fallen behind at, and since our first meeting the arrangement was beneficial to both. Mark's mother paid me quite handsomely for an hour or two of my time, and the boy was picking up at school. That day I knew Mark's workload would include History and English, neither of which was a strong point for me, so it was with a slight air of resignation that I opened the front door.
Mark looked less than his usual enthusiastic self. Today his longish hair was scraped back under a backwards baseball cap and his gangly, sixteen-year old legs swished in baggy denim as he nonchalantly drifted past me into the sitting room.
"Alrigh," he grunted in greeting.
"Yeah, you?" I responded.
"Tut tut," he said, mockingly, as he saw the ashtray full of joint tabs on the small table in the sitting room. "Been smoking a little bit of the wonderstuff?"
"None of your business, Einstein. What have you brought me?"
"English," he groaned, rummaging in his messenger bag for books and whatever, "and History."
"Gruesome," I pitied.
Generally our mood was easy-going and bullshit-free. Mark often used these sessions as much for venting his spleen as brushing up his Latin vocab, and that meant that the conversation was usually open and unguarded. But even within our usual boundaries, his next comment fazed me a little, as I sat down on the sofa a little along from him.
"You've got an erection," he said, matter-of-factly.
"No, I haven't, nosey. In fact it's just a semi, and frankly I wouldn't have even half a one if you hadn't been two minutes early, so keep your personal comments to yourself."
He seemed to like this turn to our chat, and laughed. I realised at that point that I hadn't heard him laugh before.
"Just on the point of no return, were you?"
"Insistent, aren't you? And nosey. Do you hear me asking you stuff like that?"
"Were you flying solo or have you got a babe hidden upstairs?"
"Marky, shut it. I was just fumbling when you rang at the door. Now what's this bloody English?"
"It's a bugger that, isn't it," he said, glumly. "Happened to me yesterday.
There I was, legs spread wide up on the edge of my bed with me flat on my back on the floor, wrist going at top speed, and bloody mum calls up the stairs for supper. Just the sound of her voice put a damper on things, and I had to pull on some clothes and get down there."
There didn't seem to be much I could say to that. He'd never been this candid before.
"Mind you," he added, "at least it was a quick meal, so I got back upstairs soon after to finish off."
"Marky, what the bugger are you telling me this for?"
He grinned. "As an apology, of course, for ringing at the door two minutes early. It's such a pisser if you have to stop just short."
I smiled. "Apology accepted. And anyway, as you said, you're only here an hour today. I can get back upstairs to the babe when you've gone."
He laughed aloud. "I knew there was a babe!! An inflatable one, of course, in your case."
"Don't be so cheeky. You've no idea who or what's upstairs."
"Hmmm," said Mark vaguely, appearing to have lost interest in the conversation.
"So," I said, bringing the real business to order, "English and History. Where do you want to start?"
"Errr," he mused, absently, as if he was suddenly on a different planet. "How about... HERE?" he said, placing his hand calmly on my crotch.
My dick gave an involuntary throb in response to this unexpected compliment.
Right up until that precise second, I hadn't given a single moment's thought to Mark's sexuality. He was just a young lad whose mother paid me a lot of money per hour. He was a bit mischievous sometimes, but nothing untoward. His English was poor, and his Chemistry dreadful, and they had more or less been my only thoughts on the matter right up until the moment he put his hand on my cock.
But now I saw that his gangly legs actually made him a touch over six foot tall, and his straggly hair gave him a just-been-shagged look, his lips were full and his skin clear, and his eyes had a vulnerable, hungry glint. Suddenly I suspected that all that baggy denim was concealing a smooth, lean, taut musculature. My dick pulsed again, fuller, harder. Mark felt it.
I looked at him, not really knowing what to say.
"As I said," he continued, "I owe you an apology. Getting here early, and all. You must have been well pissed off."
As he spoke I realised he was far from confident. He was gambling, and he had no idea whether it would pay off or not. I really felt for him then, and remembered what it was like before my brother thoughtfully made me a present of his friend Andy, what it was like to be sixteen again: desperate, unsure and undeniably homosexual.
"Say something," he whispered, his eyes wide with worry that I might still chase him from the house, his hand still warming the shaft of my hardening penis. "Only please don't say the predictable stuff," he added, gaining more confidence again. "Don't say it's not ethical, or we're supposed to be doing English, or it's not right for a teacher and a pupil, or what would your mother think, or anything like that. Just say, yeah Marky that's cool, or no Marky that's out of line. Because that's what I need to know: whether it's OK, or whether it's not."
