Hosting Skater Dudes
By Ben C.
This story contains sexual acts (oral, domination, humiliation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country or state, please stop reading.
Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free service running.
---- Some of the readers have criticized me for the unfair treatment of Rob in this story and suggested more or less romantic turns for the next chapters. I'm sorry guys, but this is a story of domination and submission, and it's written for readers who enjoy these kind of things – in fiction, not in real life. Please keep in mind that this is 100 % fiction, and no fags were harmed during the writing process of this story. ----
Part 4
"Chaz is coming over. He should be here tonight."
"That's fucking awesome, man!" Luke shouted back.
I was puzzled.
"Luke, who's Chaz?" I whimpered.
---- "Go ask Danny, and close the door," Luke said, drying himself in a towel that I knew I would pick off the floor later on.
I sneaked down to the basement, embarrassed of my cummed pants, and cleaned myself in the laundry room. Then I changed my underwear and went to find Danny. I found him lying on our living-room couch.
"Danny, who's this Chaz guy who's coming over?"
"Oh, he's a friend of ours. He'll take a look of the carburetor of my car. He's a real wizard kid."
"A kid?"
"Yeah, he turned sixteen a couple of months ago, but he's been in his dad's car business since he was ten."
"His dad owns a garage?"
"I guess you could say so," he chuckled.
"But the cops got a whiff of his business last fall, and he's been on government-paid vacation since then."
This didn't look good.
"So, you're saying they're criminals?"
"Well, let's say they sell spare parts that have been removed from other people's cars without their knowledge. But business has been kinda slow since Chaz's dad got locked up, and Chaz has been traveling around, hooking up with his girlfriends. And one of them lives not too far away from here."
"This Chaz guy... what's he like?"
"Oh, he's a really cool guy, he 's got balls. And a great sense of humor. You'll get along with him fine. Well, gotta say he's a bit short-tempered, better keep that in mind. I don't think he would like a... you know, a guy like you, talking back to him." "I see..."
"And whatever you do, don't piss him off. Okay?"
"Ehh... okay."
Danny's description of Chaz didn't make me any less worried. But things in our house were pretty much out of my control already. Luke and Danny had invited this guy to come over, so I would have to adjust to the new situation and avoid pissing Chaz off. That shouldn't be too hard, right?
Later in the afternoon we made an excursion to the local supermarket to replenish our food stocks. Chaz would be tired and hungry after riding his motorbike most of the day just to get here, but we would be prepared.
"We should buy some steaks. Chaz loves steaks," Danny told me.
We grabbed a shopping cart, and Luke jumped into it, giving directions to Danny who pushed the cart. Luke picked this and that along the way; chips, sodas, chocolate and stuff that happened to catch his interest. When we got to the meat counter, I pointed at some steaks that were on special offer.
"Naah," Luke said, "That's crap. Chaz deserves better."
He pointed at some extra fine rib-eyes.
"We'll take some of that."
I sighed and asked the shop assistant standing behind the counter to cut four sumptuous slabs of prime beef for us. I grimaced at the price tag; hosting Luke and Danny was straining my household budget to the limit already, and now I would have a third hungry teen guy to feed. I would soon have to dig into my own savings.
I paid our groceries at the register with my debit card, trying not to look at the little screen showing the total. But I had to take a peek... oh, fuck. Well, that was a price I had to pay for having three cool guys in the house instead of my bitchy step-sister.
We were packing the groceries into the car when Luke got an idea.
"Chaz would appreciate a few cold brews. Happen to know anybody able to fix this?"
I grimaced. I knew that Stan, the grumpy owner of the nearby gas station, sold beer to teenagers off his back door. We made a stop there, and after negotiating with Stan for a minute I managed to buy a 24-pack for the guys – for a heavily inflated price.
It was already dark when we saw lights flash on our driveway and a deep roar of a motorcycle told us that our guest had arrived.
I opened our front door to welcome him to our house, but Luke and Danny squeezed out past me and waited for Chaz to dismount his bike. In the dim light of our porch I got my first impression of him as he removed his helmet. Jet-black hair cut short on the sides but with longer thick layers on the top, combed backwards. He flashed a broad smile at his buddies while they bro-hugged each other.
"Motherfuckers, you've got yourselves in deep shit again? And ol' Chaz has to leave his lady moaning in her bed without Chaz's joystick in her pussy. I bet she's jacking off already with my picture, poor bitch."
