I know that it has been a really long time since I posted an installment of this series. I hope that it's worth the wait. For those of you that continue to enjoy these characters, I'm really glad to have you as fans. If you have comments, please take a few minutes to email me at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AIM me at matthewlake309. There it is . . . I hope you enjoy!
Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty
He smiled as I swallowed. "I love that you're so fucking twisted, dude." He pulled one knee up to his chest, and his dick and balls shifted. "That was better than I expected, Lake, better than I remembered." I could tell he was enthusiastic, even though he channeled exhaustion. "Could you go warm up the shower for me? I don't think I can get up yet." His flirty smile was something I realized I couldn't deny. I climbed up off the floor and headed to the bathroom to do his bidding.
I was locking my bike into an already over-crowded rack at school when I heard a honk and turned to see Mark driving into the lot in his Prius. Just seeing him filled me with conflicted emotion, in part because just seeing him was always pleasureful, but now our evolving friendship, if that suitably described our association, intensified the pleasure and added an element of stress. Wishing I had spent more time on my hair before dashing out the door, I turned to see that he was all smiles as he hauled himself out of the car, then sauntering in my direction, meeting up with me for the walk to the building.
The black strap of his messenger bag cut from his right shoulder to his left hip across a burnt sienna v-neck waffle weave shirt. The color of the long-sleeved pullover contrasted beautifully with his tan skin and light khakis and set off the thin gold chain around his neck and the subtle cross pendant that hung from it. My backpack suddenly felt bulky in comparison, and I wondered if the straps tugged too tightly, pulling awkwardly at my Abercrombie button down.
We exchanged morning greetings as we approached the main building, and then Mark pointed to a set of doors that would take him to Campus South. "Homeroom and then World Religions. How about you?" he inquired.
"Homeroom and chemistry," my face telegraphed the agony that thinking about the class caused for me, and Mark was quick to pick up on it.
"Moles and Avogadro's number got you running scared?" He smiled encouragingly.
"I just can't seem to wrap my mind around it. It's killing me, dude." I shook my head and tried to look humbly resigned. Mark took a step away on his path, but gracefully turned towards me, as he moved.
"Guess who got an A' in AP chem last term?" His eyes, as usual, were mischevious. "I suppose I could provide you with some assistance in exchange for . . . ," he paused, pretending to think long and hard about a suitable commodity. "Hmmm . . . well, there must be something you're good at that I need." His ribbing was good-natured, and we exchanged a knowing glance before he turned away. Internally, I cursed the messenger bag that slung low on his back, obstructing my view of his perfect khaki-covered mounds.
Truth be told, while I wasn't a brainiac, I had never really had to study much. My poor performance in Chemistry was a wake-up call that I needed to begin hitting the books harder to pull out the grades I had come to expect for just showing up in the past. I made a mental note of Mark's offer and planned to find a time when he and I might sit down for a little chemistry one-on-one.
I made it through chem and the rest of the day without incident. Of course, I was easily distracted by stray thoughts of Jamie or Mark, of Anthony or Zac. I was hard-pressed to comprehend anything that Rutland tried to convey during trigonometry, and again wished he would choose pleated trousers while my crossed fingers voided the request. I was distracted by the parade of naked guys that crossed by the cage on the way to and from the showers after practice. All of these distractions kept me fairly aroused, and I wondered if it was normal to be hard for much of the day and whether my body produced extra blood to account for the volume that seemed to stay permanently in my cock. By the time I got home, had dinner, and worked through my homework, I realized that it seemed all I did was study--books and guys, books and guys. Chuckling to myself, I zoned out to John Stewart and Stephen Colbert for an hour and decided to hit the rack for some JO and a hard sleep.
I stripped off my clothes, and grabbed for the pair of Anthony's briefs I stored in my top drawer. It was as second-nature to associate them with stroking as taking off my clothes or leaning back on my bed. I held them between my hands, as I pulled them towards my face, taking in their stains and the scent of them, faint at first, and then stronger as they grew closer to their intended target. I settled the waistband along my forehead, my nose poking into the pouch that had encased Anthony's thick cock and full balls.
Every lungful of air was filtered through the thin cotton and reeked of Anthony's essence. Although I had reclined thinking about Jamie and wrapping my mouth around his inches, so hard and soft at the same time, my mental image shifted as my hand found my hot shaft, my thumb spreading a drop of pre around the sensitive tip until I shuddered.
