Alien Culture

The Alien Culture Project, part 29 By Rio Mack

DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay sex.

The weather was cooler, more seasonal, that late Tuesday morning, as Chance Taylor headed out for a five-mile run that would eventually take him to his coach's loft downtown. That day marked the start of his new one-on-one training regimen with his mentor. Wyatt had pegged Chance as the kind of natural athlete whose physique and skills would make rapid gains under his tutelage; he'd even win nationals, he'd assured the boy, if he was willing to put in a little extra work with him a couple days a week. Chance most definitely was: he not only looked forward to serious training sessions with a true master, but his cock throbbed wonderfully when he thought of the raw-muscled passion that was bound to erupt after their workouts ended. Both he and Wyatt had tried to be cool and businesslike as they laid out the rationale for these personal training sessions to their respective boyfriends, and of course they were both quite serious about grooming Chance into an elite collegiate athlete, but the two fuck buddies were also deliriously excited at the thought of the pumped-up man-play that would be a major feature of their deliciously private time together. Chance could hardly wait.

His coach had the hottest body of any man he'd ever seen, no contest, not even close. His muscle development went beyond perfection - not too lean, not too bulky, just pure rippling strength, pure hard-packed power, pure sculpted beauty - the Greek ideal made flesh. Chance's young cock began stirring as he ran, just thinking about that sensuously fur-covered hard-body and the thought of being in such close, sweaty proximity to it for an entire afternoon. Wyatt was not only encyclopedic in his knowledge of athletics and conditioning (guaranteeing, Chance knew, that his muscle development would accelerate rapidly under Coach's training), but he was expert in the art of love-making as well - in the precious few times they'd fucked already, Wyatt had thrilled him like none of the boys he'd fooled around with could. Chance was the kind of boy who took a special pleasure at the knowing, confident touch of an older man, especially such a drop-dead gorgeous stud like Wyatt. He was a young jock who was fiercely proud that his well-worked body could bring a mature, devastatingly sexy hunk like Wyatt such pleasure, and the young horn-dog in him was anxious for another taste of the sexual secrets that only an experienced lover knew.

For his run, Chance had worn some old black sweats and his Yellow Branch Wrestling sweatshirt. Plus one of his older, more stretched out jocks, which is what he preferred to run in - it still gave him support but allowed his cock to hang nice and full, letting it plump and jostle as he moved. He imagined himself a young stallion as he ran, his huge, meaty fullness dangling proudly. But he loved every sensation as he ran; running was one of the physical activities he loved most (besides lovemakin' of course, he grinned to himself). Even more than wrestling, running made him feel like a pure muscle machine. For his run that day, he chose a windy course to Wyatt's, so he could get a nice long aerobic workout; he wanted his body to be fully warmed up, in peak receptive shape for the workout ahead.

Plus a nice long run like this really let him think; 'Chance Time,' he liked to call it. And, indeed, he began reflecting on his life immediately, as soon as he started off.

He'd always thought of himself as a jock, first and foremost, in high school; someone known for his body, his strength, his ability to win games and take home prizes, to be written up in the home-town paper. But now, here at college, the friends he'd made, and his lover especially, seemed to appreciate him for his mind, his wit, as much as anything else. That was something new, something surprising.

Back home, about the only one who really bothered with his mind was his dad. The two of them had had so many long talks together on the farm, in the fields or the barn or during those lazy afternoons fishing together for hours on end. Nights, too, after his chores and schoolwork were done, he'd sit and talk with his dad on the front porch, listening to crickets and smelling those heady, harvest-grass scents. He'd learned so much from his dad, about so many things; his dad was a voracious reader, on such a wide range of different subjects. No doubt it was his father who got him interested in things like history and philosophy, which Chance couldn't get enough of.

It was great, then, that the guys here at college appreciated his cerebral side, because to the guys he hung with in high school, he was just another jock-stud on the squad, prized only for his well-worked body, which was always the envy of the other guys in the gym.

And sure, it WAS a good body, one Chance was almost shamefully proud of, proud too that he was making it better - stronger, faster, way more developed - here at college. Not massive or anything, just supremely carved, like the body of his idol, Wyatt. Fuck, was he ever excited to start training with that fine-ass muscle-god!

As he raced on, he thought about what more he could be doing for his body. He'd been thinking for the past few days that it might be time for a fast the next few days, to build on these couple of sessions with Wyatt. He'd done it many times in high school, to make weight, so he knew just what to do: heavy-duty lean protein tomorrow, then maybe just clear liquids - tea, water, apple juice - on Thursday, when he had another session with Coach, and just water on Friday, plus a nice long yoga session in that super-hot gym on late Friday afternoon.

His reasoning was that he wanted to get the absolute most of out his increased training this week, because he REALLY wanted to get himself as ripped-looking as possible for their trip to the dance-club this weekend. He wanted to be one of those totally shredded muscle-studs he saw last time, showing off all sexy-ass on the dance-floor in just a jock, driving every other hot-looking dude in the place crazy. He wanted to be the ultimate wet-dream gay muscle-stud - cool, confident, and flirty, enjoying the hottest of sex with the hottest of boys. He wanted to be like Wyatt, his idol, with a body reeking of male lust, so ripped it looked like your finger would sizzle if you touched it. His dick felt so damn juicy as he ran and daydreamed about the incredible night ahead on the dance-floor this weekend - he and Reed and the rest of his boys would cut a fucking swath through Sparta, no doubt. Then, after a cum-crazed night at the club, a totally hot jock-stud orgy later at Wyatt's. Damn, Taylor, what a fucking life!

Suddenly, a cloud of doubt inched across this sunny scene - he wondered about his dancing. Was he any good? He doubted it, and he sure as hell wanted to be. It wasn't enough for him just to have the body - he wanted to have the moves, too. It was his elite young athlete's pride to get the routine down and execute it flawlessly. And lately, after that first night at Sparta and then the Josh Turner Company concert, dancing had become a form of athleticism he was seriously into; it was something that made him feel like he was participating in some sacred, primitive, masculine ritual; it spoke to him as a young scholar of ancient Greek culture. He wanted to do it as often as possible now, get as good as he could at it, and he knew he had a ways to go. 'Two left feet,' his mom had laughed when he'd practiced in the living room the week before the junior prom. The dream of dancing the night away in athletic abandon at Sparta, with Reed, Tommy, Kyle, Wyatt, Jesse, his boys from the team, and whichever hot guys in the club cruised him, lost a little of its luster if his dancing was lame. Hey, he realized, David was a dancer; maybe he and Reed could go out dancing with David and Tag some night soon, or just have a dance party in their dorm, and David could sort of give him some tips. Maybe tomorrow night, and maybe Devin and Mark could hook up then. Fuck, that would be a blast.

As the pavement sped by under his running shoes, Chance thought back on his morning. Damn, it sure was cool waking up with two dudes in bed. He and Reed had woken sleepy-eyed together, to the exquisite sensation of Mark tonguing and lapping at their cocks, going from one to the other, impatient to have them wake so they could throw him another fuck or two before he left for classes. Which they did with relish. Reed took Mark first, while Chance enjoyed more of the boy's passionate oral attention, then Chance plunged his hard wet cock into that tight cum-filed hole. Chance laughed to think of Mark moaning and panting, squirming that ass over his cock like he never wanted to let it go. Fuck, was that boy ever a slave to cock now! But what hot young jock wasn't once he got his first sweet taste of boy-sex? They all showered after, Mark soaping he and Reed up, worshiping their cocks, begging for another go-round. What a bottom-slut! He and Reed eagerly obliged, one pumping while the other stroked the boy's wet, soapy cock, then they spun him, and the stroker became the pumper. Kyle and Tommy came in and jacked each other as they watched the show. Mark told them before he left how much he'd loved being fucked in front of those other dudes, that he'd had these boy-whore fantasies seething in his mind for so long and was so damn amped to be able to act them out. He kissed them both in mad delight before he left, reminding Chance to try and set him up with that dude Devin.

Damn, Chance thought, his dick really stiff now, college life was pretty fucking fine when your dorm was filled with hot-looking muscle-boys horny for each other 24/7. Shit, he laughed, Plato was right: every dude is gay at heart, a guy's body knows the kind of sex that satisfies it most - and college life was sure as hell providing him a very steady, very satisfying supply.