The guys laughed at his comment.
"We all know she's fucking with the mailman already, Chaz."
They shot insults back and forth while they moved inside. I offered Chaz my hand at the doorway, but he didn't seem to notice. Luke and Danny guided him into our living-room.
"Make yourself at home, man," Luke grinned, spreading his arms.
"Thanks, man," Chaz said.
He took off his black leather jacket, glanced at me and handed me the jacket without a word. That one fleeting look into his dark, hard eyes was enough to tell me I would do whatever he wanted. I took his jacket to the hall and hung it on the coat-rack.
Back in the living-room the guys had already opened beer cans. Chaz was lounging in an armchair, hands clasped behind his head, his long legs spread wide. I inspected him discreetly. Yes, he looked like a sixteen-year old kid, but he already carried the aura of a man of the world. He was wearing a tight white wife-beater and the skinniest jeans I had ever seen on a guy. The jeans were dark blue, except in the crotch area, where sweat and constant ball-scratching had turned the denim light blue. The jeans hugged his thighs, calves and ankles so tightly that I wondered how the hell he got in and out of them. Well, the way things had been developing in this house lately, I might find out. And I would have nothing against it.
Chaz was skinny, fittingly for his teen rebel image, but his shoulders looked strong. His armpits were decorated with black hair; it crossed my mind that Chaz was probably not a guy who trimmed his pubes regularly. Anybody who took a look at him knew immediately that he had already fucked countless girls and had no trouble of shagging more. His powerful appearance was completed by a really nice broad smile and a catchy laugh that I had already heard several times when he exchanged obscenities with his raspy voice with Danny and Luke.
I left the boys to talk guy-talk with each other and started to finalize our dinner. I had already made the salad and the mash, and the only stage of preparations left was charcoaling of the steaks and corn cobs. I went back to the living room to ask how the guys wanted their steaks cooked. Luke and Danny went for medium, while Chaz grunted:
"I love to see blood."
I did my best with our little charcoal grill, throwing in Chaz's slab last. I thought about him while I waited for the boys' steaks to cook. He didn't seem so bad. He was rude to me, yes, but I didn't mind. Being pushed around a bit by good-looking and arrogant young guys was a turn-on for me; taking orders from Luke and Danny made my cock harden and Chaz had the same impact on me. Smoke coming from the grill interrupted my dreaming. Fuck, I had grilled Chaz's steak for a minute or two too long. Maybe he won't notice, I thought hopefully and brushed some crust off it with a knife.
"Aww, fuck, you overcooked my steak, fucker! I said blood," Chaz snarled and pushed his plate away.
"I won't eat that shit."
Luke and Danny stared at me accusingly.
"Sorry Chaz. We've still got one steak. I'll cook it for you and try to make it the way you like," I said and rushed to the kitchen to get my own slab.
I grilled Chaz's steak number two very carefully, staring at it intensely, until it had a nice tan, and red liquid oozed through it. Then I placed it in front of Chaz on a clean plate. He attacked the meat with his fork and steak knife. To my relief he started to wolf it down with a smile on his face.
The guys were really hungry and kept me busy bringing them more beer, corn cobs and hash and stuff from the kitchen with no time for my own dinner, until they were fully satisfied.
Chaz sat back on his chair and sighed.
"That was some fucking dinner. Thanks guys," he said and exchanged high-fives with Luke and Danny.
"Anytime, bro," Luke smiled.
I took Chaz's abandoned steak and munched it with cold mash and the last corn cob. Meanwhile, the guys began to plan an agenda for the next day. Chaz had done some research on the net and found a dealership in a bigger town some sixty miles away that had a right kind of carburetor in stock.
"It's not easy to find spare parts for an old wreck like your truck, Danny. I could get you a better ride with a good price," he laughed.
"My truck has tons of sentimental value. I lost my virginity in it and it has seen some serious fucking since then."
"Well, we'll get you a new carburetor then. You've got the dough for it? It should be around a hundred and twenty, hundred and fifty bucks."
"Fuck," Danny exclaimed.
"No worries guys, I'll get my paycheck the day after tomorrow", Luke chimed in.
"And I'm sure that a certain very good friend of mine will be kind enough to grant me a little short-time credit until then," he said and smiled at me. Danny and Chaz looked at me, too. Talk about pressure...
