Hello there. Thanks for tuning in again... I hope that readers continue to enjoy these characters and the direction of the story. If you have comments or suggestions, don't hesitate to email me at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AIM me at matthewlake309. In particular, I continue to be thankful to my author-hero Dave for his ongoing writing support. And I'd like to acknowledge two of my favorite readers, Jacob and Jared, who will always own a piece of my heart.
Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty...
We both heard Wayne calling at the same time. "James, Matt, pizza's here."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," I said sheepishly. "Your dad ordered pizza for dinner. He invited me to stay." Jamie was up off the bed and throwing on boxers and shorts and a t-shirt before I could regain my own footing.
Jamie laughed, saying, "I hardly gave you time to tell me before I fed you your favorite appetizer." He groped himself obscenely, and I couldn't help but laugh, too, as we walked into his sitting room and out the open door into the hallway, making our way to the kitchen.
We found Wayne in a pair of cargo shorts and an untucked polo leaning over the table to arrange silverware and paper plates around two medium Pizza Hut boxes. I couldn't help but recall his astounding nakedness and nonchalant immodesty as Jamie and I seated ourselves around the small kitchen table.
"Thanks, Dad. You made a great choice," Jamie said, looking at his dad and pulling three pieces of thick crust pepperoni onto his plate. Wayne turned from the refrigerator and carried two cokes and a beer to the table. Jamie grabbed a coke and passed it to me as Wayne cracked open his beer.
"Go ahead, Matt," Wayne said, gesturing to the hot pies. I grabbed a piece from each pizza and a packet of hot pepper flakes. I hoped that the acidic tingle of the cold coke would wash away the taste of Anthony's urine that lingered on my palate, even after sucking the jizz from Jamie's nuts. Certainly, for the moment, the taste was masked slightly, and I tried to push my earlier submission and degradation to the back of my mind as father and son went about discussing the day's events and those to come.
Wayne asked about how track was going, and Jamie enthusiastically explained about the upcoming away meet, and his events, the shot-put, 400-meter relay, and the 1600 individual. I provided a bit of commentary about practices and the team's chances to win the meet with County West as I saw opportunities, and Jamie's dad continued to show interest until the topic was exhausted.
Then the discussion turned to Prom, which Jamie and I had not discussed since our date a few days ago, though I had IM'd a few times with Adriana, and we were getting to know each other better at least electronically. Jamie's dad asked if we had been fitted for tuxes, reserved a limo, ordered corsages, or chosen a dinner location, to all of which we were unable to provide answers. Wayne showed a balance of amusement and concern as he told us that we had a lot of work to do, and not a lot of time since track took so much of our afternoon and weekend time. Jamie seemed to take it all in stride, though I suddenly felt a mantle of pressure begin to weigh upon me.
I zoned out for a moment, and was only jerked back to reality when I heard Wayne comment, in all seriousness, "I know you both are becoming young men, and are probably experimenting with your sexuality. I just want to make sure you boys are provisioned with condoms if you're planning to have intercourse that night."
Jamie sputtered and swallowed, pausing dramatically, staring incredulously at his dad. "Are you kidding me? We are not going to have this conversation right now with my friend here. Please, Dad, just spare us the pregnancy and sex talk tonight, or even better, for the next ten years." Jamie looked over at me with a smirk.
Wayne smiled and stood, play-punching Jamie on the shoulder. "Okay, stud. Make your jokes about your old man. But I am serious. It's not just about pregnancy, it's about being true to yourself, playing safe and establishing healthy sexual practices that protect you and whatever partner you choose." He finished his beer before continuing. "So that's my lecture for tonight. Why don't you guys go pick a movie in the family room, and I'll clean up and be in to join you in a few minutes."
Jamie was all too eager to leave the awkward dialogue, and I was, as well, so we took Wayne's invitation to leave immediately, with a shouted thanks for the pizza over our shoulders on our way out. By the time the three of us had finished watching Wedding Crashers, it was getting late, and Wayne suggested that Jamie use his truck to drive my bike and I home. We quickly agreed that it was a good idea, and I grabbed my things, thanked Wayne, and we headed out the door.