I think I melted a bit at that little line, and suddenly I realised I didn't care even if it had been thought out in advance.
I gulped slightly as I swallowed my scruples and my conscience.
"Marky. It's cool, if it's really what you want."
There was a brief shadow of relief that visibly passed over him, but he didn't relax, and instantly I knew why: his nerves weren't about whether I would say NO; they were about what would happen after I said YES. He bloody well knew I was going to say yes, all that time. I smiled, despite the tension.
"How did you know?" I whispered.
"Just sorta... sensed," he said quietly. "And I hoped. And frankly I thought it would have been a fucking appalling waste if you'd been straight." He looked away. My cock was bone hard and at full size. It bulged in expectation as I listened to Marky's strangely moving words. "For weeks I've been imagining what you'd look like, how you'd feel, smell, taste..."
"Go on, then," I said softly. "If it's what you want, take it out."
"What I want...?," answered Marky, slowly, carefully, disbelievingly, his face a suddenly screwed up with desperate, painful lust "What I want? That doesn't even cover one percent of it. I've thought, dreamed, prayed, fantasised about this; I've spent whole nights wanking myself frantically imagining you slipping out of your clothes, I've followed you with my eyes for hours while you explained tedious schoolwork shit, and here you now, and you just say, if it's what I want, I can help myself? Just like that? As easy as that?"
Again, I was moved by this, but also amused. He was rather overstating his case, I thought. With the realisation over, I didn't need convincing on this point: if he wanted to have sex with me, I was going to say yes, and fuck the consequences.
I nodded. "Sure. Dig it out. Getting pretty short on space in there just now, anyway." I tried to appear nonchalant, hoping it would make him more comfortable. But already my thoughts were way down the line: would he give up his ass, right then, right there, on the sofa perhaps? Or should I not aim beyond nakedness and blowjobs? We had under an hour. How long does it take to relieve a boy of his virginity? Mine had taken all night, but then it had been allowed to go on for that long. The thought of a completely perfect, untouched teenage bottom made my cock throb wildly.
"Steady on, tiger," smiled Marky. He was still gently caressing the bulge in my jeans, trying to trace the outline of my shaft through the thick denim. I thought we possibly ought to speed this up slightly or we could find ourselves rushing a bit later on. I placed my hand gently on his arm to reassure him I wasn't going to run away, then stood up in front of him, unbuckled my belt, popped open the jeans fly and pushed them down to my knees. My large erection was barely concealed within Stevie's blue boxers, now absolutely gummed up with my spunk. Watching Marky's face closely, I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and then began to lower them slowly. His eyes stood out on stalks.
My hard cock sprang out when the boxers were down by my thighs, and I pushed them down further and lifted my t shirt off. The look on Marky's face was indescribable. My long fat dick stood up hard against my stomach, a string of precum detaching just at that moment. It throbbed again and I hefted the balls. My whole package was right in front of Marky's face.
"Go on," I said, teasing. "As I said... help yourself."
"Oh my fucking God," he whispered, staring at my naked torso. "Sweet Jesus look at your fucking gorgeous body..."
He was unsure of everything except that he wanted it. His hands delicately brushed my thighs and settled on my hips, and then with his left hand he very gingerly ran the back of a knuckle along part of the length of my shaft. I shivered.
"Hold it," I said.
Extremely slowly his hand closed around the fat length. He sighed, as did I. His hand was warm, and secure. He gripped well, and began a stroke, just a short, gentle one, and then another. I smiled.
"Feels good?"
"It's... you're..." he trailed off, lost in some private world.
"What do you want to do?"
"Just... feel... touch... see..." he murmured, gripping slightly harder, staring at my cock.
"And... suck?" I suggested gently, knowing all along that he was dying to wrap his lips round my bellend.
Marky didn't really suck me, not that first time. His moved inwards and I could tell he was savouring an important moment, but after that he just sort of kissed and licked and tasted my rod, sighing and whimpering continuously, without really getting seriously into it. Well of course nobody ever said expert oral skills were innate. But he had a long way to go. Again, my mind was selfishly much further down the line. I had to have his ass. But first I would show him a blowjob, just so he knew what to do next time.
I placed my hands gently either side of his head and lifted his mouth off my dick. I pulled him onto his feet so he was standing in front of me. He was a touch taller.
"Let's see what you look like under all those layers," I whispered.