I nuzzled my face forward into the fabric, and my tongue flicked out, wanting more, to bridge the thin veil between smell and taste, to act out my mind's fantasy. As my fingers pounded my flesh, it was Anthony who was taking control of my mouth, running his cock in and out between my lips, testing my limits and pushing me further towards the base of his cock and his thick black pubes.
I was so close, I edged back, slowing and then pulling off my cock completely. I flipped the underwear over, and my mind followed the physical shift, now imagining my tongue buried in the fur of Anthony's crack. Where Jamie's sweet ass had whispers of hair, Anthony's had full-throated shouts. Shouts of "Hey bitch" and "fucked up motherfucker" and "suck my ass, faggot" and "tell me you want it, little one" tumbled through my head as my hands returned and I pounded faster and faster, my back arching, my toes curling.
My senses were exploding, my nerves were on fire and I could feel the cum race from my balls through my cock to coat my chest and belly in jizz. At some point, I stopped jacking and just lay back, suffering little quakes. Eventually, I reached up and pulled the undies from my face and the nutty, bleachy aroma of my own semen washed over me like a wave. I used the wadded cotton in my hand to collect the drying spooge from my torso lest the smell of it make me rise again. Then, I hopped up, balling the fabric in my hand and tucking them into my backpack. I needed to take them with me tomorrow, and I hoped that by zipping them into an inside pouch their scent, a scent I knew to be so overwhelming, would not pervade my belongings or cause me more undue distraction in the day to follow.
Distraction and torture may be independently defined in any number of ways, but having a cock that you've admired in the flesh and lusted after in your heart, bobbing inches above your face behind a flimsy layer of nylon while you're implored to instead concentrate on counting out reps may be the crossover of the two. In addition to the loose board shorts that hung low on his hips and clung suggestively in all the right places, Zac had on a ratty oversized t-shirt with the sleeves cut out.
When he would lean forward to spot me, I would get glimpses of Zac's tight abs or pecs. As he rotated me through machines, explaining their purpose, his hands would find the corresponding muscle groups on my body, or draw my hands to his so that I could better understand the training. Zac had very few physical boundaries in working with me, and even on this first real day of training, I became accustomed to feeling his large hands on any part of me at any moment, or his body pressed up against mine as he guided my movements.
"You did great today. Now, let's hit the showers," Zac said, smiling. Although I was accustomed to the lockerroom, and seeing naked guys coming from and going to the showers, I was not used to being a part of that ritual. Suddenly, I found myself nervous about being naked with Zac and doubly so about throwing wood in his presence. It was also impossible to get lost in the crowd and skip the shower altogether when it was just the two of us. Inside, I was sinking as we walked to our lockers, just a bench apart.
I could see Zac pulling his shirt over his head, as I turned to open my locker, and I sat down reluctantly on the bench, trying to bide my time. A second later, I saw his perfect mocha form walking away towards the shower, two mounds of muscle gyrating with every step.
"Hurry up, Lake. We haven't got all day." I stepped to the locker room entrance and grabbed a towel from the rack that I consistently filled on a daily basis. I heard the water begin to flow from several showerheads and Zac's voice again, "I'm warming up the water for you, dude!" I shucked my shirt and shorts and jock, glancing at the shorts that Zac had left on the ground in front of his locker. I was glad that he hadn't worn a jock to leave behind and tempt me into smelling. I tucked the towel around my waist and walked toward the shower hoping that Zac would be done quickly and we would just pass in the aisle.
As I stepped into the shower area, Zac's dark skin was coated with white suds and he looked incredibly artful facing away. I decided there was no more waiting without looking the fool, so I hung my towel at the entrance and stepped into the flow of water next to him. I angled myself away and willed my dick to stay soft for once. As I felt the hot water slide over my skin in a really soothing way, I turned to glance at Zac, keeping my eyes firmly focused at shoulder level and above.
"You need body wash?" he asked, motioning toward a ledge that held a small bottle of Axe Snake Peel.
Thanks," I replied. "I'm kind of new to this, and I didn't remember to bring any." I poured myself a handful of wash and began to soap up.