I was on edge all day Wednesday. Despite brushing and flossing countless times, I still felt that a film of Anthony's piss remained on my taste buds as a constant reminder of this afternoon's appointment. I had resolved in my mind to find a distraction that would keep me occupied and prevent me from keeping our date. Even using the word 'date' to describe the meeting I knew in my heart I would keep disgusted me. I couldn't think of one good reason why I would ride my bike to his place and allow him to use and abuse me. Even the knowledge that he had about my sexual relationship with Jamie, and his implied threat to share that information with Wayne or worse was not enough to warrant my submission to his will. I certainly did not want to lose Jamie, but continuing down this road with his step-brother would only dig me deeper into a hole I couldn't escape from. My rational mind knew that I needed to break things off with Anthony.
But like most men, I suppose, I let my irrational cock make the decision my mind knew was the wrong one. My prong hard as stone, I found myself climbing the steps to Anthony's quarters as quickly as I could ride my bike there after practice. I knew Jamie and Mandy had plans to get together tonight and study--their deepening relationship still darkened a jealous corner of my heart--so running into him was unlikely. Anthony had told me he probably would not be there when I arrived, and to follow the instructions he had left behind, but I still knocked, pausing for a moment, and knocking again. After a third knock, I tried the knob to find the door unlocked.
Standing there, I realized that I had a choice. I could walk away and begin to shape my own destiny, or I could open the door and step through without any knowledge of what awaited me. The second option would mean almost complete surrender to Anthony in ways that I couldn't imagine, and already I had surrendered so much. Three weeks ago, I had never even imagined licking the asshole of another man or giving my mouth to another man for his piss. But in a few encounters, Anthony had convinced me to do these degrading acts among others, and to make performing them the most intense sexual experiences I had ever had. Being in Anthony's presence, submitting to his will was like taking a drug, and that feeling of euphoria, that desire is what saw me pushing the door aside and taking more confident steps across the threshold than I had taken all day.
The scene had barely changed from my last visit here. Thinking of the brutal fuck that Anthony had put to me, seeing the wall where he pressed his body and his cock into me while tears had flowed down my face made my asshole twitch with muscle memory. The vividness of my recollection slowed my confident gait, and I reconsidered my decision for one brief moment. Why would I return for more when Anthony had hurt me so badly? Just as quickly, I answered myself. Anthony had not been all violent. He was flirty, sensual, sure of himself and incredibly sexy. He made me feel desirable and wicked and in-touch with my base self. And he had not become more physical until I insulted his masculinity when I uttered Jamie's name in a moment of lost control. It was my weakness that provoked him, and I returned because I hoped that I could better control myself. I knew I could. And the first step was being thorough in following his instructions. The decision made in a split second, I walked to the bed and found a short hand-written note:
Little one-
Do the laundry. Wash the sheets and other
clothes except for the nastiest pair of my underwear
you can find in the pile. Hold those aside. Then
clean the bathroom. Supplies are under the sink.
Work fast, and do it all naked.
A
Resolved to meet expectations, I pulled off and folded jeans and an Abercrombie pullover, then added briefs and flip flops to the pile by the bed. Aware of my exposure and the air on my skin in this space, I felt hyper-aware of my senses as I climbed on the bed to strip the sheets and pillowcases. The smell of Anthony was strong and I couldn't help but lay on the bed for a moment and imagine his firm muscles, his demanding lips, his proud uncut cock, and his sensual brown skin. My hand caressed my nipple and the other reached for my already hard cock, and I shook myself to regain my senses. It was time to put my fantasy aside and follow instructions. I pulled the sheets and pillowcases off the bed and started a pile of whites.