He was like jelly as I took off his cap and lifted the two t shirts he was wearing over his head. He lifted his arms like a child being undressed by his mother. He shivered slightly as his flat lean chest was exposed to the air. It was gloriously smooth with small pointed brown nipples. I ran my hands gently down his arms and then even more gently over his chest, before stroking his stomach. Marky quivered, his lip trembling, overcome with so many new feelings. Surreptitiously I checked my watch. 45 minutes till our session was up. Did I have time?
Quickly I began to kiss his neck, chest and nipples while I unbuckled his belt. Marky whimpered again, but I didn't want to slow down. His baggy jeans fell at once to his ankles, but I didn't look down yet, as my mouth was moving towards his left armpit. I lifted his arm again, and licked and snuffled at the wispy boy hair under there. Marky moaned, out of control. His small nipples pointed harder, and it was obvious he was very close already. I left his armpit and moved my mouth to his face while gently beginning to feel for his cock. My lips touched his at the same time my hand cupped his bone-hard shaft through some soft baggy underwear.
"Oh Jesus, oh FUCK...!" Marky moaned, nearly crying. "Omigod... I'm gonna... oh shit!!"
I kissed him harder, and his tongue probed back madly. Then I looked down, and saw he was wearing loose red check boxers, and inside, his teen cock was spewing a vast load of juice, the pumps of jizz soaking the fabric in dark wet pools. I pulled back and looked at him, smiling.
"Oh shit I am so sorry," he began to stutter, "that was just so exciting... I never thought..."
I covered his mouth again to stop his flow of apology. I kept my hand on his still hard, sopping dick, the cotton of the boxers sticking to his shaft with all the spunk in there, and kissed him hard again. He nearly collapsed.
"That for me?" I grinned at him, indicating the spunky mess down below.
"Err...?" Marky exhaled, embarrassed and totally unsure of what to say.
"Thanks." I smiled at him again. "Yum yum yum."
Without giving him time to adjust to what I was about to do, I dropped to my knees and buried my face in the front of his spunky boxers shorts. I sucked hungrily at the warm wet cotton, and traced the outline of his erection with my tongue. There was no sign of his boner going soft. It throbbed and bobbed as my mouth and tongue caressed it inside its loose spunky prison. Marky released a flow of utterly obscene language, a vent to his uncontrollable emotion, a way of letting off steam as his body and mind tried to deal with the overpowering newness of intimacy.
"Jesus fucking hell shit fuck suck my fat spunky dick nuts full for you you fucking sexy horsecock cumrag spunksucking gay bastard cunt..."
Something in me moved up a gear as heard proof of the overwhelming, all-consuming desire inside this young man, the thirst that one quick climax had done nothing to quench. I reached for his waistband with both hands and yanked his sopping boxers down in one movement. His dripping wood smacked back - thwack - into my chin. A lovely teen boner; seven or so inches; uncut with his foreskin loose and still leaking juice; painfully, outrageously hard; the thin hair on his unshaved nutsac and his thick dark bush glistening with big globs of boyjizz; his shaft slick with yet more watery white stuff, running slowly southwards. Without a second thought I began to gorge myself on this treat. First sucking up all the warm sperm, then taking his balls in my mouth, then fluttering my tongue around his cockhead, then, while his knees were trembling and his mouth still issuing its filthy commentary, I swept my mouth fully down over his length until my lips were in his bush and his shaft was throbbing in my throat.
Marky's legs gave way. He yelled something as he fell backwards onto the sofa. Lolling back, panting, legs spread, jeans and boxers at his ankles, he looked at me in incredulous, animal lust as his bone jumped around on its own, sticking up proudly from his lap. I didn't let him relax. I went back down on him immediately and sucked and licked and teased for a couple of minutes until I knew he was very close again. Then I deep throated him once more for about thirty seconds as his hands ran wild in my hair, his breath noisy, ragged and alive, his hips bucking upwards in youthful, disbelieving thrusts. I pulled off him, and looked up into his face. I had stopped just in time. The orgasm flushed nearly to the surface, then subsided deep into his groin as his breathing calmed marginally.
"Jesus..." he whispered. "I never had any idea... is it always like that... I've never been this hard, never felt so horny..."
I ignored him, not because I wanted to: I would have loved to have chatted with him about sex and what was possible and how much he was going to love his life having sex with other guys. But I had only 32 minutes left, and there wasn't time for chit-chat. I had to move on, further south.