And the night before, that incredible first orgy in the newly remodeled pad. Football players fool you - like Lane and TJ, they don't seem to give off a gay vibe, but then you get 'em started and, shit, are they ever hot for messin' with other dudes. Those gridiron boys sure are a closeted bunch, Chance thought; maybe it's cause it's such a macho, aggressive sport. Different with wrestlers - I was just waitin' for the slightest push; must be cause wrestlin's just so damn homoerotic to begin with - no pads or helmets or shit, just dudes groping each other's hot, barely-covered muscle-flesh.

He thought, too, about how cool it was getting dressed this morning with his boyfriend, then walking off to class with him, arms around each, hands wandering from shoulder to waist to butt, laughing, kissing, getting all kinds of stares - broad, beaming smiles from the gay-looking boys, and flushed, secret stares from the straight dudes, even smiles and grins from most of the girls they passed. They both wore short, tight Ts, low-cut jeans, and leather jackets (zipped open, so they could each show off a nice band of cut abs where their Ts stopped and their jeans started). Fuck, he bet they made a hot couple together. It was so cool to be able to flaunt such an awesome-looking boyfriend on your arm. They walked hand-in-hand into Baxter's class, dropped their 'Alien Culture' assignments on his desk, and strolled to two empty seats together. Lots of eyebrows raised there, especially, he noticed, from the prof, who seemed almost flustered to see two dudes publicly displaying affection like that. Weird, Chance thought, you'd think, as a cultural anthropologist, most aspects of human behavior would be pretty much old hat for him.

Damn, he thought suddenly, as an image of Baxter's confused, furrowed brow came back to him, maybe he and Reed had made a huge mistake turning in assignments that were - shit, now that he thought about it - pretty seriously gay porn. Fuck, all those photos and videos, chockfull of all that bare-assed beefcake at Sparta and the gym! He suddenly got a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and wished he could get back his project before Baxter saw it. No way he could afford to fail a class, and getting some sort of disciplinary charge would probably cost him his scholarship, his place on the team, and his chance for a college education. His mom would die of shame!

Stop it, Taylor! he told himself. He knew he did a great project, very heartfelt and well within the parameters of the assignment. If Baxter's homophobic, that's his problem. Chance felt confident he could very seriously and straightforwardly address any kind of grievance board Baxter brought him in front of. And for sure he bet Wyatt would be there to back him up. Feeling more confident, he let his mind drift, enjoying the beautiful scenery along the river as he did the last mile to Wyatt's.

When he got to Wyatt and Jesse's warehouse, he took off his backpack and fished out his cell phone. Coach had given him a spare key with which to let himself in, which he also took out, but he thought he should call Wyatt first to let him know he was downstairs. Trembling with excitement for this first personal training session with his idol, he punched in the number to the loft.

Wyatt answered, voice cool and confident, honey-thick. He, too, was randy with anticipation at the thought of a long afternoon spent in raw-muscled intimacy with the hottest boy he'd ever seen.

"Glad yer here, boy," he said gruffly. "You got the key to the outer door, right? Take the elevator up to the top. I left the inner door unlocked for ya. Just come in and shuck yer street clothes. I'm back here in my training room."

"Uh, what should I wear?" Chance asked. He'd packed a couple jocks, some mesh shorts, a muscle T, even some sexy underwear if Wyatt wanted to work out in that.

"'Wear'? Why nuthin', o'course. Thought that was yer idea, no? Nude wrestlin' practices from now on?" Wyatt's voice was thicker now with barely concealed male passion. His own cock had been stiff and thick all day waiting for his young fuck-buddy. "Just shuck yer duds as soon as you get in and join me in back. I'm just finisn' my warm-up."

A stab of pleasure shot through Chance's young cock when he heard they'd be doing their training nude. To be able to see his mentor's awesome body strain and pump and bulge and sweat while they exercised would be so fucking hot, not to mention watching that huge, thick cock dangle and bounce and bob atop that big, juicy man-sac. The elevator stopped; he stepped into the beautifully furnished loft and looked around, loving to be in such a cool, hip space. Some day Reed and him'd have a tight-ass place like this, he just felt it. He put his backpack down, stripped off his clothes, and headed for Wyatt's studio.

Once there, he pulled up short, feeling his breath catch involuntarily in his throat, when he caught sight of the nude, muscular perfection stretching and bending lithely in front of him. He stood riveted and just watched Wyatt go through his warm-up for a while. His coach had a body like stone, only supple, animated; with curves and bulges in places Chance still hadn't - a testament to his age and expertise in conditioning. Chance could only stand and stare, thrilled by that beautifully sculpted body, muscles rippling like a thick, fluid current, bending up and down as he did toe-touches - such a perfect form, but alive and throbbing with coiled power. Those huge arms, ripped abs, those big suckable tits, and that thick luscious length of man-meat bobbing and swaying as he moved, so deliciously big and veiny, covered entirely by his thick foreskin, and mmmmmmmm, that lightly hairy, perfectly carved muscle-ass - Christ, what a man. It was exciting for Chance to think that his own youthful body, even though no match for such awesome male beauty and power, could bring a stud like that enjoyment.

And he loved that he was such a smooth, young boy, and Wyatt was such a furry, slightly older dude - a 'young bear'? Is that the phrase he read in one of Reed's stroke books underneath a picture of two hot students that looked a lot like Wyatt? The contrast in their ages, their body types, and their sex-knowledge seemed fitting, like what the ancient Greeks advocated - the young boy learning from and giving pleasure to the older man. Wyatt had to be every boy's ideal of raw, real, he-man perfection; that beautiful dusting of man-fur, accenting the carved granite musculature of his physique in all the right places, made Chance's excitable young cock stiffen with a teen's deep crush of breathless desire.

"Why'n't you sell films of you doin' that on the internet, Wyatt? You'd make a fucking fortune. You could retire from coaching."

Wyatt had looked up and slowly rose when he heard Chance's voice. He grinned; fuck, was he ever ready for today.

"If I gave up coaching, how would I meet such hot young studs like yourself, and lure them up to my studio for an afternoon of raw, naked, hard-core fucking? 'Scuse me, I meant 'training' o' course."

Wyatt, the boy could tell immediately, had shaved his usual week's worth of beard and buzzed his hair as close as Chance had ever seen it. He looked devastatingly sexy. Then, Chance's eyes lit up to notice that not all of Wyatt's beard had been trimmed away, that now the square-jawed, muscle-stud was growing a goatee - fuck, did he ever look hot in it.

As he strode closer to his idol, his glance was caught by the sight of both their beautifully muscled, naked bodies reflected in the mirrored wall of the training room. Damn, did they ever look good nude - how fucking awesome it was going to be to work out with Wyatt, both of them bare-assed nekkid!

But, Chance realized, in a sense, they WERE dressed: they wore their hard-carved musculature like a uniform, the sexiest uniform a true athlete could wear, a torso sheathed in achingly perfect definition, complete with beautifully firm ass and a full, dangling length of uncut cock. No other outfit could flatter a well-worked body more than such a fully transparent raiment, one which hid nothing, revealing every curve and ripple and bulge in stunning masculine artistry. As Chance drank in both the glory of Wyatt's body and the beauty of his own, reflected in the mirror, he knew the Greeks were right: nudity was the ideal state for a truly competitive athlete.

He slowly walked over to his mentor, their eyes drinking in each other's beautifully-carved musculature, in almost nervous anticipation. After a minute or so spent worshipping the muscle-porn of their bodies, their horny gazes dwelled for long, luscious moments on each other's thick, dangling, uncut beauties. They each had cocks of full, ripe perfection, big and long, almost seeming to pulsate with the essence of male virility. Both their foreskins fully covered their cockheads, giving a smooth, fulsome sleekness to their manhood, making them even more mouth-watering, like some thick, luscious sex-sausage. In Wyatt's case, the flesh-sleeve even nippled over ever-so-sexily, irresistibly, tempting you to chew and nibble and tongue and tweak and tease. Chance's foreskin was thinner, letting the full head show through, lovely and lickable, while Wyatt's was much thicker, his meaty hood blurring head and shaft into one long, luscious, irresistible mouthful.

Wyatt finally yanked his lust-drenched gaze off his young stud-lover's cock, but as he raked his eyes up Chance's powerful young torso, he smiled cockily to notice the boy's eyes were still riveted on his own thick, massive length.