Pulling the laundry basket into the middle of the room, I started pulling items from it, sorting it into the pile of whites and a pile of colors. Recalling Anthony's instruction to find a rank pair of underwear, I put them in their own pile. Having done laundry for the track team for weeks, I was an old pro, and decided to start with whites. Setting the machine for hot and adding bleach and detergent, I packed in the entire pile and started it up. Walking back to the piles in the middle of the room, I judged that two additional loads of colors would be required. I distributed the pile into equal portions, keeping towels and linens separate from shirts, pants and socks. And then I turned to the underwear.
I couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since Anthony's laundry had last been done. It looked to me like he had been recycling the dozen or so pairs of underwear in the pile for weeks. Looking them over, they seemed to all have had a baseline of use. A few pairs of boxers seemed less funky than the rest, and I immediately eliminated them from the pile. Most of the briefs were well used, clearly marked with spots where the remains of a piss had not been fully shaken out before Anthony had replaced his tool, a few showing faint marks where Anthony's asshole had left a calling card, and a few seemed crusty in spots, like they had been used to collect cum. Putting those that had the most DNA into one pile left me with three pairs of briefs and two pairs of boxers.
I wasn't sure how to differentiate them any further by sight, so I decided to let my nose do some work. Closing my eyes, I held each pair to my face, breathing deeply through the fabric, turning the pair and breathing again. Each smell test was accompanied by a rush of blood and pounding in my cock. By the third, I was leaking enough pre-cum that a drop fell from the head of my cock to the floor trailing a sticky string that connected the two. There was a clear winner, a pair that smelled more strongly of Anthony's body and fluids than any of the others, and so I set it aside as instructed.
I spent the next hour and a half, at least, swapping loads of laundry from the washer to the dryer and cleaning the bathroom. Anthony had not provided an extensive selection of cleaning supplies, but the basics were enough for me to scrub the shower with comet, letting it soak for a bit while I cleaned the sink and wiped the mirror before returning to rinse away the soap residue, mold and mildew. The activity kept me distracted and active enough that my hard cock even seemed to flag a bit for the first time in days.
Feeling accomplished, I turned to the utterly disgusting toilet. Lifting the seat, and looking at the stool, I was thankful that the instructions had not directed me to clean it with my tongue or something similarly heinous. The porcelain rim was covered with a film of dried piss and wiry black pubic hairs that I knew from experience were Anthony's, and the bowl was ringed with urine and rust stains at the waterline. I grabbed the toilet brush and the cleanser and went to work, trying to keep as much physical distance from the filthy porcelain as possible. Fifteen minutes of elbow grease reaped its reward and the porcelain shone when I was done, leaving only the floor remaining. I was halfway through scrubbing the tile when I heard the door to the loft open, and feet shuffling through the doorway.
"Whare's yo li'l bitch boy?" I heard an unfamiliar voice ask. "I to'd you he wouldn't show up."
"He's here, fuckwad. Look at the laundry on the bed. You know I didn't do that shit." Anthony laughed, and his companion did, as well. "He's probably in the bathroom."
The thousand butterflies that had settled in my stomach took to flight as I realized neither of my chores was complete. The bed was just a big pile of unfolded laundry and the bathroom was not finished. Another thousand took flight when I realized that Anthony had not walked in alone. I was suddenly terrified of what Anthony had planned for me, and additionally fearful of expanding the circle of people who knew of my submission to him.
I heard footsteps approach and looked helplessly towards the door, kneeling with scrub brush in hand and soapy water still covering half the tile floor. I could feel myself shaking a bit as Anthony looked in and assessed both me and the space. He was dressed in clingy sweatpants and a muscle shirt, the Nike swoosh prominent on the chest. He had on ratty tennis shoes, no socks and a baseball cap. I imagined I could see the impression of his thick cock pressing out from under the fleece, and I felt my own start to plump. It looked like he hadn't shaven in several days, but his face had never looked hotter to me than when he surveyed the fixtures and smiled.