"Well, yeah, I guess that can be arranged," I said with a weak voice. That money would come from my savings account.
"Great. You wanna go with Chaz, or maybe you'll just give him like two hundred bucks and he brings you the change?" Danny asked.
That didn't sound good to me. I knew that if I would give him cash, I wouldn't get a dime back, whatever the purchase price of the carburetor.
"I guess I'll just come along with my debit card."
"Okay. You wanna take the Mini, Chaz?"
"Oh no," Luke chimed in.
"I need the wheels tomorrow. Sandy's mum and dad are out of town, and I'm gonna entertain their daughter meanwhile."
The guys laughed some dirty guy-laugh between themselves to acknowledge that one of them was going to get laid soon.
"Okay, we'll take my bike," Chaz decided.
The guys got up and moved over to the living-room to chill and watch football. I cleared the table, started the dishwasher and joined them.
Luke and Danny had taken over our couch – my bed – and Chaz was sprawled in one our armchairs, his dirty Converse shoes resting on Janet's beige carpet. He sniffed his armpit.
"Fuck, I smell pretty bad. Gotta take a shower. And I'm running out of clean clothes. Suzie, the lazy cunt, forgot to take care of my gear. Any bitches around to wash my shit?"
Danny and Luke pointed at me with their thumbs without moving their gaze from the game. Chaz looked at me, and a sneer appeared on his boyish face. He laughed that nice, catchy laugh of his. I felt my face turn red.
"The man of the house? He-he-he. Suits me. I want a clean set for tomorrow, dude. Bring my saddlebags. You'll find my shitty gear there. But first, get me a towel. "
"Okay," I muttered and went to get a towel.
I heard Chaz say something behind my back. Luke said something back and they all laughed.
"Really? Anything?" I heard Chaz burst out.
When I got back with the towel, Chaz had already stripped off his tank-top. He stood in front of his chair, unbuckling his belt. I stopped on my heels and did what any self-respecting 17-year old homo would do: stared at him with longing eyes. Chaz minus a shirt was really something to drool over. His upper body had a natural dark tan – and it was tight! His frame wasn't ripped, he didn't have pumped muscles; he was skinny but taut, like a natural born athlete who never bothered to go to the gym. His ribcage was clearly visible under the skin, but his shoulders, pecs and stomach were covered with wiry, tight muscle, and his biceps looked like baseballs. He looked like a guy who could take care of himself in a fight – and very probably had done that many times.
Chaz woke me from my trance.
"What the fuck are you looking at? Stop staring and help me get these shoes off my feet."
Chaz unzipped his jeans and sat down in the armchair, spreading his legs. I kneeled in front of him and fumbled with the laces of his tattered, once-white hi-tops. I yanked the shoes off his feet, releasing a pretty intense odor, which made me instinctively wrinkle my nose a bit. He snickered.
"You don't like the way my feet smell? They've been in these Chucks since this morning. And I saw you looking down on my shoes when I came in. You don't want me to walk around your house in these dirty dogs, do you?"
"Well, Chaz, now that you mentioned it, I would appreciate if you didn't. With all respect," I added, remembering Danny's advice.
"We've got us a deal then. Just clean my Chucks, kid," he laughed.
`Kid?' In the world of teenagers an age difference of one year meant the world. I was supposed to be the one calling Chaz a kid, if necessary. But he had turned the tables, just like that.
"Umm, okay," was the only answer I could come up with.
"Now, help me get out of these jeans. I want them back clean in the morning."
He lifted his butt and yanked the skintight pants down to his thighs. I grabbed the legs and inched the jeans down little by little, finally managing to slide them completely off without ripping them.
Danny chuckled.
"Fuck Chaz, why do you always have to wear so fucking tight jeans? Seems a bit hard taking them off."
Chaz grinned at him.
"It's Chaz-style, Danny. I like to show off for the ladies. They love my butt."
I was still kneeling in front of him and got a ringside view at his lower body. I did a quick scan: nice calves, covered with black hair; lean, hairless thighs, ample basket covered by black stretch boxer trunks. I wondered what kind of a love-rocket was hidden there. The girls seemed to like it, and I was certain that I would too. Now, let's see about that...
Chaz stretched his body and yawned.
"You motherfuckers have already got all the decent beds here, right?"
Danny and Luke affirmed that apologetically. Chaz didn't seem to mind.