"Nothing new for me about group showers after working out," Zac said, "including the fact that almost every time I finish lifting weights, I also throw major wood." At the mention of major wood, I turned to look at Zac who was now positioned sort of facing me with an absolutely rigid cock. If that was Major Wood, I was getting a formal salute! Yet Zac seemed entirely unselfconscious about it, and almost immediately upon looking, I could feel myself swelling and growing and defying gravity. "I'm glad I'm not the only one," Zac smiled. "Just something about getting the blood flowing and the endorphins that come out to play."
"I guess so." I was trying to show only casual interest, but Zac's cock was marvelous, both long and thick with a very prominent head. I thought I had lusted after him after I had seen it soft, but I was having a hard time not falling to my knees in worship. I had no idea how Zac might react if I did, so I maintained an upright stance, at least for the moment.
"So, you wanna stroke one out with me and try to get rid of these?" Zac looked over at me, and I got the sense that he was going to proceed with me or without me. "We can make a tradition of it, right?!" He poured another handful of soap and began to build a lather in his hands. They found purchase on his stick and he began to stroke himself. I stepped out of the flow of water a bit and began to pump my own. The steam was still warm around us, and I stepped a half-step towards Zac as we jacked, water flowing around our feet towards the drain between us. Zac's eyes were closed as he stroked with both hands, and I was mesmerized watching him pumping his hips into his fists, his cockhead poking in and out of the tunnel he'd created. Long seconds passed as we jacked together, and I was close. A few more seconds. So very close.
"I'm there. I'm shooting," I said as I did, a spatter of white across the tile, immediately drawn with the flow of water to the drain. A few strokes later, Zac's seed joined mine as it circled the drain and disappeared. We both stood for a minute catching our breath, Zac's hands at his sides, mine crossed around my torso. My head was bowed, but Zac's softening cock was still within my line of sight. Suddenly, a gentle flow began to stream from his head, slowly picking up steam.
"I love to piss after I cum," he shared by way of explanation. "I hope you don't mind." His stream continued to intensify, lifting his cock a bit and extending his flow across the tile towards me until he shifted slightly and I could feel the warmth of his piss across the very tops of my feet and my toes.
"Hey!" I hopped back in surprise, and just as quickly his hand redirected his shaft towards the drain.
"Sorry, Lake," he said as I returned to my shower to rinse off.
"It's okay." I looked over at him and read his demeanor as sheepish. "I suppose it washes off, right?!" I tried to make light of it, to make him feel better.
"Totally unintentional, dude." He turned off his showerhead and walked towards the entrance, grabbing my towel on the way out, tossing it around his shoulders and heading back towards our lockers. I assumed that he mistakenly remembered bringing a towel with him, so I turned off my showerhead, and followed naked behind him after a few more minutes of rinsing.
As I stepped down the aisle towards our lockers, he had the towel tucked around his waist. As I got within a few feet, he pulled it off and tossed it to me.
"Thanks for the towel," his mouth curved into a bit of a smirk. "I thought we could share . . . you know . . . better for the environment. After all, we're both clean already, right?" I stood there dripping, holding my, or his, damp towel as he tucked his massive tool into a pair of boxers. I wasn't sure if he was joking with me or not. It felt like we were at a male bonding crossroads. If I used the towel and he meant it as a joke, I would be the guy who didn't get the joke. If I didn't use the towel, and he was serious, I'd be the prissy guy who couldn't share a towel.
"Go ahead," he said, encouraging me or baiting me. He pulled on jeans as we both waited to see my next move. I had no idea what to do, so I threw the towel over my head and rubbed it through my hair, sliding it down over my shoulders and arms. That's as far as I got before we both heard the bell ringing to initiate a 10-minute period of class change. Zac quickly pulled his button down over his shoulders, slipping on flops and kicking his workout shorts into the locker, slamming it closed.
"See you on Friday," were his parting words as he hoisted his bookbag over one shoulder and took off for the door.
Classes and then practice seemed to drag on forever Wednesday afternoon. After I blew my load in the shower with Zac, I expected to feel less tense, but the opposite was true. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and all I could think about was getting to Anthony's place and what would happen when I did. I was glad I had tucked his briefs into my bag, and several times during the afternoon, I found my fingers worming their way into the pouch to check on their continued presence, as if they might walk away. As ripe as they were, it almost seemed a possibility. Without fail, my fingers made their way from the briefs to my nose, and queued my continued arousal.