"Nice job, little one." He said almost enthusiastically. "Looks like you've made good progress and followed my instructions. What still needs to be done?" I was shocked by Anthony's response. I had expected him to be angry that the work he had assigned wasn't finished, but instead, he had responded positively. I felt giddy that he was pleased, but frustrated that I was never able to accurately predict his reaction to a given situation.
"I have to finish the bathroom floor and then fold your laundry." I paused, Anthony paused, and I remembered to tack on a respectful, "sir."
"Is this bathroom clean enough to eat off of," Anthony asked.
"It will be," I responded, confident in the job I had done.
"Excellent. I want you to finish up in here, chilito, then clean yourself up. You smell like sweat and detergent. Once you're done, you can come out and fold the laundry." With that, Anthony turned and walked back into the other room, the firm mounds of his ass rolling under his sweats. Imagining his fine, hair-covered ass brought me to full hardness, and I swore under my breath that just seeing him could have that effect on me.
I turned to the bathroom floor and tried to make quick work of my task while listening to bits of the conversation in the other room, but the sitting area was far enough away from the bathroom that I only heard the occasional word or two above the muted sounds of the television.
"Dude, how much longa ya gonna take in theya?"
The voice seemed right next to me and I was startled, not expecting to be interrupted as I stood in the shower, scrubbing away the cleaning fluids, grime and sweat that had built up on me during the last few hours.
"Um . . . sorry . . . I'm almost done," I responded, tentatively, but honestly. I washed the last of the shampoo from my hair, feeling it glide down my body and circle around the drain before disappearing inside. I reached for the water control and turned it off. In the absence of hot water, the air felt cold on my skin, and I felt goosebumps rising as I pulled aside the shower curtain, my hands unconsciously covering my privates as I became exposed to his view.
An African-American man leaned against the inside of the doorframe. He was neither tall nor short, and there was a density about him, as his skin stretched over muscles carved from natural work rather than work in a gym. His skin was the color of toasted almonds, and he had strong cheekbones and intense brown eyes over thick lips, his face set off by his shaved head and the diamond stud in his left ear. He had a white towel draped over his left shoulder just covering his developed pectoral. His chest was smooth as was his firm, but not ripped, stomach. One thumb was tucked into the waistband of his oversized basketball shorts, pulling them low enough that his pubes peeked out over the brim and it was apparent that he was going commando. Muscled calves met worn high tops and promised a power and speed beyond what a first glance would indicate.
"Name's Kenny," he drawled as he pulled the towel from his shoulder and tossed it to me. I caught the towel with both hands on instinct, exposing myself to his view. "Anthony said ta bring ya this," he said as he looked me up and down. "I guess you're the cocksucker he's been tellin' me 'bout."
I could feel myself blush, naked in the presence of this stranger, and I brought the towel down to cover myself, a gesture that Kenny laughed at. "Y'all don't gotta be modest 'round me," his voice was amused, calm and familiar, and he talked slowly, more slowly than I was used to anyway. Despite my embarrassment, I began to towel off, trying unsuccessfully to avoid his gaze while attempting to make it seem that I didn't care at all that he watched. I accomplished neither.
As I finished up, Kenny took a few steps in my direction, stopping so that the toilet was the only thing that stood between us. "I just came in ta take a piss," he said. It felt that time slowed down for me, as the thumb he had hooked into his waistband started to retract the polyester fabric, revealing more of his bush and the very root of his thick brown cock. His other hand reached into the shorts, cupped his jewels and flipped his impressive equipment over the band, anchoring it in place. One hand on his waist, he used the other to hold his cock just under the head with his index and fuck finger, his thumb on top. He took aim at the stool, and his initial stream barely touched the rim of the porcelain before he adjusted the aim higher and the sound of his powerful flow hitting the water rang in my ears. He shuffled his feet a bit, adjusting his position as he continued to urinate for some time. My eyes never left his thick inches set over hefty, hairy balls and framed by kinky black pubes that seemed to whorl in patches on his skin. The water in the bowl turned from clear to ever-deepening shades of yellow until his stream faltered, and he used his hand to milk a few more squirts from his dick before shaking the last few drops off onto the rim and floor and flipping the waistband back into place.