"I guess that leaves me the couch, then. Better that nothing. Get me some beddings, kid."
He was going to take my bed! There were no more free beds left in the house, as Janet always locked her bedroom door when she left the house. But talking back to Chaz was no option.
"Coming right up, Chaz."
I made him a decent bed on the couch while he was taking a shower. I had still a lot of things to do before I could sleep myself – somewhere. I went out and with some difficulty managed to disconnect Chaz's saddlebags from his sturdy black Honda. I carried them in and opened them to find his laundry bag. Well, he didn't have one. His dirty clothes were just stuffed randomly in the bags together with all his other stuff, so I had to unpack the bags completely to make sure I didn't miss a sock.
I started to move his things to the laundry room counter. A hoodie, a toolbox, a sock. He said he was running out of gear, so some of his clothes had to be clean, and he would want them after his shower. There was only one way to find out which pieces of his mainly black and dark blue clothing were clean, so I picked them up one buy one and sniffed every sock, every pair of boxers and every t-shirt. That wasn't so hard after all and I liked his boyish but masculine odor very much.
I emptied the bags completely and opened the side pockets to see if he had stuffed any of his clothes there. No, but in the first pocket I opened I found a strange-looking tool: all kinds of hooks and picks hanging off a metal ring. Part of his dad's business, obviously. The pocket contained also a nasty looking switchblade. I closed the pocket and opened the other one. Two packs of condoms – extra thin – and something hard and black. I took it out – a knuckleduster. I hoped he would not need it while staying in our house...
I got the washer going and gave Chaz's jeans a hand wash in the sink. Then I squeezed loose water off them in a towel, gave them a gentle ironing and hung them up on the clothes line. They would be dry in the morning.
I wasn't sure if Chaz had been joking when he told me to clean his shoes, but I didn't want to find out the hard way. I went back to the living room and found Chaz there drying himself in the towel I had brought him. He had his back towards me, and I admired his V-shaped back, narrow waist and tight little buttocks for a while before laying his last set of clean clothes on the table. I saw a satisfied smirk on his face when he noticed me picking up his shoes.
The dirty and tattered Chucks were pretty much a lost cause; a pair of shoes that any adult would have thrown away long ago; but for a hot teen guy like Chaz they were the crown of his outfit, a perfect match with his leather coat and skinny jeans. I have always had a thing for young guys in tight jeans and Chucks. I thought the combination was hot as fuck. I just had to inspect these, so I closed the door and took a deep breath with my face buried in one the shoes. The odor I had sensed earlier was there, but much stronger. Chaz had taken my nose-wrinkling as a disgusted reaction, but it wasn't that. I had taken some risks at the locker room of our school occasionally, sniffing some hot guy's shoes while everybody else was out on the field or in the shower. The combination of rubber, canvas and teen boy feet gave me every time an instant hard-on, and I savored the odor all the way home, finally jacking off with it in my bedroom, dreaming of the owner of the Chucks.
I scratched dirt off the soles the best I could and scrubbed the other parts of the shoes with a piece of wet cloth. When I was done, the Chucks showed some signs of having been cleaned – I had done my best. I finished my day's work by loading Chaz's wash to the dryer and pressed the Start button.
I found an old thin camping mattress and a worn blanket in our storage room and spread them on the floor of the laundry room. I rolled up my hoodie as a substitute pillow and lay down on the mattress, feeling the roughness of the concrete torture my bony frame. Against all odds, I fell asleep pretty soon.
The sun shining through the little window woke me up. I forced my stiff body up and limped upstairs to make breakfast. The guys got up pretty soon, too, and after quick breakfasts and showers we were ready to face the challenges of the day. Luke organized us into three teams and explained our tasks. Team number one, Chaz and me, would go to get Danny's car a new carburetor. Team number two, Danny, was given the task of taking his skateboard to the park, while team number three, Luke, was assigned the responsibility of fucking Sandy's brains out.
Chaz showed me how to mount his bike properly; feet resting on the taps all the time, hands holding the rail behind my back – not him – following his moves and leaning to the same direction as he. He gave me a big helmet and tightened the strap. He pointed at a red button inside the helmet.
"This is the intercom. You push the button and it's on; you can hear me and talk to me. But no small talk, I don't want to hear your voice unless you've got something really important to say. Got it?"
"Got it."