My phone indicated a received text as I was closing up the equipment cage and getting ready to take off. It was from Anthony, simple and direct. "u r late fag get ur ass over here pronto im out for a sec but will b back soon u better be naked n this place better b spotless btw leaving u a surprise"
I could feel fear pumping through my veins, but in my cock, at least, it had the same effect as blood; I was as hard as ever. I nearly ran from the lockers to my bike, hopping on and making speed for Anthony's. As I pedaled, I wondered what it was about danger that directed us, instinctually, to act against our own self-interests on an animalistic level. The moth seeks the flame just to be burned, the praying mantis seeks a mate just to have its head ripped off at the conclusion, and good boys seek bad ones just to pleasure and serve.
"You can't fight your nature or your place in the food chain," I said out loud to myself as I pulled discretely into the side yard that led directly to the garage and the side door that led to Anthony's apartment. I was a little scared, but ready to be devoured.
I stashed my bike and slipped inside, climbing the stairs. Although Anthony said in his text that he would be gone, I felt compelled to knock on the door. Hearing nothing, I slipped out of my clothes, folding them and setting them in the corner on top of my backpack. Fully naked, my hand found the doorknob and I paused. The most intensely painful and the most intensely pleasureful moments of my life had happened in this place. I could feel the beating of my heart quicken as I wondered how those moments would continue to unfold today and what
surprise' Anthony had left behind. I turned the knob and walked through the doorway.
My eyes settled first on the unmade bed in front of me. I immediately moved towards this altar of my defilement, the place my ass took its first cock. The place my body betrayed my lust as I betrayed my best friend. I felt fresh stinging tears, but I only paused for a moment. In a trance, I pulled the sheets from the bed, separating pillows from their cases and finding towels under and on the bed as I made progress. I put all of these linens into a pile, picked it up and headed for the washer. I heard the familiar click and bubble of a bong, and looked over towards the couch to see Kenny.
I was startled, but not surprised by his presence. And where I had been reticent to strip down before Zac earlier in the day, Kenny observing me in my current state didn't even register. Kenny had never seen me in any other state but naked subservience. And I had never seen him in any other than his current altered state. Anthony was right; Kenny must love his weed.
I nodded in his direction as I put the linens into the washer and started the load.
"'Suuuuup," he drawled back, smoke escaping with words. His southern melody gently accompanied his slow words. "Brang me "nother, woncha?" He lifted a bottle and took a final swig. I walked over to the refrigerator; no surprise, porn was playing quietly on the TV set above it. I bent over and looked inside the refrigerator. Two bottles of water and a take-out carton of Chinese food sat inside.
"No beer in here, Kenny," I said, closing the door and standing up. Kenny was positioned low, half laying into the back corner of the couch, his hips and legs stretched out towards the middle and extending beyond. He flashed me his sad eyes, as he shifted one leg to the table a foot or so away, and reached a hand down into his briefs, repositioning himself.
"You sho?" Check once mo'," his pouty lips thick with disappointment. I knew I wasn't mistaken, but I squatted down for a second look.
"Nope. Just water. You want a bottle of that?" I offered.
"Nah. I jus wanned ta see yo' sweet hole agin when ya bent ova." He laughed and I could feel the blush rise across my chest, my neck and then my face. "Aww, don' be shy, now. N'fact, get ova he'e. Anthony lef' somethin' fo ya."
I stepped towards the couch, standing sort of between Kenny's spread legs, looking over his prominent mound, his bare smooth chest, his flat features and connecting with his eyes before I shifted my gaze away.
"On yur knees, boy," he commanded, but gently. I knelt between the couch and the table, about a foot from Kenny's crotch when the scent hit me. Sweat and cum, musk and man. I looked more closely at the briefs that clung to Kenny's brown skin. Was Kenny my surprise? Or the briefs? The elastic at the legs was worn and loose, and tufts of Kenny's bush peeked out the edges. I could make out the ridge of his cockhead, set above the double bulge of his testes. I could see the yellow stains of dried cum or piss that marked the basket of these shorts, and the faint dark streaks that began about an inch below his mound and continued their way underneath him. The fabric clung to the apex of Kenny's thighs as if it were moist, but I couldn't see how he could have built up enough sweat there to make it so. I felt myself drawing forward, breathing deeply, trying to get closer to the source of this heady smell, zeroing in on the moist treasure I couldn't immediately identify.