My eyes finally left his crotch and locked with his. "Anthony was right abou' two thangs. He said yore eyes'd be glued to ma piece, and you do got a helluva cute ass on ya, boy." He winked at me as I blushed and turned to leave the bathroom, stopping at the doorway. "One other thing," he paused and looked me over again. "Anthony said ta git out here and finish the laundry, but not until ya licked up any dribbles I mayde," he motioned to the rim of the toilet and the floor where his urine had left small trails as he had finished up and shaken out the final drops. He watched until I had slowly dropped to my knees, and reluctantly reached out with my tongue to collect his urine from the porcelain rim, then further to the floor as my lips and tongue left saliva trails where drops of piss had been only moments before.
I hadn't the chance to look up or really process the fact that I was tasting a virtual strangers piss, mere minutes after meeting him, on Anthony's expectation before I heard Kenny back in the other room. "No fuckin' way, A. I cain't believe yore boy just lapped up ma piss like a fuckin' dog. That shit is crazy, man."
I was astounded by his words and my deed. In three days, I had become the sort of low-life that takes the piss of other men in his mouth, and while my first taste of urine had been involuntary at worst and passively taken at best, my second had been actively accepted as I had willingly used my own lips and tongue to seek it out and consume it. All for the pleasure of a man who frightened and intimidated me, but the thought of whom made me crazy with desire at the same time. As I regained my kneeling position, my hard cock pointed to the doorway, and through the fog of lust, I knew it was time to follow in that direction and finish my chores.
"Finally done in there," Anthony stated, eyes on the television as I stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later. I paused to look in his direction. He was slouched down on the couch, his ass just at the edge of the seat next to Kenny in a pair of boxers, nothing else. "Kenny says the pisser is sparkling clean," he said through a smirk, his eyes seeking mine, and then looking dismissively in the direction of the laundry piled on the bed.
My shoulders slumped in humiliation, and without a word, I turned and closed the distance between myself and the bed and began folding towels and shirts, balling socks, rolling underwear and finally re-making the bed after I had searched around in half-empty drawers to determine where each laundered item belonged. I only hoped I got it mostly right. In the background, I could hear from the television stereotypical porn music broken by the slurping of lips on cock, the sloppy sound of a hole getting fucked and the grunts and moans of men and women coming or faking it. I was almost entirely ignored as I finished up my work. Occasionally, one or the other of the men watching would whistle or grunt or make a comment like, "nice tits," or "fuck that fine ass," or "hell yea, gag on that fucker, bitch." Their comments, the sound of the constant sex and my own vulnerability kept me hard and dripping the entire time. I couldn't hide my boner, and by the end, I didn't even try; I was fast getting used to being naked in front of Anthony, and now in front of Kenny, as well.
By the time I was finished, shadows had begun to overtake light in the stark room, and the glow of the TV cast a strange glow on the men before it. Kenny noticed me standing and looking at them, and hit Anthony lightly on the shoulder, pointing in my direction.
"Come here little one," Anthony gestured me over to the couch, pointing to the floor beside him, and I slid to my knees while he opened the lid of a wooden box on the table next to him, retrieving a small bag and tossing it to Kenny. It hit him on the chest, and he caught it on the rebound, slipping it into his pocket. "Take off, Kenny. I got business to attend to," he said quietly, but firmly. Kenny looked at Anthony a bit reluctantly, not moving.
"You mean I don't get no . . .," he started, but Anthony interrupted him.
"You just got your shit, motherfucker. Now get the fuck out."
I couldn't tell how serious Anthony was, though Kenny stood, gathering himself, seemingly not sure if he should respond or not. The tension between the two was thick for a moment, and then suddenly it dissapated as Kenny turned towards the door.
"Well, thanks, I guess," Kenny said as he opened the door.