And with that we took off to find Danny's carburetor. The ride was mostly uneventful and I enjoyed the way Chaz commanded his bike with confident moves – and I enjoyed sitting so close to him, although I didn't dare even to think of touching him.
Suddenly I heard Chaz's raspy voice inside my helmet.
"How's the love of my life doing today?"
What the fuck? I was just about to stutter something when it hit me that he was speaking to a girl on the hands-free. I couldn't hear what the chick in the other end said, but the message was clear.
"I'm coming over in a couple of days, honey, and I'm hard already. What? You know I'm loyal, sweetheart, I wouldn't even look at other girls. Well, of course I've got a present for you." And so on and so on.
Chaz kept my helmet filled with sweet-talk for the rest of the ride, but he managed to navigate us with his GPS to a dubious little warehouse on a strip mall. We dismounted, took off our helmets and found a hand-written sign on the front door.
"Gona be back prety soon," it said.
"Fuck," we said in chorus.
We just had to wait, so we sat down on a patch of lawn by the parking lot. Chaz took out his switchblade and started to clean his fingernails. Neither of us had nothing to say, so we just sat there in silence, while Chaz worked with his nails. I sat deep in my thoughts, until he suddenly asked:
"So, what's it like?"
"What's what like, Chaz?"
"You know, being a fag and all," he replied casually.
I thought for a while.
"I dunno. Just like being anybody else, I guess. No big deal."
He found my answer amusing.
"Like anybody else? But anybody else won't take a guy's cock in his mouth and suck it. That's fag business," he laughed.
"Well, that's true."
"Do you fags think about cock all the time?"
"Well, do you straight guys think about pussy all the time?"
"Hell yeah," he laughed.
"Luke and Danny suggested I should let you suck me off. You'd want to do me, right?
It was an easy question. I would be on my knees in front of this cocky young stallion if he just gave me a nod.
"Yeah. Anytime."
He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.
"My fuck-muscle has been stuffed inside these tight pants all day, and this fucking heat makes me sweat a lot down there, I can tell you that. But you'd start slurping it just like that, wouldn't you?"
"Sure."
"Fuck, you are a sick faggot," he laughed.
Then he concentrated in his fingernails for a while.
"What would you do to me? I mean, if I'd let you."
I thought about it. Somehow, our conversation didn't make me feel embarrassed. Chaz surely knew by now what kind of services I had provided for Danny and Luke. And I knew they had not spared him any detail.
"Well, first of all we would need to get your cock out of your pants, of course."
"What? Here in the parking lot? Are you fuckin' mad?"
"No, not here. Let me see."
My brain worked with overload for maybe ten seconds.
"Well, there's this old boathouse on our way back. We could use that."
"Alright. So, we're in the boathouse. Then what?"
"Well, we'd have to get you out of those jeans, that's for sure. They are way too tight for you to receive a blowjob comfortably."
"Okay. So fuck the jeans. Go on."
"You'd probably need some warming up as this is your first time with a fag. I would ask you to sit back and relax. Then I would pull down your underpants and start working with your package. I would probably begin by licking your balls."
"You would lap my boys?"
I glanced at Chaz and saw that his lips were pressed tight and his eyes were partly closed. And yes, the bulge in his jeans had grown bigger. He definitely was getting interested. I decided to raise the heat.
"Yeah. I'm sure your big boys would appreciate a nice tongue-bath after steaming in those skinny jeans all day long. I would lick the sweat off your groin, taking care of every square inch."
He cut me off.
"Every inch of my groin?"
"Every inch, Chaz."
"Oh, god. Oh, god. Look, man, there's this thing with my..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
"What thing, Chaz?"
"No, forget about it. It was nuthin'."
Well, now things were really getting interesting.
"You can tell me. It's like talking to your doctor."
"You swear? I'll kill you if you rat this out."
"I swear. I'll keep your secret, Chaz. You won't need to kill me."
He hesitated, biting his lower lip. Finally he gave in.
"The thing is, there's this special spot behind my balls. I've never asked any of my chicks to touch it; they all have inch-long fingernails. And all the time I keep thinking what it would feel like if someone else than me touched it. It's such a fucking hotspot, man."
He spread his legs and pointed a spot on his jeans way below the crotch area. I noticed that the middle seam of his jeans was torn open near the area he pointed.