And then my tongue was exploring what my eyes could not. My hands found purchase on Kenny's hairy almond thighs as I spread him further, letting the taste and the smell of these briefs overwhelm me. My lapping quickly became sucking as I pulled the moistness out of the fabric. It was perfect, it was heaven, it was cum.
In the second that the realization set in, my eyes, barely peering over Kenny's massive bulge, made contact with his and I stopped suddenly vocalizing my discovery. "It's cum." As usual in this state, my brain wasn't able to connect the pieces. I was breathing hotly into the wet fabric, speaking into Kenny's asshole like it was a microphone. "But how?"
"He lef' it for ya. Picked out tha draw's hisself. Tol' me ta make sure ya cleaned up tha mess he mayde back they'e." Kenny gave me a moment, but I still wasn't getting it. "For a fag, yo'r not tha brightest. It's Anthony's cum leakin' outta me; he was gonna leave it in yo' mouth, but your ass was layte. Now get these dayamn filthy draw's off me and get to suckin'. You got a lot more of his jizz waitin' for ya."
As I comprehended what Kenny was saying, I sat back on my haunches, my gaze retreating to the spot of original wetness that I had made bigger with my saliva. To say I was surprised was to shockingly understate my mental condition. I was blown away, disgusted and horrified. Anthony had left his cum inside someone who was a virtual stranger to me, and wrapped this present in his own disgusting briefs to capture any drops that might leak out between his load's placement and my arrival. I felt myself gagging, a reaction I rarely had anymore, bile rising in my throat. And now, I was supposed to suck the rest of his semen out of the asshole of the freshly-fucked man sprawled before me.
I didn't think when I arrived that Anthony could degrade me further. I had taken his cock in my mouth and then my ass. I had taken his pain and worn his bruises. I had served him and performed degrading tasks. I had sucked sweat from his balls, swallowed his piss and eaten his ass. Now he had left his jizz in a stranger's sloppy ass for me to clean up. Not that Kenny was a complete stranger; after all, the day I met him, he watched me lap up dribbles of his piss. And he had never seen me with clothes on. There was a level of intimacy that existed between us. Kenny, too, was being used by Anthony, though in a different way than was I. Yet it was something that bound us together.
"You waitin' fo me t' make it easier fo ya'" Kenny said, tinges of kindness and impatience in his voice. "I c'n do that." He leaned up, standing before me, sliding the briefs down his hips and legs, then stepping out of them. He was not hard, but his cock was still pendulous, his balls hanging low. He turned away from me, and dropped to one knee on the floor in front of me. The other he lifted up to the seat of the couch where he rested his chest, his head on a pillow. He opened himself to me.
Once again, I found myself unable to retreat, with just one path ahead. I leaned in, and my mind told me to be reviled and repulsed. The scent of sweat and sex caught in my sinuses, and my tongue escaped my lips, moistening them. My eyes followed the swell of Kenny's cheeks from their smooth outer edges to their hairy fusion. I felt my hand on his upper back, tracing the path of my eyes, my own finger now dipping into the crack and crossing the puffy hole, the skin much darker there, and when my finger made slick contact, I saw the hole pulse and Kenny's whole body shuddered.
A few drops of milky something squeezed their way through the muscle, and before my mind caught up with my instincts, my lips made contact with his. My hands and arms embraced Kenny's legs, and I pulled him tight to me, eyes closed, my tongue darting out for a deep, dark, cummy kiss. I heard Kenny moan, and my head rotated slightly, as I tried to pull him closer, to kiss him harder, my tongue reaching inside, my mouth a vacuum as I mined for the center of his being, his soul; as I gave up another piece of mine.
I was like that for seconds, minutes, hours, days. I couldn't tell. I could feel Kenny's body reacting to my passion with pulses and shudders, articulated ecstasy and words unspoken. When finally, exhausted, I released him and fell back onto my knees leaning on the couch, I could see his backside marked with the evidence of my love-making. Handprints and bite marks, hickies and saliva trails. But no cum, no sweat, no sex, no sign of Anthony's presence before me. Kenny was clean, as clean as I could make him. My body had accepted the surprise even if my mind was still conflicted.