"Try not to touch your cock," I said simply, as I quickly slipped off his old running shoes and lifted his white-socked feet out of the pile of jeans and boxers.
I pulled his body further towards me, hooked my hands under his knees and lifted his legs high. His ballsac hung fat and full between his legs, dangling just over my ultimate goal, and his dick lay achingly hard against his flat stomach, spewing precum. I moved in on his nuts, and began gently tonguing and then sucking on his fat teen plums. He moaned and writhed in ecstasy. With both nuts in my mouth, I snorted hot breath from my nose into the base of his cock, rubbing my chin against the sensitive skin under his sac. He went wild. I know how much I love having my nuts licked, how wonderful it is to jack off while a lover tongues your balls; but, again, this was not our final destination. My chin burrowed deeper into his ass crack, and I released his sac so it hung over my face, red, bloated, full. In one quick movement I moved my nose beneath his ballbag, pulled his torso further still towards me, so his back was flat on the sofa, his neck cricked up looking down his chest, and pushed his legs higher and wider so his ass crack lay open and exposed. A tiny amount of light brown hair lay in his trench, circling his neat pink pucker, pinched tightly closed. I ran my tongue the length of his crack, swirling gently over his little rose bud.
Marky yelled in intense, unbelieving ecstasy. His hands reached to my head to pull me away from giving him such unbearable pleasure, but I kept at it. I licked his crack deeply and fully, snorting and snuffling in that most private of places. He smelt both fresh and stale, both clean and dirty, both soapy and sweaty. Gradually, very very gradually, he got used to the rimming - that feeling that gay boys just can't imagine until it happens to them - and began imperceptibly to relax. And when I thought the danger of another explosion had passed, I moved in on my target. Leaving the big sweeping licks of his crack, I gently began to French kiss his ring.
The soft moans and whimpers told me I might have timed it correctly. He was definitely giving in to the pleasure. He farted a couple of times, tiny little puffs of cleanish warm air, and he was instantly embarrassed, but I wasn't, because it told me his ring was giving up its inflexibility. I pulled back and looked at his flushed, angrily red face and his rock hard dripping meat. I smiled.
"Sorry," he said, "I'm really sorry, it's just--"
"Don't be sorry," I said instantly. "Any more?"
He nodded, again unsure what to do.
"Let it out."
He looked terrified. I nodded and smiled warmly to encourage him. "Go on, don't be coy. Let it out. You'll enjoy it even more if you're not trying to hold it back."
He stared me in the eye, and took a deep breath. Maintaining unblinking eye contact with me, his groin twitched and he allowed a long hiss of wind to escape his pucker. It smelt only very slightly. I grinned again, and he smiled back, embarrassed, but also with the satisfaction of someone who has just shared an extraordinarily intimate moment.
I didn't want to break the spell, so instead of returning my mouth to his crack I carried on smiling at him as I slowly licked one my fingers and then began to swirl it over his much-more relaxed ring muscle. He was melting.
"Do you like to play with your hole, when you jack off?" I asked softly.
He nodded, shyly, as if he was sharing a massive secret with me.
I smiled again. "So do I. It's fine. Lots and lots of gay guys finger themselves, and loads more straight guys than you would think. You get wonderfully strong orgasms if you include your ring in your wank routine."
We had reached the moment. I carried on talking to him softly, our lust temporarily sidelined. "Learn to love your hole. It's the most special part of every guy." I continued wittering, only half-concentrating on what I was saying, because as I was speaking, I was working my finger more and more firmly around and across his slick ring. He was definitely relaxing now.
"Have you ever looked round the house for something to slip inside?" I asked, almost breathlessly quiet.
As he nodded again, my finger gently eased past his outer defence up to the second knuckle. Marky's head dropped back against the sofa cushions, his eyes closed and his sighed deeply. I knew at that moment I could have his ass.
"What have you used?" I asked again, beginning a slow and shallow, non-threatening frigging action.
He answered slowly and quietly, his head still flopped back, his cock still achingly hard, his groin beginning to work itself around my finger.
"All sorts of stuff," he said softly. "Fingers mainly. The handle of my toothbrush, and sometimes the handle of my hairbrush. Once a small cucumber. A candle. Carrots too. A funny little thing my mum uses for needlework; it's got a stubby rounded handle. I love it. Especially fingers."
"Fingers? How many?" I slipped another finger comfortably inside his hot passage. He groaned in delight.