"No thanks necessary, Kenny. That's payment for services rendered." Anthony smirked and the two men exchanged a glance before Kenny was slamming the door behind him.
Anthony was quiet for a moment, still watching the screen, and I felt light-headed as I knelt by his side, so close to His cock, His balls, even His ass. A thin layer of cotton kept me from seeing the tool I could tell was clearly hard, his nuts hanging heavy against the fabric. Saliva flowed into my mouth as I longed for the taste of him; the smell of him was slight, and I found myself breathing deeper without even realizing it. My naked flesh was crawling with desire, my cock pounding with my heartbeat just being close to him I wanted to touch him, to taste him, to please him so badly.
"Tell me what you want," was all he said to me, calmly, quietly. He didn't even look at me, though I knew he could see me peripherally. It was like a dam burst, a thousand emotions pent up for a thousand days in a thousand ways. I didn't know where to start, I didn't know what I was saying, but I spoke from the heart, I spoke my truth, not stumbling over my words, but confidently and without shame.
"You. I want you, Anthony. I want to suck you, to lick you, to smell you, to worship you. I want to please you in any way that you like. I think about you all the time. I'm hard all the time. I have to learn some things about myself, and they are things I need to be in this place doing these things to learn. It's you. It's always you.
Two tears trailed down my face as I heard my own words, as I heard my truth out loud for the first time and realized its implications. Anthony looked away from the television and smiled a genuine smile. He reached over and wiped away the tears still tracking down my cheeks. The backs of his fingers grazed my chin, and his thumb traced across my lips. It was the most tender gesture he had ever shown me.
"You'll get what you want, chilito," he said, still smiling. "You'll get what you want and more."
I felt Anthony's hand on the back of my head as he gently pulled me towards him. I slid from my position at his side to center myself in front of his slouched form, all the time devouring the sight of his smooth chest, and the hollows created by his muscled abs. My hands naturally found his thighs as I leaned in a bit, my fingers brushing and tickling the hairs on his skin as they slid slowly upwards towards the object of my desire. I restrained myself a bit, not wanting to move to quickly without permission. My eager touch betrayed my wantonness, and I received an unspoken permission to proceed as Anthony settled his arms above his head, revealing pits thick with black hairs, and pushed his crotch towards me slightly, my fingertips sliding into the legs of his boxers.
I leaned in to smell him while one hand curled around the hot stalk of flesh, and the other felt the thick mat of hairs that circled his cock and marked him a man. My lips connected with flesh above the waistband of his shorts, and the hairs that formed a wide treasure trail on his lower belly tickled the tip of my nose until my wet, hot tongue pasted them to his flesh. I worked my way up to his navel and let my tongue swirl around and within it, penetrating its depths, and I can only describe what I heard from Anthony as a giggle, his abs contracting, a shiver running through his body, a second moment of vulnerability shared between us.
His levity was brief, and his tone became more serious, directive but not threatening. "It's time to suck me, now, little one. And we've got some talking to do." I withdrew my hands from the legs of his boxers and reached for the waistband, glad to have him finally fully exposed to me. Our eyes met, and he smiled at me, still relaxed, head resting on his crossed arms. "Not yet. Just take it through the fly for now and get it in your mouth."
I'm sure he could see the slight disappointment on my face as he used his body to desperately tease me, but I obediently uncurled my fingertips from his waistband, and separated the flaps to fish his thick uncut penis through. Seeing an opportunity for at least a bit of compromise, I pulled his hairy sack into view as well, my tongue moistening my lips in anticipation.
Anthony's cock sat straight up against his abs, still wet with the trail of saliva I had left in my quest for his navel. Though he was hard, his foreskin more than half-covered his cockhead, just the pink piss slit peeking out from the brown hood. My fingers gripped his shaft and I stroked his foreskin forward, to completely cover the head, and then back before enveloping him in my mouth, collecting his pre with my tongue, and savoring the richness of it. My eyes closed as I bobbed my head a few times, taking a bit more with each stroke and concentrating on the feel of his hot flesh inside me, the ridges of his veins as my tongue played over them. Wanting nothing more than to give this cock everything I had, I put my heart and soul into my job of pleasuring this man. I used my tongue and the surfaces of my mouth and throat to provide as much stimulating contact as possible. Anthony responded with a moan here, a quick intake of breath, there and occasional thrusts of his hips as he tried to work himself deeper inside me.