Indeed, Chance was helpless to look away, Wyatt's huge, awesome girth was that commanding. The boy realized he was a slave to his coach's king-sized horse-cock - he'd never be able to get enough of it, it could pleasure a young dude in so damn many ways - licking it, gorging on it, playing with its huge stiff bulk, rubbing its stiff thickness all over your face and body, feeling its enormous power as you squeezed it tightly against your own, teasing its hard girth up and down your crack, then the glorious ecstasy as every inch of that hard, wonderful thickness plowed into you, filling up every ounce of fevered longing pulsing through a young boy's body.

Chance drew close and stroked that long, thick, semi-hard shaft, eyes wide at how huge even the head was. Wyatt purred gruffly. Then Chance knelt, helpless, his mouth drooling for a taste. Workout be damned, he thought, let's cut to the chase. We both know what we really want, so why waste time?

But Wyatt checked the boy before he could lower himself to his knees to slake his thirst for cock on that beautiful piece of meat.

"Whoa, boy," he said, voice low and raspy, "not yet. Just hold off, son. There'll be plenty o' time for that later. Don't know 'bout you, but the thought of what we'll be doin' later, after we train together, is gonna fuel the fuck outta my workout. Thinkin' o' the pleasure I'm gonna get outta that hot body o' yours, watchin' your muscles and cock and ass as you pump and stretch and strain - shit, that's gonna gimme such a rush, such a balls-deep tingle, I'm thinkin' I'll be able to push my muscles to do things they never have."

"You're right," Chance said sheepishly, ashamed at his impetuous young horniness. "Can't blame me, though. That's serious fuckin' meat yer packin', Wy. Most awesome cock I've ever seen."

"You'll have all afternoon, after we're done, to show me just how much you like it."

He pulled the young horn-dog close for a deep soul-kiss.

"Okey-doke, dude," Chance grinned, as they broke their embrace, "let's start some shit."

The routine was fairly simple at first: push-ups, then crunches (hanging and reverse), then squats, in endless sets. Chance's muscles were soon screaming - and truth to tell, so were Wyatt's; they were driving each other harder than they'd pushed their bodies before. It was not only the fierce desire of true athletic competition, it was the lust coursing through each other's bodies, the testosterone flooding through them, so amped were they at the sight of each other's raw, naked, splendor: there are few things as breath-taking as a nude, well-built male working his body hard, that finely-chiseled body fully displayed, exertion revealing all the awesome power coiled in those well-trained muscles; and these were two grade A, prime muscle-studs, pushing themselves to the limit, watching each other's perfectly developed, lusciously ripe musculature straining and flexing, muscles working together in a kind of choreography of masculine eroticism. Sweaty muscles pumping, dripping, sheened with sweat; thick long juicy cocks bouncing and swaying, drops of sweat flying from them; stunningly handsome faces contorted and snarling with strain from the effort - their was no hotter porn for a true muscle-hunk. Chance especially loved glancing at Wyatt's torso, those wet, sexy swirls of matted man-fur, plastered across ripped, glistening muscle. These two studs were turning each other on more deeply than they ever had been. Imagine the most erotic, dick-hardening muscle-porn possible, then imagine yourself right in the midst of it, part of it, able to breathe in its promise, enjoy its possibilities. These two, with each grunting, panting breath, were gulping down huge draughts of the headiest vintage of straight male passion; it was making them drunk on lust but leaving their faculties sharp and keen and ready.

[Plyometrics, medicine ball, heavy bag]

They ended their first, straining session together with a wrestling match. As exhausted as each of them was, they still had enough drive left to grasp and flex and grapple and lunge as they writhed on the mat, each trying desperately to pin and not be pinned. Getting a grip on bodies covered with what seemed a half-inch of slick, hot man-sweat was almost impossible. They grunted out shouts, curses, and laughs as they went at each other with a ferocity that was a barely concealed sublimation of desire.

Soon, of course, the desire could be reined in no more, and the sloppy, exhausted wrestling turned to raw hungry groping. Neither of them could check any longer the raging sexual passion exploding through every nerve. Their workout, they both knew, was not just elite-athlete training, it was the perfect brand of man-hungry foreplay for two such prime muscle-studs. And they both knew they needed to fuck IMMEDIATELY, while both were still dripping from the workout. They wanted rank, raunchy man-sex; hard, sweaty fucking; nothing more than brute, animalistic rutting, ripe with the essence of steamy masculinity - the taste on the tongue as it slathered over salty muscle; the heady aroma from a musk-damp crotch as one sucked a thick, gleaming, sweat-drenched cock; the panting gasp from spent muscle, making the perfect accompaniment to this raw, elemental man-passion. As they kissed and pawed at each other, they breathed in the sharp scent of male desire rising like thick steam off each other's pumped bodies.

They clasped and squeezed each other, ravenous with a hunger that grew both from the flood of endorphins and testosterone coursing through them, as well as the overwhelming force of a man's natural, homoerotic desire, which had by now been dangerously oversaturated by such prolonged exposure to each other's potently erotic nudity. They stroked one another's long straining hardness, half-fondling, half-groping at each other's impossibly huge cock, those cocks which seemed now, in their plump fullness, to be almost smugly anticipating the pleasure that lay ahead of them, the deliciously mind-numbing frenzy of desire that would be focused on them.

Their lust for each other, which had simmered and seethed during their workout, was now boiling violently. Wyatt's training room had become a raging furnace of man-sex. They kissed, not tenderly but hungrily, with the steaming hot desire erupting out of them; it couldn't even be called kissing, in the strict sense of the term; it was just raw, desperate sucking and licking of each other's stubbled cheeks and chins, buzzed heads, muscular necks, massive pecs and rock-hard nipples. Theirs were bodies built for the most primal forms of male passion: sex, athleticism, body-worship. And what they were doing now was a combination of all three - an arcane, ages-old rite; a raw, grunting, sweat-sheened, hard-muscled ritual in the secret cult of man-lust.

Wyatt grabbed the boy and pressed him close, pawing at that smooth, solid-muscle ass, while he played his sweaty stubble feverishly over the boy, wanting to drink in every part of him at once. They swayed with unbridled lust and an eagerness for the explosive pleasure ahead of them. As they rocked, their hefty man-cocks danced across each other. Chance moaned and threw his head back deliriously, so stoked was he to be at the threshold of full-bore sex with this amazing older hunk. Wyatt leaned close, their cocks still magnetized to each other, and breathed hot, desperate kisses all over the boy's neck. He began to play rough and hungry with Chance's hard, ripe boy-nipples, as both their cocks throbbed into ripe, ready stiffness.

The sex was on; the man-heat, stoked steadily during their workout, was raging, building to its inevitable thunderous release.

After the first rush of fevered intimacy exploded out of them, Wyatt lay back and let the young stud worship him. Chance was almost drunk on the sight of that ripped, sweat-bathed musculature, a maddeningly gorgeous combination of brute power and elegant beauty, all covered by those wet, swirling patches of man-fur. His lust-gaze settled on Wyatt's long, thick, shaft, sprawled irresistibly across his abs - it seemed to snake more than halfway up his torso. He grabbed Wyatt's huge, hypnotic thickness and fisted it down at the base (not quite getting his hand around that massive girth), bringing the head to his lips as if it were a huge glass of cold nectar to slake a dry thirst, wasting no time devouring as much of it as he could, slurping, snorting, greedy for that delicious length of man-meat. His hand around the base, his mouth taking as much in as he could, and still Chance saw there was about six inches of exposed shaft. Fuck, what an amazing cock. All you could do was marvel at it, desire it, hold it close, bring it into every part of your body possible, try to pleasure it (and in doing so, being so wonderfully pleasured by it). He felt such privilege in being able to minister to that powerful tool. He was the athlete on the team most intimate with Wyatt, the chief acolyte in that phallic cult of beautiful young wrestlers who worshipped their achingly well-hung muscle-god of a coach.

Hunger flooded through him, filling his mouth with lust-drooling saliva, helping him to work more and more of that thick shaft down his throat. Up and down, up and down, snorting with luscious delight, his mouth and throat stuffed to gorging, until finally he felt Wyatt's sweaty bush tickle his nose. "Urrhhmmmmm," he snorted piggishly, jamming his nose right down into that musky patch, inhaling the heady scent of raw, ripe man-musk. He grew light-headed from that acrid, intoxicating odor, as well as the incredible thrill of that huge thickness choking him. He raised his head up off the luscious shaft, letting his full lips savor each inch, then back again, slurpily, gulping the gorgeous cock down until his chin rested on Wyatt's hefty ballsac.