Kenny stirred, flipping over. Looking at me. His face held a mix of astonishment and pleasure and a little confusion. "Twisted, man." He paused. "I neva thought you'd do it. I tol' Anthony there was no fuckin' waay. It was like." He paused again. "It was like somethin' fuckin' snapped insida ya man. I've neva seen nothing like that." He shook his head. Another flush crept over me.
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Kenny reached over and took another hit from the bong. He stood up. He was still soft, and his cock bobbed and swayed; He noticed my gaze.
"I'd give ya summa that, too. "Cept it's not gonna get hard whiles I'm fucked up." He kicked the briefs closer to me. "Those are fo' you. Anthony says they're this week's pair. I'm gonna go take a shower and then head on out. All the betta ta be gone when he get back." Kenny crossed the room to the bathroom, disappearing from view, and I heard the shower start.
I pulled myself up from the floor and wandered to the washing machine. I pulled the linens out of the bottom washer and put them in the dryer top, setting the dryer for the hottest setting. I assumed the shorts and t-shirt on the floor by the couch were Kenny's, and left them there. There were only a few clothes in the laundry basket this time, and I gathered them with a few other castoffs from around the room, dropping all of it in the bottom machine, getting it ready to start when the shower stopped.
The water stopped and before I started the machine, I figured I better check the bathroom for additional discards. Kenny walked out of the bathroom naked, heading towards the couch and his clothes. I left him to pull them on and stepped into the steamy bathroom.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was a mess, a thin film of sludge covered my features, a mix of my saliva and Kenny's ass juice and Anthony's sperm. Using the sink, I splashed some water on my face; I grabbed the towel that Kenny had left on the floor, and patted myself dry. Then I used it to dry the shower and wipe the sink and floor before grabbing a washcloth and a few pairs of boxers from behind the bathroom door and adding them to the load.
Kenny left without a word as the laundry churned, and it was another hour before the laundry was done, dried, folded and put away. I made the bed, glad to be busy with work and distracted from my constant hard-on and the intensity with which I had sucked Anthony's cum from Kenny's ass. Like drawing poison from a snakebite in an old western movie, without the spitting and the reluctance. I was embarrassed and humiliated and turned on and scared of myself and what I had become.
I thought of the postsecrets I could send to Germantown if I had the time and the energy and the balls. "The straight highschool boy who's using me for blowjobs has no idea I'm also being dominated by his older dropout stepbrother" or "I'm scared that I'm not more disgusted by the sexual degredation I've experienced over the last few months at the hands of other males" or "My mom has no idea her son has taken more cock in the last month than she's taken in her whole life." Okay, the last one was hopeful conjecture on my part, but let Frank blog it and see if it holds up.
Having finished all my chores, I was sitting on the edge of Anthony's made bed, engaging in this mindless dialogue with myself, just waiting for him to arrive when I hear footsteps on the stairs and the deep tones of Anthony's voice. I couldn't make out words, but my heart raced and I kind of half leapt up in panic. There was nowhere to go, but I wasn't sure about how to receive him. I sat back down on the bed, but then as I heard the doorknob turning, kind of half slid off into a kneeling position, the dirty briefs that had been folded neatly beside me fell to the floor, as well.
Anthony strode through the door, catching me in my indecisive half-fall. He looked around at the order that I had brought to the apartment, and his expression wavered between a smile and smirk. Just behind him, a woman entered the room, coming to a stop beside him. She was no taller than 5'2", blond hair, layered and chunky, model thin and dressed in a short skirt, a halter top and fuck-me pumps. As Anthony surveyed the room, the gaze of his companion fell immediately on me.
"Um, Anthony," she was an uptalker and her tone was overtly sarcastic. "Why is there a naked boy kneeling at the foot of your bed?"
"That's Lake," He looked at me and rolled his eyes. "Get up, Lake." He looked back towards the girl as I stood. "He cleans up my messes." That was accompanied by a knowing smirk. "It's our little arrangement."
"You can't be serious," she responded, now looking away very intentionally. I became hyper-aware of my nakedness, something I had grown accustomed to in this physical space, and despite the awkwardness, I remained fully hard. I dropped my hands to provide some cover for myself and for the girl.
"I told you about him, how I have him do some chores for me."
"He's NAKED!" she yelled this time, cutting him off. Anthony gestured to the briefs.