I knew immediately what he was talking about. It was a sensitive point in my own body, too, and I had read in Janet's Cosmopolitan, that for some guys the spot was astro-fucking-nomically sensitive. Obviously Chaz was one of those guys. I immediately sensed that this might offer me a possibility to earn Chaz's gratitude.
"I know the spot, Chaz."
"But it's right next to my asshole. I won't let anyone touch me there," he shot angrily.
"No worries. I've worked with it many times," I lied. "Never touched a guy's asshole."
To be honest, my only source of information on how to find a guy's G-spot was the single crumpled issue of Cosmopolitan in our basement.
Our conversation had produced a nice hardon inside Chaz's jeans. There might even be a small wet spot, I noticed. He saw me looking at his hard-on and the spell was suddenly gone.
"Fuck, you got me all boned, you faggot piece of shit," he snapped and shot an angry glance at me.
"Sorry, Chaz."
We sat waiting without a word until a very suspicious-looking old guy showed up in an old pick-up. He opened the shop and got us the carburetor. We had stopped at an ATM on the way in case it would be cash only, but I was able to use my debit card, leaving me a substantial amount of cash in my wallet.
We shot off the parking lot like a missile. Chaz was still pissed with me; he probably blamed himself for letting his guard down in front of a fag.
We rode a long way without a word.
We were standing at a red light in the suburbs, where the highway began, when I suddenly heard his voice on the intercom.
"Where is it?"
"Where's what?"
"The fucking boathouse, you stupid homo!"
So he would use my services after all! Chaz clearly hadn't been able to stop thinking what I had told him about my special skills in finding a guy's secret spot. I felt thrilled but frightened at the same time. Would I be able to keep this ill-tempered young offender from exploding and beating the shit out of me, just because I said something wrong or touched a wrong part of his body?
"About fifteen minutes away. Take the exit after Pearson's Inn and turn right."
Chaz said nothing more, just gassed the bike into the highway when the light turned green. I felt the acceleration force press me violently against the light rail behind my back. Fearing that I would fall of the bike, I grabbed Chaz by the waist and held tight.
I didn't let go even when he reached his desired speed. He didn't tell me to, either, so I kept my hands on his hips. I even let my fingers touch his thighs lightly, but he didn't flinch.
He made the right turn and then we were speeding on a quiet county road.
"It's maybe twenty miles," I told him.
He didn't respond. For some reason, I took his silence as encouragement. We definitely were not going to the old boathouse to discuss about carburetors. This was all about me providing him sexual pleasure, so I might as well start right away. I lowered my hands a bit, so that my fingers brushed his crotch. I started to draw small circles on the denim. The reaction was prompt: his cock started to swell up. My fingers told me it was leaning to the right, so I moved my right hand so that I could stroke it gently through the denim. His young love-tool liked that very much and grew prouder with every stroke.
I thought about his secret spot. He would expect me to live up to my bragging and find it. The truth was that I didn't really have a clue how far I would have to go when searching it, and overdoing my efforts would result in me getting hurt. I figured it would be a wise move to practice navigation while he still had his jeans on and there would be no risk of direct contact with his asshole.
I rubbed his cannon with my right hand for a while to keep him warm. Then I started to inch my middle finger slowly down between his legs, into the space between his denim-covered butt and the leather padding of the saddle, pressing the middle seam of his jeans tentatively. No reaction. A bit further down – nothing. I started to panic. My finger was now way past his ball sack; his asshole – and my death – was maybe half an inch away. Then it crossed my mind that maybe the thick seam of his jeans prevented me from pressing hard enough. I pulled my finger back a little until I found the little hole in the seam. I slid my finger through it and felt the thin cotton of his boxer briefs against my fingertip. Then I explored carefully just ever so little further down the hot and dangerous canyon between his firm butt muscles. Now or never – I pressed my middle finger up with substantial power.
"Aww, god!" Chaz's voice bellowed inside my helmet and the bike swayed violently.
I pulled my finger quickly back. He managed to keep the bike on the road with considerable difficulty.
"Are you trying to fucking kill us, you stupid faggot prick!" he screamed.
I had taken a stupid risk, I had to admit. But I smiled to myself. I had found the key for making Chaz happy. It was like a health insurance.
We got to the abandoned boat house alive and healthy. Chaz had some difficulties to dismount his bike this time, as his hard-on stretched the crotch of his jeans.