Then, used to that thickness filling him, his hands began to glide across the fur-covered, rock-hard expanse of his older lover's torso. It was an unparalleled sensory rush; it felt like his head might explode, his hands burn up with tingling, excited passion. Slowly and slurpily, he worked his greedy, snorting mouth up and down Wyatt's huge, stiff, saliva-slick pole. His own hard cock was pulsating maddeningly.

Chance sucked and licked and stroked that hard, thick, enormous length as if it were life-giving manna; then he pulled off and grasped that huge, beautiful man-cock by the base. He was in a half-conscious lust-swirl now, existing only for pleasure, both to give it and receive it. Grasping that hard, spit-glazed meat with a kind of desperation, he rubbed it all over his beard-stubbled face and closely-buzzed head, not even realizing how wonderful that sharp prickly tingle would feel on his older lover's fuckstick; he just needed to hold that awesome cock close, to press its power to him, its throbbing warmth, to bathe himself all over with the huge, ripe magnificence of it. There in that moment, he lived only to serve and adore the awesome majesty of Wyatt's manhood. His panting gasps of almost babbling desire became his prayer-chant.

The sheer sensual fervency of Chance's obsessive passion sent Wyatt into the zone - this sizzling hot boy was worshipping his man-meat the way it craved to be worshipped.

Chance was alive to the fevered eroticism of the moment. He rubbed his hands through the wet, sweaty fur coating Wyatt's chest, fingers gliding sensually through that thick, swirling mat, tracing lust-trails across the flat massive planes of rock-solid pecs and down along the deep crevices of his coach's solid, bulging washboard. His own body was pressed close, his mouth a rush of hot panting lust, his tongue licking the deliciously salty man-sheen off Wyatt's neck and face.

His body trembling with a young boy's strong, desperate need for sexual release, he began tweaking Wyatt's stiff, pert nipples mercilessly, while hip-thrusting his hard, raging cock insistently against his mentor's tool. Both studs delighted in the skull-ripping pleasure of their big thick logs grinding against each other, each cock pressed flat, halfway up their abs, so their fist-sized nuts could rub and roil against each other in their sacs. Chance could feel the cream froth and churn in his nuts, ready to pump out load after load of hot, thick spunk.

Wyatt, gave a low, guttural, deeply satisfied grunt, then rasped, "I'm gonna flip." He planted a huge hand down on the mat, then his body seemed to explode in a blur of motion; just as quickly, he came to a stop, settling himself in so he could nurse greedily on the boy's hard, wet stiffness. Chance had a momentary flash of amazement at what a well-trained body his mentor had, that it could so effortlessly perform such strong yet smoothly graceful moves; he's like a large cat, the boy thought. Then the young jock went back to lavishing hot, slurping attention on that incredible length of man-meat, while thrilling to the feel of Coach's hot furnace of a mouth on his own straining thickness. Both muscle studs were delighting in that most basic of masculine pastimes: two horny men pleasuring each other's cocks.

Wyatt painted Chance's cock with his thick, moist lips and tongue, all the while nastily teasing the boy's big, floppy sac with a strong, playful index finger. He'd pull his hungry mouth up off the boy's long firmness every now and then so he could watch that oozy rope of precum-thick saliva trail off the young jock's spit-glazed cockhead, a sight that always further inflamed his lust.

Wyatt had become a connoisseur of man-flesh over the years, so he could truly savor the exquisiteness of his young athlete's cock: long, thick, veiny, with a good hood of foreskin (not quite as much of a thick sleeve as his own, but more than enough to feast on). And Chance kept himself shaved sexily close, almost bare, so what the older stud chowed down on was all boy-meat, thick and luscious.

Wyatt's home gym was soon filled with the loud moaning and lip-smacking and panting of two sexed-up cock-mongers relishing the heights of oral abandon, mouths stuffed to choking with hard, meaty, drool-covered cock, feverishly gorging on each other, savoring this primal scene of manly lust.

Despite the raging, pulse-pounding fury of their passion for each other, these two beefed-up hunks made tender, almost delicate love to each other's cock-heads, teasingly circling their tongues under each other's foreskins, then darting into piss-slits, and kissing the tips tenderly, lingeringly, almost as if the tip could kiss back. As their passionate rage fed on itself, though, the tenderness melted away, and they began increasingly to devour each other's lengths with a grunting piggishness, hungrily grabbing and licking and sucking, gorging on those thick, hard, ripe pieces of man-meat.

While continuing to give exquisite head to the boy, Wyatt pulled his own huge, thick, glistening length out of Chance's cock-hungry mouth and rubbed it all over that hungry young jock's firm, stubbled face and jaw, then up over his freshly buzzed head, just as the boy himself had moments before. The feel of boy-stubble all over his long, hard, saliva-and-precum-slick fuck-stick was addictive. Damn, Wyatt thought, every cell in his body seeming to tingle wildly, this was the sex of the gods: two ultra-prime male bodies indulging in the wildest throes of hot, wet lust. He plunged his huge rammer back in the boy's grateful mouth, and face-fucked him hard with raw, short, insistent bursts, while attacking the luscious tool in his own mouth with inflamed hunger. He grasped the boy's huge pole with both hands, licking and slurping all up and down and over the teen's thick length, making sure to tongue his own fingers while he was at it, getting them all slick and wet.

Then, still sucking that hard, ripe length of boy-meat, his slimed-up fingers went to work on Chance's smooth, muscular ass with a kind of cold, knowing efficiency. First, squeezing and kneading the young jock's glutes, sending slow ripples of desire tingling through Chance's loins; then, using his strong, spit-slick fingers, he traced the intended path of his desire up and down the boy's beautifully shaved-smooth ass. Fuck, Wyatt thought, the kid has a kind of dream-body, one that seemed to spring fully formed straight out of an older man's deepest sexual fantasies.

Chance was whimpering. His ass was maybe the most sensitive part of his body; he'd begun fingering it in high school, way before he'd known he was gay, and ever since then intensive ass-play had been a major part of his jack-off sessions. Occasionally he could get himself off by just clenching and playing his ass muscles over two or three fingers, poking and playing around in his hole. Now, with gay sex, he had partners who knew only too well the erotic possibilities of a boy's hole. What Wyatt was doing to him was incredible, reducing him to mindless ecstasy. He hoisted his lithe hips a bit so Wyatt could get a better purchase.

Then, with his big young muscle-body draped across Wyatt's, his smooth sleek ass-cheeks wriggled hungrily over Wyatt's wet, beard-stubbled face, desperately demanding a truly nasty rimming, while he worked his huge, hard dripping cock back and forth across his older lover's hard-carved washboard, reveling in the erotic sensuousness of Wyatt's scratchy bristle, juicy tongue, and hot breath on his ass. His cock throbbed from the glorious sensation of this full-blown ass-pleasuring. With his hole taken care of, he went back to lavishing hot wet love on that huge prick that would soon be giving his ass so much pleasure.

Wyatt's fingers worked Chance's tight boy-hole with wanton disregard, poking in and around, teasing it, stretching it, nipping at it - forcing open his portal to ecstasy. He let huge gobs of spit drool out of his mouth and onto his fingers, which would then be used to lube up that exquisite pucker. A couple times he even brought his hands down to that hot jock-mouth working his cock, cramming his fingers past the boy's lips, so that it would be the boy's own lust-drool that would help lube up that tight hole.

Wyatt loved the fevered wriggling and squirming of Chance's ass on his eager mouth. Fuck, he smiled lewdly to himself, was this young pup hungry for man-cock or what? He continued to lap and tease and work his deft tongue in and out of his prize. Part of him wanted just to plunge his shaft in, hard and raw, at once, and get to the wondrous fucking ahead, but there was an exquisitely painful pleasure throbbing through his hardness with each second of deferred gratification. And the thought of the glorious feel of his huge thickness sinking slowly, deliciously, into that smooth, tight boy-hole kept fanning his lust-fires. He hocked another gob of spit right onto that sweet, luscious rosebud, then sensually worked it further in and out of that wonderfully tight orifice, making sure to toy with his young stud-lover's hard little love-nut. All in all, Wyatt worked the boy's ass like he owned it, prying and teasing steadily until Chance began to groan even deeper with a primal need for thick, hard man-meat to fill his desperate hole.

To get better access, Wyatt quickly rose off the boy and squatted, then guided Chance up. The boy rose in a daze, his conscious mind almost wholly overrun now with the delirium of lust-fever. Chance stood leaning against one of the mirrored walls in Wyatt's studio, sighing as the skilled tongue of his mentor resumed pleasuring his incredibly sensitive hole.