"Put on some underwear, Lake. Jesus! What do you think this is?" I'd never seen Anthony off balance before, but he seemed to be in this moment. I grabbed for the used briefs at my side and tugged them on. "And, Lisa, it's no big deal. You need to chill. It's not like it's the first or fifth or fiftieth dick you've ever seen."
"You're an asshole," she responded and walked towards the couch. I was glad I had turned off the TV so that she wasn't immediately confronted with porn. "Let me get him out of here," he said to no one in particular, but I moved towards him anyway. "You chill out and I'll be right back," he directed at Lisa.
Anthony's hand found my back as he pushed me towards the door. His touch was like electricity, and my nipples grew as hard as my cock while I held the loose briefs at my hip. Anthony joined me on the large landing.
"I don't know why I put up with that kind of fucking drama." He wasn't engaging me in conversation so much as releasing some steam. Almost immediately, his attention turned to me though, our eyes locking, the smirk returning to his face.
"So Kenny texted me to tell me that you reacted . . . ," he paused, "well . . . very well, to my surprise." I broke our eye contact, and felt the flush rise for the third time this afternoon. Anthony chuckled. "I knew you would you little maricon. What a god damned faggot. I only wish I could have given it to you fresh from the pipe." His hand groped at his sweats-covered mound and I could feel saliva filling my mouth. "Thank me, bitch, and then we'll get back to our ritual." I looked up at him and saw pleasure in his eyes. The pleasure of torturing and degrading me. It wasn't enough that we both knew what had transpired, he wanted to hear me say it.
"Thank you, sir."
"For what?" He was gaming me; he knew I didn't want to say more. He was patient, enjoying my agony, and I knew I was going to have to try again.
"Thank you for your load."
"I don't understand, Chilito. I'll give you one more try." He paused, as I stood trembling before him. "Look up at me." Our eyes locked again. "Just say it. You're making it too hard."
"Thank you for leaving the gift of your cum for me, inside Kenny." My voice faltered, cracking. I wasn't going to cry; I wasn't going to let him do this to me. "Thank you for letting me eat it out of Kenny. Thank you for thinking of me when I should have been here serving you." He was right, once I spoke the words and let them go, it was right there between us. I couldn't understand what had been so difficult about articulating them.
"You're welcome, little one." The pleasure in his eyes touched his lips as he smiled. "Anything that comes from my body is a gift to you. You are wise to understand this and to receive my gifts with pleasure. You will only know pain when you resist my gifts." I wasn't sure if it was instruction or a threat. "Now how do you properly greet me? It's time for our ritual."
This I knew well. I fell to my knees before Anthony. My hand reached up to his waistband, and I drew it down, exposing his thick black hairs, drawing the elastic down until his cock was revealed in it's magnificent fullness. It was not a new sight for me, but it still struck me as glorious. I kissed his cock first at the root and then used my hand to support it gently while my lips closed over the head and my tongue snaked into the foreskin, gently moistening the tip with my love.
"Hold it. Just like that." He instructed. I felt his hand on the back of my head, holding me. "I'm going to give you another present." I felt him pull my head onto his dick just a bit further, his hand curling tightly into my hair, and I both feared and welcomed what was coming. I had assumed this position once before, so I prepared myself.
He was not slow to start or gentle this time. Anthony's stream started fairly heavy and only grew moreso. My mouth filled again and again with his hot waste, and I swallowed it down. The soft suction of my mouth drew more of him inside me as he continued to use me for a toilet and by the time he finished, I held over half his shaft in my mouth. He pulled it out gently, leaving the tip inside, allowing me to run my tongue again under his skin, and then he pulled it out completely with a pop.
"Nicely done, Lake. You've improved." I allowed his sweats to cover him, and he disentangled his hand from my hair. "But you better not be practicing that on other dudes." I wasn't sure if he was serious or not. The only limit he had put on me thus far as that I couldn't give my ass to anyone but him. I wondered if I should add this to the list of prohibitions, but thought it was unlikely to be a problem since most guys didn't go around pissing in other guy's mouths. I held my question.
"Thank you, sir."
"Be back here next week, bitch. Now get off my stairs." He turned and stepped through the door, closing it behind him. Emotionally and physically exhausted, I stood up, and began drawing my clothes onto my body.
If you'd like another installment, please let me know at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at matthewlake309. Thanks again for reading!