I lost track of time as Anthony's cock became the center of my universe, my purpose for being. I wasn't aware of anything except for his heat, his taste, his pulse until I felt his hand on my forehead, pulling me off his tool. I looked up to his face as his fingers curled around his shaft, jacking it slowly, slickly. I could feel a mixture of spit and cockslime on my chin and cheeks, and although my jaw was tired, I immediately missed the feel of Anthony's cock in my mouth.
"You got me close, little one, and it's too good not to make it last." Anthony continued to jack himself with one hand, and patted the seat beside him with the other. "Kneel up here and lick my nuts for awhile. I didn't think you'd get me so close so fast after I fucked Kenny's ass this afternoon." He said it casually, not as a revelation, but I was floored. I couldn't believe that the cock that had just been in my mouth had fucked the ass of the hot black man that sat just moments earlier where I now kneeled.
"Kenny's like me?" I asked in disbelief. "Kenny likes guys?"
Anthony laughed, and pushed my head towards his nuts. They were already slick from spit that had drooled down his shaft while I was giving him head, and while Anthony continued to stroke himself, edging, I began to lap at his hairy fucksacks. Anthony just groaned, closed his eyes for a moment, and then spoke.
"That feels awesome, chilito. Keep that up." I felt Anthony's hand move from my head to my shoulder and then slowly feel its way down my side. I kept working his nuts, one of my hands slowly tracing his abs, and a forearm propped on his thigh while my fingers crept into his boxers and began teasing the soft hairs on his taint.
"Kenny's not a fag like you, Lake," Anthony said matter of factly. "Kenny doesn't like guys," Anthony laughed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Kenny fucks pussy every chance he gets. I can't tell you how many times we've Eiffel towered some cunt together." He paused, seeming to recollect. "But, Kenny also likes his weed, and today he was a little short on cash." I continued to tongue and suck Anthony's nuts. I had to intentionally concentrate on his words as his left hand continued to explore my body, feeling my chest, tweaking my nipple and then working down my chest and stomach to tug gently on my hard cock for a few exquisite strokes. Anthony seemed philosophical. "It's surprising what some folks will do for money or drugs or power. Kenny will trade his ass for weed because he likes being high more than he hates getting fucked." Anthony's hand tickled my hairless nuts and crept between my legs, and his finger slowly crept between my parted cheeks to rest gently on my hole.
When Anthony's finger grazed my hole, then rested on it, then slowly tapped my rosebud twice, my body went rigid. My hands stopped exploring his body, and I made an audible gasp as I involuntarily forced my eyes shut. The memory of him forcing himself inside me overwhelmed me, and even this gentle touch was too intense a reminder in the moment.
"What's the matter, little one," Anthony said as he removed his finger and returned his hand to my back. "You wouldn't be here cleaning my place and sucking my cock and licking my nuts if you were still sore about the other night, would you?" I wasn't sure if Anthony meant 'sore' as a reference to the physical or the emotional, and it didn't matter. My reaction was instinctual, self-protective, and entirely understandable. I felt Anthony's hand in my hair, pulling me up towards his cock. He used his other hand to hold it upright, stroking it from base to tip, and a drop of clear fluid collected at the tip.
"You want it, don't you?" he asked me outright. "You're going crazy right now inside your head because you want it so bad, and you don't want to want it. Am I right?" I barely stopped myself from nodding as Anthony looked at me. His eyes were soft. "You can't help yourself," he held my gaze. His index finger collected the drop of pre, and he extended it to my lips. "Go ahead. Lick it off. Taste me." I reached out my tongue and took his fingertip inside my mouth. My eyes closed and I licked and sucked first one finger, and then two. As he removed his digits, my mouth dropped to his cock and I resumed sucking him at a frenzied pace.