Wyatt smiled to watch that muscle-ass try to gobble his fingers and tongue in with a clenching, insistent hunger. He could tell the boy was desperate to flex his ass muscles around something long, hard, and thick, not only from the way he rubbed and wriggled his ass up and down over and around on Wyatt's fingers and tongue, but from those breathless moans and cries from the sexed-up boy.

Wyatt took short breaks from ass-eating, sometimes to glaze the boy's smooth low-hangers, grabbing them in a tight grip and letting his tongue, thickly coated now with saliva and ass-juice, dance sexily over those skin-taught eggs; at other times he pulled back the boy's steel-hard horse-cock, so his tongue could slobber passionately all up and down the hefty length, from ass-crack to cock-tip, pausing at the head to suckle on it greedily. Long, goopy ropes of spit trailed off, stretching from ass to tongue, every time Wyatt pulled off the boy's sweet hole to pleasure his cock and balls.

Then Wyatt rose up and stood behind Chance, reaching around front with one hand to jack his young lover's thick uncut length, using his other hand to play the massive head of his own cock all up and down Chance's smooth ass-crack, signaling his fevered lust-need.

"Oh fuck! YES!" Chance panted, his loins aching for his older lover's fullness.

Foreplay's over, Wyatt thought, in a kind of daze, lust for his beefy young stud rattling him to the core. He grasped his huge, hard length, pulled back the thick flesh-sleeve, and aimed his glistening, exposed cockhead straight for its coveted prize. The excited young bottom began to tremble and moan as he felt Wyatt's huge, wet, thickness ooze its way into his ass.

Chance felt a quick flush of pride, knowing he had a body that could so captivate a mature, masterful lover like Wyatt. As his mentor worked his slick stiffness slowly up into him, groaning loud and hoarse from the raw mind-numbing pleasure coursing through his hot bear-stud body, Chance eagerly squeezed that huge prick with his powerful, finely-tuned young muscles. He knew this was the most intensely intimate embrace one man could give another - this warmly passionate welcome of another man's sex.

Wyatt grunted ecstatically, and a slight, serene smile flickered across his face, as he took his pleasure, delighting in the way this young stud's desire was more than the equal of his own unquenchable thirst. The feel of that young ass clasping his huge hard thickness, drawing it in, riding on it, begging to be fucked hard and long, was exactly the feeling a steel-dicked, stone-muscled sex-addict like himself craved - pure, hot, sweaty, masculine frenzy. The fact that it was with this perfectly sculpted, voraciously horny young boy made it that much sweeter. Chance seemed to crave everything Wyatt could give, so it inspired him to give more and more, fuck harder and harder. Chance was only too glad to reciprocate: he knew he was being fucked by the best in the business - not just the most skilled cocksman, but hands-down the hottest looking. And so his ass wiggled and waggled and bucked and twitched, doing all he could to wring every ounce of pleasure out of Wyatt's mammoth fuck-stick. Not that he had to do much - Wyatt's meaty shaft hit his sweet-spot with machine-like precision.

Wyatt, positioned behind that smooth, young, beautifully proportioned body, cleared his throat of all the thick drool coating it and let a long ropey trail of saliva drape down to lube his huge throbbing cock. Chance thrilled to the feel - as well as the mirrored reflection - of Wyatt long-dicking his hungry young ass.

Soon, they were in the delicious rhythmic sync of hard-core man-play. Wyatt held the boy close, giving him short, quick thrusts, while his huge muscular hands played all over the young Adonis's beautifully carved chest and abs. He began to lick the young muscle-god's neck and shoulders and buzzed head while he fucked, wanting to get as many nerve endings as possible in contact with this fuck-dream. Then he let one hand trace down those abs to jack the boy's long, leaky, ramrod-stiff prick, jutting up straight and thick between those hard-cut thighs. Chance's pleasure was ratcheted up another notch or two - to the gut-plowing delight of Wyatt's fuck-thrusts was added this wonderfully sensual handjob, that big paw stroking and squeezing and tickling and tweaking with lewd abandon, and floating over it all was the electric thrill from the older muscle-god's man-fur playing over his hard-carved back. Chance just moaned in a kind of semi-conscious stupor at the full-bore, totally immersive ecstasy he was awash in. His hard young cock felt like a thermometer of lust, throbbing closer and closer to its glorious boiling point.

Wyatt, fucking the buzzed young muscle-hunk from behind, reveled in the glorious future ahead of them both. This boy, practically a virgin and with a sexual appetite more than equal to own ravenous hunger, was his personal slut, to use whenever and however he wanted. They'd found in each other the perfect fuck-buddy: from now on, they'd meet regularly, watch each other work their hard bodies to exhaustion, then spend hours satisfying that balls-deep hunger for man-on-man intimacy that seems to constantly pulsate through the core of all virile men.

Wyatt knew this wild folly of theirs would at some point come to an end, but he planned to enjoy every fucking minute of it, delighting in his status of the first in what would doubtless be a very long line of virile he-men Chance would couple with throughout his life. He'd make sure they made the most of their time together. Maybe, for example, their twice-a-week private practice sessions could stretch to three, adding a weekend afternoon? And Wyatt had already decided he'd suggest to Chance that one night the two of them hit one of the raunchier leather bars in town - he'd picked up a very definite vibe from his young stud that that suggestion would be met with wide-eyed excitement. Damn, he hadn't made that scene in a while: he took Jesse when they first started hanging out together; his lover had never really been into it on a sexual level, only interested at first for the photos, but then even grew tired of that, so Wyatt, too, drifted away. He got hard as hell at the thought of his return there, with this hot young man-bait of a boy on his arm.

Wyatt knew Chance had a steady boyfriend (another hot little fucker he loved now having in his sexual circle); he knew too - something brought into high relief at yesterday's wrestling practice - that Chance was fucking around with his team-mates, who knows how many other hot college dudes, but those were all kids. During their intimate sessions together, Wyatt would school Chance in man-passion - hairy, mature, hard-dicked muscle-sex, suffused with a downright nasty edge and that deep, aching need that youth couldn't fathom. Maddened with boy-fever, he pinched and twisted Chance's hard little nipples roughly as he reamed that sweet muscle-ass with his huge, throbbing pole.

"Damn, Wyatt!" Chance cried, voice hoarse with crazed desire. "It's so fuckin' long! So damn thick! So freakin' hard! Like a goddamn baseball bat! Feels so fuckin' fine, dude! I wanna just work my hole all over it!!!"

"Go ahead," Wyatt grunted, trying feebly to remain all steely and cool and in control - but no way he could keep up his sly, sexy front with Chance, because this was absolutely explosive sex, mind-numbing sex, radioactive sex. He'd NEVER had a partner so athletically responsive, so erotically gorgeous; he'd never met anyone as feverishly hungry for man-sex as he was himself - and Chance was probably even hungrier: Wyatt knew he'd be worn out on these training-and-sex afternoons they'd be sharing together way before Chance would. No man he'd ever had - and Wyatt had had so many since coming out in high school - had driven him to such rapturous heights of sheer muscular passion as this amazing young stud, this lust-prince he was now utterly addicted to.

He pulled out and lay back on the matted floor of his workout studio. Chance turned and straddled his coach, with the strong, fluid flexibility of a seasoned athlete, working the crack of his stone-carved glutes over Wyatt's long, thick stiffness. Then he plunged it in hungrily, wriggled his tight hole back over that enormous girth, trying to stuff as much of that huge manaconda into his eager ass as quickly as possible. Wyatt, lying there - loving every delicious sight, sound, smell, sensation - smiled to watch his young stud-lover use the fingers of both hands to stretch and pry his barely-not-virginal tightness open so he could drink in every thrilling inch of rock-hard man-meat. What a horndog, Wyatt thought, a lusty glow suffusing him - this young muscle-pup loves being fucked just as much as I love fucking him.

