Hey guys, the usual warnings apply: what follows is pornography written solely for the pleasure of guys who like to read explicit gay fiction to enhance unhurried, private masturbation. One of the parties in this fantasy is seventeen, which is underage in some cultures, so be warned. If that's not your thing, or you're too young to be here, turn back now. If not, feel free to read on and let me know what you thought. jsmith381@hotmail.com
REGULAR ARRANGEMENT
Peter was from next-door-but-one. He was the youngest child in the family, and the only one still living at home. His parents were nice enough people, but they were a bit out of touch. They didn't for example know that their son smoked the odd bit of dope, and they didn't know he had been caught twice for parking offences and had had to skim cash out of various household sources to pay the fines. And they also didn't know that he earned a few quid each week from a regular arrangement with me helping out with some basic personal matters; and maybe not just with me either, because Peter was nothing if not alert to a good business opportunity.
Whenever I needed Peter's services I would send him a text message and leave the kitchen door open. If available he would usually be around in about ten minutes; sometimes he would text back with a time later that day. I generally sat on my sofa and watched a hardcore porno, naked from the waist down, legs wide open while he knelt and serviced me excellently. He usually took about ten to twenty minutes to get me off, and lovingly wiped my spunky dick all over his lips and face when I was done. He never wanted any attention himself; it was clear from the very first time that this was business and he did not want an orgasm in return. I am sure it was better for him to take my cash and arrange his own orgasms on his own terms. In fact I hadn't ever seen his cock, and couldn't even tell if he got hard or not while earning his fee.
I never asked Peter about his private life, and we only chatted about anything if we were in a situation where to do otherwise would have been odd; like, once he and his dad came over to discuss an issue that affected both our gardens, and another time I bumped into him while out with my sister and we spoke briefly about football. The truth was that I was slightly envious of this seventeen year old with his high level of independence, assurance and sexual identity. It had been he who, six months before, had knocked on my door having totally sussed my lifestyle and assessed the chances of his offer being taken seriously, and who proposed the mutually beneficial arrangement whereby I got regular headjobs at £25 a pop and he got some pocket money and the chance to practise on something more responsive than a cucumber. I agreed readily, and our first transaction was done and dusted about half an hour later. I never asked for whose enjoyment he was refining his skills, or whether his homework was being appreciated, because it seemed outside the terms of our arrangement. He never looked at the porn, and never showed any interest in my body other than my genitals. He gave a great blowjob though, and his deep throat was improving week-on-week. When I was done, he would take the towel I offered him and clean up his face and hands, and then we would hang around the kitchen only long enough for me to pay him. He wasn't embarrassed about the issue of payment, and had not raised his price since that first time.
Early that particular morning, about 7.30, Peter had sent me a text, reading CAN DO THIS A.M. IF U R FREE, BUT THEN ON HOL 3 WKS. Well, obviously he was fishing for a bit more spending money for his trip, but I didn't mind that. And I hadn't seen him for about ten days; if I waited till he got back, that would be far too long between appointments. I sent a message suggesting 11.00.
Shortly after Peter's text, a car horn sounded a couple of sharp pips outside, and I saw Jeff's ridiculous car, a two-seater soft-top; ridiculous because it could take practically no luggage when it carried two actual people. Somehow we balanced my golf bag on top of his, the lot strapped down with some stretchies, and by 7.45 were on the first tee.
"What are the stakes today?" he asked, although we both knew the answer. Asking was part of the ritual.
"Point per hole and winner gets the loser's", I smiled.
The loser's hole, that is. Jeff and I only play golf for fucks. Hell, neither of us likes golf much, but we both like fucking. As usual, the winner would get to do the loser's ass as hard as he wanted and for as long as he could, that very evening. Jeff and I used to be lovers. Actually we still are lovers in the sense that we care deeply for each other and have sex from time to time. Our relationship dates from about ten years back when we were both very into each other but were still too naïve to realise that two tops together doesn't always work. We split when this became apparent, but never forgot the power of the pounding, energetic fucks we had each inflicted on the other. They had kind of survived though, those fucks, survived our many subsequent boyfriends and partners; but now the right to dish one out was gained solely by winning at golf. We played once a month or so. Jeff had lost our last three games and I had totally gone to town on his ass on each occasion. He would be determined to turn the tide.
I lost. Actually I had lost by the fourteenth, thanks largely to some poor play around the green. As Jeff marked his card he said, I am tempted to take you in those bushes right this fucking second, grinning wickedly, rubbing his overlarge bulge, a bulge which I knew from experience could get very large indeed. But he settled to play out the match, the gentleman's solution: not changing the stakes, not insisting on further penalties; we played out the match and I lost two more of the final four, losing by six overall, my biggest defeat to date.
Jeff mused in the car on the way back to my place, "Did you play that badly because you actually want to get banged up tonight? Because baby, if you want it, you only have to ask. We can do away with the golf completely and cut to the good stuff." I couldn't see his grin, but I could hear it.
I reached and grabbed hard low down between his legs, squeezing his substantial plums while he drove. "I think it's more like you played out of your skin because you haven't had any in a while and were driven by desperation – we both know who the better player is."
He laughed again as we pulled up outside my place, and slapped my ass as I rose to get out of the car. "When you last get fucked, pal, just out of interest?"
I grinned sheepishly. "Last time you did me. Four games ago..."
"Excellent! No loosening yourself up this afternoon – I want your ring tight. I'll know if you've been dildoing..."
I pulled a face. He would get my ass, of course, those were the terms and anyway, I still loved Jeff a bit. But if he thought I wasn't going to prep up for his monster missile, he was much mistaken.