There was an old swing chair hanging off a beam of the log house, where people used to store their sails and oars long time ago. I pulled the chain a couple of times; it seemed strong enough to hold a skinny guy like Chaz. The seat looked dirty, so I pulled off my hoodie and covered the seat with it.
Chaz sat down in my pop-up office, pulling off his shirt, and I helped him take off his shoes, jeans and briefs. I started my session by licking every inch of his crotch, as I had promised in my pep talk. His six-inch teen schlong was all hard from the start, so I didn't really have to warm him up at all. I liked licking his sweaty balls very much, though.
Then I gave Chaz head on my knees on the porch, his cock in my mouth, my nose buried in his jet-black pubes and my forehead pressed on his hard abdomen. I felt his thighs and abs and chest while my mouth used every trick I had learned so far to make him feel good. We both knew what he was really waiting for, but I wasn't willing to give him that yet. I wanted him to be almost on top of his pleasure when I pulled the pin off the grenade.
After several minutes of oral service I moved my right hand on his left ankle and caressed it. Slowly, ever so slowly, I moved my hand a bit higher, feeling his hairy calves and rubbing the rock-hard muscles of his thighs. I took my time before entering the sweaty valley between his ball sack and thighs. I rubbed it gently with my finger, all the time sucking his pulsing gun. I glanced up and saw that his eyes were closed and he bit his lower lip. He looked sexy as hell with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
I tickled the skin behind his ball sack. He seemed to realize immediately what I was up to now. He grabbed my hair.
"Yeah, do it faggot, do it for Chaz," he moaned.
Yes, it was time to move for a kill. I pushed my middle finger gently further, until it penetrated the steamy cave between his butt muscles. A bit further, yes, it should be about here...
"Give it to me, faggot, give it to me..."
I hooked my finger and kneaded his hot flesh with it – Christmas time for Chaz!
"Ohh fuck, faggot, aaaawww..." he yelled and filled my mouth with juvenile cum.
And did he cum! He shot a copious load after another and I had no chance of swallowing it all. I backed down to avoid spilling cum on his legs and sat back on my heels, trying to swallow as much as possible and holding my palm under my chin to gather the rest.
Chaz sat there for a long while with his head bent back, panting. Finally he grinned at me.
"Holy fuck, faggot, you are the fucking king of cocksuckers!"
I licked cum off my lips and smiled back.
"Thanks, Chaz!"
"We're gonna do this again, dude."
"Sure. Anytime you say."
We walked down to the river and Chaz kneeled down to wash his cock.
"Wash your face properly. I don't want any cum smell in my helmet."
He left me there splashing water on my face and rubbing it with my hands. This operation had been a complete success. I felt I had a strong hand for negotiations with Chaz. I decided to use it right away while he was still overwhelmed. I shook water off my head and climbed up. Chaz was chilling on his bike with his Chucks propped on the handlebar. He smiled at me.
"Faggot."
"Chaz."
I gathered courage and took a deep breath.
"Chaz, I served you well today, right?
"Right on, kid."
"I was thinking... I'd really appreciate if you would go a bit easier with me, Chaz. Like not bossing me around so much all the time and calling me faggot in every sentence. The way I made you feel really good and all, we could, like, be friends from now on."
He gave me a smug smile and shook his head in disbelief.
"You've got some balls, faggot, I'll give you that. But you got it all wrong, dude."
He looked me straight in the eyes, still smiling.
"You're my bitch from now on."
I felt my heart sink. The disappointment and frustration took over and dimmed my judgment – I simply exploded.
"Fuck you, Chaz! I'm not your bitch! Go to hell!" I screamed at him.
His smile disappeared and I saw a flash in his eyes. I realized my terrible mistake immediately. Whatever you do, don't piss him off, Danny had told me. And now I had done just that, and Chaz was going to kill me.
He jumped off the bike, leaped in front of me and grabbed my shirt.
"You disrespected me, faggot," he snarled.
"Chaz, I'm sorry, I take it back. Please don't hurt me, I'm your bitch, Chaz," I pleaded.
He just stared at me, fire in his eyes. Then a lopsided smirk appeared on his face.
"Naah, I won't hurt you. I've beaten guys for lesser reasons, but I like you."
Then he looked me in the eyes for a long time, like inspecting the contents of my head.
"You said that you're my bitch. But I don't see it in your eyes. You need a lesson, faggot."
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