When his cock was all the way in, Wyatt left it there for a bit, throbbing its fullness through Chance's young loins, letting the boy appreciate the power of a true man-cock to fill him, complete him, while he himself luxuriated in the exquisite tightness and devastatingly subtle muscle-control of the young stud's ass. Chance wriggled and shifted with every muscle in his legs, hips, and ass, using Wyatt's hard thickness as a kind of mega-dildo, to hit all the pleasure-points in his hungry hole. Wyatt smiled to watch the subtle shades of ecstasy play across the young athlete's face, suffusing him with the glow that only a true stud-cock can give a horny young muscle-jock. He stared wantonly at the lusty hunk's reflection in the training room's mirrored wall, savoring every single thing about this new young lover the gods had blessed him with. To Wyatt's thinking, at least according to the hardness meter that was his own cock, Chance had the most erotic body imaginable. Just tracing those deep, sexy grooves of the boy's hyper-sculpted abs was enough to send a fevered pulse through his groin. How long has this boy been working out, he wondered? Or was it just a matter of incredible genes to begin with? If so, Wyatt thought roguishly, he definitely wanted to see the boy's father. Damn, he wondered, just when IS parents' weekend. He hoped soon, and he hoped Chance's dad was planning on coming.

Wyatt ran his hands with bold, sensuous roughness all over every grabbable inch of his new fuck-toy, letting Chance know by his rude touch that he had possession of this body - it was his to do with what he wanted, when he wanted.

"Fuck, son," Wyatt growled hoarsely, his voice thick and gurgling with lust, as if the cum flooding his dick was now rising in his throat, choking him, overwhelming him, "you know you already got the hottest body ever. Another few weeks of our workouts, and it'll be beyond amazing. You'll be the sexiest fucker that ever lived!"

Wyatt was purring with compliments - all heart-felt (or maybe, more precisely, groin-felt) - because he couldn't say enough how much he wanted their new private workouts to stretch out into infinity. He was addicted to this boy and too shameless to be subtle about it.

"Gonna love watching you get even bigger, harder, then see you in competition. Shit, boy, you're gonna win every match, no doubt. With you as an anchor we get to nationals, no fucking sweat."

Wyatt's dick was ready to explode. His lungs let loose with a guttural yell the likes of which he hadn't heard emanate from him in maybe fifteen years. Fuck, this kid was a goddamn youth-tonic, he thought, as his strong hips plunged over and over up into that sensuous ass, and his hands delighted in the feel of the hottest muscle-flesh imaginable.

"Gonna love fucking you silly, too, any fucking time I want," he panted, drilling this ass of dreams.

Wyatt's raspy, excited voice, to Chance, was utterly thrilling, hypnotic. He could feel his own young hardness pulse and throb more deeply than ever before as his idol recklessly pistoned his ass. He was light-headed now, almost laughing, as his body seemed to shake apart, his hard young cock wagging painfully as he bounced up and down on Wyatt's huge hardness. If he hadn't had the mirror-wall to brace an arm against, he'd fall helplessly, his legs were that rubbery. Every nerve in his body was meeting in some secret pleasure-spot in his brain and screaming with unbounded delight.

"I'm gonna mold you, sculpt you," Wyatt went on, barking now in sheer lust as he fucked that ass senselessly. "I'll own you! I'll fuck you ANY DAMN TIME I WANT!!"

Both studs were now gasping and crying and panting, aware that they'd never ever been to a peak of sheer sexual delight like this before.

"OH FUCK YES!!" Chance panted, his cock so hard it felt like it would never soften again, that it would just ache and throb and then explode. But still his ass kept wriggling and squirming all over that huge hard cock damaging him so, because even though the heights of ecstasy had grown too scary, he couldn't get enough of the sensations flooding through him.

"And I'm gonna be fucking this ass EVERY CHANCE I GET!!! BELIEVE IT, BOY!!!"

"Fuck, Taylor," Wyatt croaked, quieter now, his body unable to take much more of this level of arousal, "you're like a goddamn drug to me."

Wyatt couldn't speak any more. With all the rational consciousness he had left, he concentrated on fucking, over and over, that incredibly tight, incredibly responsive ass, as it played and rode and twisted and turned on his huge pumping hardness. His hands, too, seemed on a kind of autopilot as they stroked and rubbed and pawed the boy's sweaty musculature. It was like a contact high. This was sheer brute passion, base animal sex. As Wyatt could feel the cum begin its inevitable spurt, he heard a kind of crying hiccup: it was Chance, whimpering like some wounded dog.

There was no holding back. Wyatt rammed his hardness in to the hilt and plastered the boy's guts with volley after volley of man-juice, screaming in brain-tingling awe as his maddeningly raw orgasm was slowly, sharply, ripped out of him. When the electric current in his brain stopped, he fisted Chance until the young stud's thick hardness sent wave after wave of hot, thick boy-cum roping across their sweaty bodies.

They lay together, spent and panting for who knows how long. Then Wyatt, clutching his lust-object tightly, grunted as he felt the boy's finger begin to stir across his chest and stomach. Chance was tracing his finger through the thick, viscous, milky pools of cum that studded their hard-packed muscle. Once he'd filled a fingertip full, he brought it to Wyatt's mouth and began to paint Wyatt's beautifully sensual lips over and over. He got another fingerful and painted again; this time Wyatt, smiling greedily, grabbed Chance's hand and sucked the finger into his mouth. The he pulled the boy's head to him and they kissed, hard and sloppy, their tongues battling to scoop off all the cream Chance had smeared on Wyatt's mouth. As Chance's tongue met Wyatt's, they dueled. Chance scooped more cum up and coated both their tongues. Fuck, Wyatt thought, this boy knows just which buttons to push in me. His dick was hardening again, the fever was rising quickly.

He pushed the boy back and fingered some cum up himself, then traced gob after gob around the boy's small, prefect nipples, getting them diamond-hard and glistening with man-cream. Then he grunted low and raspy and swooped down to suck and bite and nibble those cum-covered treats. They kept up the cum-play - painting cocks and ballsacs and asses - until their bodies were wiped clean and their huge cocks became longer, thicker, achingly hard. Chance lay back and Wyatt took him again, a slow, simmering fuck. All the while he jacked the boy's hardness while Chance reached around and fingered his mentor's hot hairy hole. Wyatt wanted to scream, the sex was so good, so new, so perfect. It made what he and Jesse did seem like a tired ritual, he thought shamefully. His dick throbbed with a balls-deep ache as he long-dicked his slutty young boy-god. As he fucked, the feel of Chance's fingers poking and prodding his hole awakened a hunger for deep in him that he thought was long gone; the huge, hard piece of college-jock meat he fisted seemed overwhelmingly irresistible. He came again almost instantly, body and mind again wrenched with a brain-splitting orgasm. This time he pulled his huge thickness out so he could blast more cream for them to play with.

"Sex with you is the best, obviously," Chance said softly, when they had fully slaked that last round of lust. "In fact, I'm a little bummed sometimes when we fuck cause, really, man, I can't see how sex is ever gonna be better in my life with anyone else."

The young boy felt he had to say something, emotions were swirling confusedly in him. He'd never thought twice about having sex with someone other than Reed, it had never seemed like 'cheating' to him before, just dudes getting' together and getting' their rocks off. But today, with Wyatt, it was real, hard-core, intense. The magnetism he felt for Wyatt, the intensity of his lust for the older man, scared him a little.

"But," Chance continued, brow furrowed as he strove to get his words just right, "sex with Reed is so damn good, too. Good in a different way - wild, deep, thrilling, passionate. So damn delightful. Maybe not the intensity with you, the physical perfection of your body and the, I don't know what to call it, the 'sexual athleticism,' maybe, that you bring to it - I mean, for real, Wy, you're like a goddamn virtuoso in bed! fuck, you bring out sensations in me, pleasures and shit, I ain't even knowed I had! But with Reed, it's still so damn rich. Richer even, ultimately for me. You're like, sex I'd never say no to, sex I crave and need so damn deep in my body, sex I'd crawl across the fucking continent for, but Reed is like my desert-island guy, long haul. I'd be on that island with Reed, stranded, missing you like fucking crazy, beating off thinking about you when Reed was asleep, but I'd never regret just Reed. Does that make sense?"

Wyatt smiled, but said nothing. Because if he did, he'd have to say that if push came to shove, he'd take Chance on that desert island over Jesse. He felt bad for his lover, of course - someone he'd never leave, whom he loved dearly, totally. But sex was the be-all and end-all for Wyatt, the bottom line. If he had to choose, he'd choose the sexual perfection and endless excitement of this young sex-god in front of him in a heartbeat.

Fortunately though, he smiled to himself, he wasn't going to be stranded on a desert island any time too soon; he'd be staying here, in his wonderfully exciting life with Jesse. A life made even more exciting now because it included the promise - the certainty, really - of regular sex with the hottest stud he'd ever known. Even more exciting still, he realized, remembering how Chance had helped him, at that incredible Greek-style wrestling practice yesterday, cross a line he'd always thought was uncrossable: that of sex with the hot young athletes he coached. His future was full of all the sex with luscious young boys a randy satyr like him could handle. He smiled to realize he was hard again - but that wouldn't last long.