"Easy, little one," he said, slowing me down a bit. That's the difference between you and Kenny, and the reason that you're a fag and he's not." Anthony's fingers, slick with my own spit, found my hole again, and circled a few times before resting gently, moistly, intimately on my opening. "Faggots suck real men's cocks and nuts and asses because they want to. Their assholes twitch and their mouths water when they see a real man's cock. They crave the feeling of fullness that accompanies penetration." Anthony's fingertip began to just barely press into my hole as he continued. "Fags take real men's loads in their mouths and asses because it's the only way for them to feel complete." Anthony's fingertip rested inside my ass to the second knuckle and I continued to suck him and listen. "For fags, pleasing real men is the only way to get off. A fag's own fingers in his ass or another fag's cum in his mouth just isn't the same." Anthony started to slowly fuck his finger in and out of me, gaining depth and speed. I felt stretched, but there was no pain. Even when he added a second finger to my hole, only slight discomfort barely preceeded a heightening pleasure.
Anthony groaned softly as I sucked him deeply. Backing off his cock for a moment, I let a moan of my own escape. After the pain and violence of our earlier encounter, I had repressed how good my ass could make me feel. The fingers in my ass began to feel better and better and a familiar tension began to build within me. "This is the difference between you and Kenny, little one." Anthony started to really finger bang me, as deeply as he could, his fingertips gently scraping the walls of my rectum. And then he hit the place inside me that made me suck wind. If I had repressed the simple feelings of pleasure that now flowed from my ass, I had entirely dismissed the existence of the spot that Anthony now struck repeatedly. I threw my head back as my hips bucked and I felt cum shoot from my cock to the couch below me again and again and again as Anthony continued to pump my ass with his hand, making contact with that special knot inside me over and over.
Anthony continued talking to me as I caught my breath slowly, still on my knees, but barely. "You see, Kenny would never cum solely from getting his ass fucked . . ." I felt Anthony withdraw his fingers, and my hole spasmed at the sudden emptiness ". . . and he would never long for the fullness that accompanies a fuck." I realized that Anthony was right when he said I missed the physical pressure of his presence inside me. I wished his fingers were back, and it confused me. Anthony's words resonated in my mind. His description of faggotry was entirely consistent with my own self-knowledge. Anthony's voice broke into my stream of consciousness. "What are you thinking about, chilito?"
"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I mean, I think I am," I said vaguely. "A fag, I mean," still an incomplete statement. "I . . . I'm a faggot, Anthony," I said finally, decisively.
"I know you are," Anthony said. "I've been telling you that since the first time we met." He spoke the truth, and I suddenly realized that Anthony's use of the word had not been intended as insulting so much as appropriately descriptive. Anthony called me a fag because that's what I was. It was an essence of my being. I took a deep breath and said it aloud again.
"I'm a fag." I looked at Anthony, who seemed to be waiting patiently for me to connect all the dots.
"Enough conversation, little one." Anthony pumped his cock in his fist. "I need to blow a load. Now do your duty and suck some cock." He pushed my head back down, and I began to orally worship the thick column of meat between his legs. Anthony reached to the coffee table, picked up a remote and increased the volume of the porno. My own slurping and gagging was punctuated by the same sounds coming from the television, and Anthony's orgasm coincided almost exactly with that of some porn whore on the tube. As his shaft plumped inside me, cum racing up his cock, I collected his load in my mouth like the fag he had made me, savoring the flavor of him, and thankful for his gift.
If you'd like another installment, please let me know at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at matthewlake309. It's really motivating to get an email, even if it's just a couple of lines-especially motivating if a hot pic is attached. I try to respond to every email, and also keep a list of responsive readers to make notifications of the posting of the next chapter. You can find other stories I've written in the prolific authors section of the nifty archive. Thanks again for reading!