"Two, sometimes three if I can reach..."
"Have you ever thought about taking something more, something bigger?"
He looked at me and nodded again. "I think about it all the time."
"Good. It's hot isn't it, to think about taking something really big, really masculine up there." I licked the fingers of my other hand and transferred the saliva to a third finger, which I eased inside.
He moaned again very loudly, and nodded again, his hole was itching, twitching, trying to pull my fingers in further. I flexed them apart slightly and pushed in deeper. He could probably handle my thickness, I thought. As for my length, time would tell. I began to fingerfuck him more regularly, more strongly. His body pushed back against my invasion, and his cock throbbed in synch. He reached for his dick to wank along with the rhythm.
"Try to leave it alone," I said again. He looked at me imploringly. He was more than ready: he was gagging. I spat a big gob of spit into the palm of my left hand and slicked it along the length of my aching bone. He stared at my cock, his eyes giving away an immense, primal desire. My little finger joined its three brothers inside his hole.
"Oh Jesus fucking hell fuck yeah!" he cried.
"You want it?" I said soberly.
"Fuck yeah!"
"You're sure...? It's big..."
"I don't care," he panted, as I worked his boyhole harder. "I fucking want it. I fucking need it! I've thought about it for months! Every night I've fingered my ring, imagining what it would be like if you could ever-JESUS!!!"
He yelled again as while he was speaking, I leaned over him in a flash, withdrew my fingers and replaced them with the fat bell-end and the first two inches of my shaft. His ring popped open, then immediately clamped hard shut. He was staring me in the face. His erection started to wilt, and his eyes begged me to remove my rod. But he said nothing.
"You're gonna be a real man now, yeah?" I encouraged. "Take it like a hot tough gay guy? Find out how much you're going to enjoy getting fucked by a real cock?"
His eyes were still massively unsure, but deep down the desire burned stronger than the pain. I gently reached for his dick and began to massage it. Within moments the blood began to flood back. I pulled my cock out about one inch, and then slowly pushed it back in again: a tiny, unthreatening baby fuck-stroke. His cock twitched back to full hardness and I repeated the slow mini stroke. He groaned again, "oh yeah..."
I let go of his hard teen bone and lifted his legs high again. The seat of the sofa was really too high off the carpet for me to kneel and pump effectively so without removing the tip of my dick I reached for a cushion next to Marky and slid it under my knees. Still not high enough. Marky sensed this, and passed me another. That was perfect. I pulled out till only my helmet was inside, then slowly pushed about four inches in.
He loved it. He smiled and nodded in secret lustful agreement. I spat again on my palm, pulled most of my dick out, and smeared the spit on my shaft. I pushed in again, still slowly - still about four inches, under half what I had to give him.
His groin seemed to arrange itself around my meat. He adjusted his ass on the sofa, and looked at me again. Using this top part of my dick, I began to fuck him slowly. The delay was doing my fucking head in, and I felt like I could shoot at any moment, but I had to control it: Marky was young, hot, horny, sexy; his ass was prepared and ready, and he really, really, really wanted it. I might never get an opportunity like this again. I went faster, and soon we had a rhythm going. We kept eye contact all the time.
"More," he whispered. I obliged. Another couple of inches; and a slightly faster rate. He ass was loving it. Penetration now over, his ring was relaxing again and his chute was opening up. But still I thought we could do with more lube. I wanted this to be easy for him, in no way painful or uncomfortable.
"Spit in my hand," I said, holding my palm under his chin. He summoned a massive wad of saliva and spat it cleanly onto the centre of my hand. I pulled my rod out totally.
"NO!" he cried. "Put it back in!"
I grinned. Boy was he up for it. I smeared his spitwad along my dick again and lined up my knob at his twitching hole. This time penetration was easier. The crown popped through, and Marky grunted and lurched. Six inches of my slick shaft slid easily in behind the head.
"Oh man!!! Yeah, do it!!!" cried Marky.
I needed no more encouragement. We had 11 minutes till our hour was up; 11 minutes till Marky would be expected home; 11 minutes till Stevie and the boys might be back from footie practice. I drove my dick more firmly inside. My ass started to pump and I wanted to thrust in all the way, but I held back, my eyes roaming the body of this incredible fuckpup, legs wide on my sofa, ass clenched around my big dick, slowly fisting his own painfully hard meat. Our heart rates rose, our urgency began to take over.
"Deeper!" groaned Marky, working his ass, loving the invasion. I pulled out.