"Let's shower, stud," he said softly, his mind filled with porn-quality images of what awaited them under the spray, naked together, muscles pumped and glistening. There was nothing as visually hot, Wyatt thought, as a hot, big-dicked, hard-bodied stud dripping with water. To be in the shower with a young stud like Chance, their hands slick with soap, bodies tingling with desire - damn, he thought, this boy is gonna burn me down in no time.

"And after we'll start dinner," he added, voice dry and scratchy with desire.

Their shower was a sensual poem. Not surprisingly, their muscles had begun to throb, sore and aching, from that first workout together, a workout that had pushed even Wyatt to the max. That, combined with the glorious bout of muscle-stud rutting that followed, had made them both a little too tired for another passionate go-round. But there had to be sex, of course; those bodies were just too beautiful and those cocks too long, too full, too dangley. So, tired and sore but simmering with desire, the two spent warriors soaped each other sensually, bathing in the other's beauty, watching water bead on hard-packed musculature and run in rivulets down each other's thick, drooping uncut meat. Their hands moved and glided everywhere - over chests and abs, circling nipples, caressing buttocks and thighs, shoulders and biceps. Their erotic massage was therapeutic at first, using the occasion of contact with those luscious hard-packed muscles to rub a little of the soreness out of each other. Soon, though, they grew helpless to do anything but concentrate their touch where each wanted it most: on those hard sleek shafts, over those big bulging sacs and deep in the grooves of those firm muscular ass-cheeks. Their moans mixed with the whoosh of the shower and soon they were crying softly in slow, luscious orgasm.

Refreshed, clean, they dried each other, kissing and purring in delight, both of them almost giddy to be sharing such intimacy, knowing that it was just the first of many such sessions together. As he squatted down and dried the boy's gorgeous cock, Wyatt couldn't resist kissing and licking that gorgeous length of teen dick, inhaling the sweet fresh scent of young sex. He commented on how fucking sexy his pubes looked, shaved almost bare, and told him to keep shaving like that, how he wanted him smooth and hairless like a boy was supposed to be.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice thick with raw lust as he stroked that huge meaty shaft, "I'd love to fuck some real boys some day with you."

Chance had been moaning in pleasure, his cock hardening while Wyatt played with it. Now it grew even stiffer as he told Wyatt about the two boys he'd met in the park with Brock, and how they were excited to come over to Wyatt's party this weekend. He grew stiff thinking about he and Wyatt and those two young hotties.

Wyatt purred, too, while he worked the boy's hard young prick, now straining and jutting. The scenario Chance was suggesting got him thinking further, so he mused while he stroked, making them both hard and drippy.

"I get so many young h.s. kids visiting the school every where, who want to check out the teamand the preogram. Fuck those high school wrestlers are hot! I never tried nothin' before, o' course, but now with you as captain, we can have a fuckin' field day. We can show 'em what it's gonna be like on our team o' naked horndogs. If they ain't into it, fine. But if they are, shit!"

Wyatt was lust-fevered again from thinking about the changes Chance would be helping to make in his life, the endless stretch of beautiful boys that was his (and their) future. His cock was huge and throbbing again. And as long and hard as Wyatt was, that's how deep and hot the hunger in Chance's ass was for him. Soon he was taking the boy from behind, both of them panting wildly.

"Whaddya say," Wyatt asked, as they toweled off their cum, "let's stay naked while we fix supper, okay? We can get dressed all nice and sexy before our men get back, but I wanna see you sashayin' around my kitchen all bare-assed, watch these incredible muscles o' yours flex and ripple, and just gaze on this amazing cock and ass 'o yours."

As he spoke, his huge hands pawed over Chance's body as if he was some drunken sailor, about to bed a young luscious whore. Wyatt knew how hot his own body was - he'd examined it critically, studiously, in mirrors for years as he'd worked it, trained it, shaped it, to the mature, fully ripe perfection it now was. And Chance's would be the same some day. The two of them had bodies that needed never feel shame in their nudity - Chance would discover in time what Wyatt had, that even as older man his finely-worked body would effortlessly, insistently, attract the sexiest, most desirable of boys.

Chance agreed readily to Wyatt's sexy suggestion. He had no problem staying nude. It wasn't just the thrill of showing off his well-worked body to his idol, flirting with the older stud, keeping his lust inflamed; and it wasn't just the opportunity to have that rich eye-candy of Wyatt's awesome body and cock on display - there was something more. It was the luxurious pleasure Chance took in being naked. He always had, it seemed. Back home, in his room, and now at college. He had realized many years ago that nudity was his natural, most comfortable state, and so he was thrilled to have his body-mentor to share in that elemental passion with him.

The two of them strode out to the loft's kitchen area. Wyatt put on some music, and then the two of them began to work, getting out all the ingredients for the appetizers and the main course Wyatt had planned. Chance, still a novice when it came to cooking, followed Wyatt's short, clipped orders. They worked with a steady efficiency, focusing on their various tasks, but relishing the chance to stop and gaze at each other's muscular beauty, as their gorgeously nude bodies turned and darted about the work space. Soon, though, as he chopped vegetables, Chance fell into a reverie.

His daydream began when he realized that the last time he'd been naked together with a handsome older man like this was with his dad, in the upstairs of their farmhouse - that was really the male space in the home. His mom was always busy, it seemed, downstairs - cooking, baking, washing, cleaning, sipping coffee at the kitchen table, resting on the chaise in the parlor, playing hymn-music on their old piano; the upstairs was where the men hung out - Chance with his exercising or homework, his daddy with his reading and resting, shaving and showering. Neither of them wore much in the way of clothing when they were alone up there. Chance couldn't remember when he first saw his father naked, but all through grade school and high school, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world was to wear just underwear or nothing when the two would be lounging or working up in their rooms.

He loved watching his father's hard, weathered body saunter bare-assed around the second floor of their house, that big cock swinging and those hard ropy muscles rippling. There was nothing sexual about it (or so he thought at the time - who knows what his dad was feeling, he smiled slyly to himself now).

His dad usually always wore a jock when working in the fields, and the other wonderful sight was seeing him after he'd just stripped off his shirt and dungarees, that damp, weathered jock all moist and clingy with man-sweat, doing very little to hide every sweet contour of the huge package underneath. Chance remembered thinking so often: this is what a real man looks like.

He was a little embarrassed now as he remembered all the times he'd sneak in to his daddy's room, when his father was taking one of his long hot showers after a brutally hard workday, picking up his father's jock and trying it on, parading in front of the mirror, imagining himself an older stud. I guess all boys try on their dad's clothes, he thought - it's prob'ly only young pervs like me who try on their father's jocks, though, he laughed to himself.

He could remember countless times going in to his dad's room with a homework question. His dad would be dozing there naked on the bed, half-asleep, that lithe, lean, weather-beaten frame exposed, his huge cock lying back all plump and proud. Chance, naked or just in a jock, would softly nudge his dad and ask if he had time to help. No need to ask, really, he always had time, so he'd hop up on his dad's bed and listen as the older man explained the math problem or told him how parts of speech worked. It seemed so right that they were both bare-assed or near-naked; there was nothing shameful or suggestive about it. To Chance, it seemed the way boys and men should be - proud of their well-developed bodies.

Sometimes too, Chance smiled to recall, especially during the last couple of years of high school, he'd tease his father and they'd end up wrestling, one or both in just their jocks or one or both nude. His mother would have to yell laughingly to tell them to "cut it out before you bring the whole house down!"

And there were times outside the house, too, in the summer, after a hard, sweaty day in the field, before going in for lunch or supper, skinny dipping with his dad in the creek that marked the northern border of their land, then laying out in the sun to dry. Those memories were still so strong in his mind: he could easily picture the sun glinting through the leaves of the trees along the shore, feel the hot smooth stone against his bare body, see his father's thick man-cock as it splayed across his lower abs or lolled down along his thigh whenever he'd shift and rest on his side.

It all seemed so natural; these memories were golden to him. And Chance realized now the important lessons he'd learned from his father, about a male's natural pleasure in nudity, and about a fierce and healthy pride in one's body, keeping it fit, working it hard, so it looked good naked.

The two of them worked on in the loft's kitchen area: Chance now chopping peaches and mangoes for the salsa, Wyatt buttering and trussing the chicken, then working on the mole sauce; each of them flaunting the seductive eye candy of their hard-muscled bodies and lusciously dangling cocks to each other's appreciative gaze, which they'd stop every so often and leeringly drank in, along with sips of the ice-cold white burgundy Wyatt had poured for them.

At one point, Chance just had to stop and marvel at the naked, virile beauty that was his coach. So he set down his knife, took another sip from his wine glass, and slowly stroked his own thick shaft as he ran his gaze up and down the beautifully etched, fur-dusted perfection that was his coach's muscular torso; each cut muscle carved and firm, quietly rippling as Wyatt moved efficiently around the workspace, the thick, massive ripeness of that huge, perfectly formed cock keeping Chance hypnotized. He was riveted not just on the long, luscious shaft, which he could just taste, but fascinated by that huge mouth-watering head so seductively covered in that thick, tight, slightly nippling hood of foreskinIf any boy thought they were straight, Chance defied them to gaze fully on that marvelous cock and not want to lavish hours of oral attention on it. . Chance had heard the term 'a man's man' many times, but Wyatt, in his hard, hairy, muscular perfection, and the most awesomely luscious man-cock he'd ever seen, fit that description to a T. The worshipful young boy took another sip, then smiled sheepishly and mused aloud, "Damn, Wyatt, if we were together, you know, as a couple . . . ." He gave a shy, quiet sort of laugh.

Wyatt turned to look at his young crush, drinking in the naked beauty of his young-muscled splendor, and finished his thought for him, "I know - we'd never leave the loft. We'd be fucking all the time."

"You'd lose your job. I'd drop out of school, quit the team. Fuck, to have a endless expanse of time with you for sex, it'd ruin both our lives."

"We're like two moths to each other's flames; if someone didn't blow the candle out every once in a while, we'd be burned up in no time. 'Amour fou', that's what the French call it. 'Crazy love'. That's why, I guess, part of finding the right lover is finding a guy who can let you live in the world the way you're meant to. Reed does that for you - he lets you live your live. Jesse does that for me."

Then Wyatt wiped his hands, grabbed his wine glass, and came close to Chance. He gazed longingly in the boy's eyes, took a huge gulp of wine, set down his glass, and stroked the boy with a smoldering tenderness. They kissed long and hard, with a warm, moaning intensity. Wyatt's hunger was simmering again; he could not get enough of this boy. Chance returned the desire. Their thick, hardening dicks, jutting up now in full masculine arousal, ground insistently against each other as hungry hands each clasped a ass-cheek and hugged them close. They could feel their big, jostling man-sacs mash against each other.

But Wyatt reluctantly broke the embrace. This was wrong, he said to himself, hey had to finish dinner preparations and get things in the oven, he told himself, then there'd be time for more man-sex.

He was wistful, though, confessing bittersweetly to Chance, "Yep, Jesse's the right guy for me in almost every way. Just not sexually."

Chance gave his older lover a puzzled look.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. We have a healthy sex life. Very open, as you've seen. But we both realized long ago that Jesse would never fully satisfy me. Fuck," he laughed a laugh that was tinged with a sweet desperation, "I'm a fucking sex addict, I know. My only weakness."

"But what a weakness," he added slyly. The, irresistibly, he reached once more for the boy's huge, jutting stiffness. As he stroked it, he continued: "Jesse doesn't have the fierce, deep, almost animal need I seem to have. He knows it, and so he lets me have as much fun as I want. It's another way he's perfect for me."

Chance's dick was straining and twitching now under Wyatt's steady stroking; nectar oozed out the tip, and his coach made things even slicker by letting a huge gob of spit trail down onto that beautiful sleek cock. Another thick, sexy gob of saliva and he began to fist his own huge hardness while he kept stroking the boy's length. Fuck, Wyatt thought lustily, the two of us have such serious meat, it's damn near impossible to keep hands off cocks this hot. He began panting in loud, building passion. Chance moaned; the fever was on them both. The boy instinctively reached for his coach's massive, jutting length.

They stood there, in a kind of erotic daze, fisting each other's huge girths in their large muscular hands, slowly, knowingly, with a kind of rough masculine need. As big as each male's hand was, the huge shafts each fondled and teased were a very satisfying handful. Strong fingers clasped and squeezed, stroked and fingered, tracing the extent of their hunger all up and down each other's hefty shafts. The two of them could have stood there all day, fisting each other languorously, soaking up the thousands of delights coursing through them from this most intimate form of man-play.

Wyatt caught Chance's gaze and said in a low, hushed rasp, "You know the need I'm talking about, don't you, boy? You have the same constant hunger as me, I can tell. It's why we're so damn good together."

"Aw fuck, Wyatt, suck my fucking cock!"

"Glad to, so. Glad to."

In seconds they were like a beautifully writhing mechanism on the floor, sixty-nining each other lustily, unable to resist the sheer erotic force of each other's big-dicked, hard-muscled allure. As he thrilled to the double delight of Wyatt sensuously face-fucking him with that huge, thick hardness, while lavishing expert attention on his young manhood, Chance realized that no dick could ever satisfy him like Wyatt's.

But then another thought came to him with a kind of stunning excitement: there was another dick, he knew, that could thrill him as much, if not more. His father's. Suddenly Chance's mind was awash again with more images of his daddy's raw, rugged man-cock. Like Wyatt's, when soft it hung down an obscenely luscious two or three inches longer than other men's. And it was thick, perfectly shaped, covered with those lovely, lickable veins. And a nice thick hood of foreskin, also like Wyatt's, that begged for oral attention. It was a hundred percent pure man-meat.

Chance sucked and moaned harder as he thought about his father's dick. Damn, he thought, imagine the scene: Paul and Wyatt together, his father and his coach, the two handsomest men he's ever seen, the two men he idolizes, together - with him there to learn more about male passion, and to be used by those two he-men for their pleasure.

A fantasy-reel unspooled in Chance's fevered young mind: Wyatt and his dad and him - all naked, passionately devouring each other's bodies. Chance would kneel in front of the two as they sucked and kissed and stroked each other, taking first one man's cock, then the other in his mouth, sucking and licking and swirling lovingly, reverently, knowing how much he was pleasing each stud. When they were both hard and inflamed and ready to erupt, he'd take one in his very eager, smooth young ass. He'd take Wyatt's first, so his daddy could grow more inflamed as he watched his son fucked hard and raw, knowing his turn was coming next. He'd let Wyatt pump and ram until Coach shot the thick, hot, heavy load of a real man.

Then with a smile mixed of love and lust, he'd guide his father's cock in, luxuriating in the luscious, naughty sensation of his father's thick hard man-meat plowing through his coach's load, causing the cum to seep thickly out of his tight young hole. With his hands, he'd guide Wyatt's spent prick to his mouth and clean every drop of cum-slime off, getting him hard so he could fuck his ass again after his dad shot. And how hot would it be for his dad to watch his boy suck that thick luscious length of man-meat while he fucked him?

As each of the older studs worked a hole, front and back, they'd be pleasuring each other's hard, hairy torsos and kissing hungry sexy, beard-stubbled mouths. After the two men had fucked themselves dry in his young jock ass, he'd worship those hairy, cut bodies, using every young whore-skill he's learned to bring the two to hardness yet again. Then he'd lay back and stroke his hard young jock-cock as he watched the two virile hunks made love to each other.

Fuck, thought Chance, breathless and hard, utterly aroused by the sweet taboo that was his fantasy. He winced sharply and came again and again in his coach's mouth, in a swift, gut-wrenching, rhythmic pulse that seemed to dance along a tingly trail from the back of his skull to the base of his balls.

The phone rang before Wyatt came. It was Jesse; they'd be hung up at the studio for maybe two more hours.

"Sorry if we're screwing up dinner plans?"

"Not at all," Wyatt said coolly, trying to keep his boyish eagerness tamped down; the thought of more sex with this hot young wonder-stud was too damn exciting, "take all the time you need, we're jes' gettin' things started here."

"I'll bet you are," Jesse laughed.

"Back atcha," Wyatt replied gruffly, as he could hear what sounded like a very loud, luscious, lip-smacking blowjob being administered, by Reed no doubt, on the other end. "See ya soon, lover."

Flipping his phone shut, he told Chance the news. And then added, "Now, where were we," as he gently forced the boy's hungry mouth down onto his stiff, jutting shaft.