"See you later, hun," he called. "I'll be round about 8ish. Don't worry about doing food. Should be done by about 1 or 2am?" he laughed as the car sped off.
It was 10.50 and I remembered that Peter was due, which was a welcome diversion. But just then I saw Steve's car on my drive. Bugger.
Steve is a boring straight guy who digs my garden. He's quite good looking but has no sense of humour and no real personality that I have detected. He's about 25 I guess, five years younger than Jeff and I. A uni drop-out, he's working his way through the dim girls in the village, shacked up with one at the moment, having fathered brats by two others. He works as a sort of freelance unskilled labourer and has no ambition to do anything more. But he works hard when he has to, and looks attractive in shorts and a t shirt; a couple of times I have masturbated slowly while covertly watching him bend and strain and dig in the heat.
But for today, I had to get him out of the way.
I went round the back and there he was, clipping the hedges with the noisy and expensive long-handled trimmer that was his latest toy. "Steve," I called. "Nip round the nursery please and pick up the half dozen plants that are waiting for me there." I was already counting out the notes he would need. Amenable as ever, he said "sure thing, boss," and headed for his car. A round trip to the nursery with loading time would take him about half an hour, which was all I needed. As Steve pulled away Peter was already approaching. A couple of minutes later we were standing in the kitchen.
"Wanna earn yourself a bit extra today?" I asked, offhand.
"What you got in mind?"
"Gotta pal coming round tonight, and... it's been a while. I could do with some help loosening up back there."
He looked uncertain. Quickly I added, "I'm not asking for a fuck – I'll get enough of that tonight to last me a whole month. Just wondered if you could get a dildo going, you know, while you..."
He looked relieved. "Oh, OK. Never done that before. Do guys like that?"
"Some do, yeah." Again I was itching to ask him about his own sex life, but again I didn't.
"Show me the equipment then. I can't promise to be brilliant at it first time though. But no extra charge till I know what I'm doing, so this one's a freebie."
I was very fond of Peter. He was so decent. He always asked me if I had enjoyed it, and always asked me if I thought he was getting better. The answer to both questions was always yes. Twenty-five quid was a bargain for the quality and attention he dished out. I would have paid double; he would have probably taken ten.
"Grab a coke while I nip upstairs for a moment." Peter didn't realise it, but not only did I need to dig out my one small dildo, but have a good clean up round there as well. I didn't know what manhole experience Peter had had to date, and didn't want to scare him off first time. Five minutes later my trench and ring were sweet smelling and fresh, and I was back in the kitchen in a bath robe with my trusty old fleshy six- inch dildo.
There was a time, before I knew about tops and bottoms, when I worked hard with this toy to be a better gay boy, including it in long private masturbation sessions as often as I could, and once, aged not much older than Peter, I tried to hold it in myself for an entire trip to the cinema. But I never seemed to enjoy it as much as many of the guys I fucked, so after a while I just stopped. Jeff re-opened the whole subject of my ass when we started dating, but since then the only guys I have given my ass to, even occasionally, have been two long-term boyfriends and Jeff himself. I actually couldn't remember the last time I used this dildo, or any other.
Peter handled it with interest. "I've never seen one before. I guessed they would be bigger."
"Lots are. Some guys use totally massive ones. But I'm a top, and this is the furthest I ever got."
I felt uneasy. I had never revealed personal information to Peter before. But he seem unfazed.
"I don't think top or bottom has anything to do with it," he said. "My brother says lots of straight guys dildo their asses to spice up a wank. In fact I know he does it himself, and he's been married six years."
This I found very revealing and Peter blushed slightly, perhaps uneasy at the sudden familiarity in the same way I had been. I can't imagine any situation in which I would talk to my own brothers about my private wanking habits, and would be utterly astonished if either of them confessed happily that they enjoyed using a dildo. (Astonished at the admission that is, not at the habit). But maybe Peter had a no- limits arrangement regarding sex-chat with his brother.
"Whatever," I said, trying to move away from anything that made him uncomfortable. "Wanna get going? If you're not into it, don't worry; I'll sort myself out later."
We moved through to the sitting room. There had never seemed anything dirty or shameful in our arrangement in the past, but the recent flurry of conversation had highlighted, to me at least, the very absence of such talk on the previous occasions when Peter had expertly practised his skills, largely in silence.
"Hung then, is he, this mate of yours?" asked Peter, as I lost my bath robe and settled on the sofa, legs wide, cock completely soft and heavy, flopping over my big shaved ballsac.
I laughed slightly. The truth was that Jeff had the biggest cock of any of my previous partners, short-term, long-term, whatever-term. He wasn't crazy big, not freakish big, but beautifully, proudly, porn-star big. And he loved to use it properly, fucking deeply like only a real man can.
"Yes." I answered.
"Even bigger than you?" Peter asked, surprised.
He gave away something else of himself there. I have a big cock, but it is not overly remarkable in this age of unlimited internet porn. It's about seven and half or eight inches, where Jeff's is nearer nine. In my hand however, was the case to a DVD I had just slipped into the machine, containing a scene of three young guys fucking bareback in all combinations, two of them with at least ten, and the third, a shy, cute boyish stud, with something over eleven. Granted, this scene was famous, and the guys were all stars. But hadn't Peter seen any porn at all? Surely Peter must know that cocks grow to be larger than mine? Maybe he really was innocent, his only sexual contact the weekly clean-out he gave my tubes. I really wanted to ask, and this time I did.
"Quite a bit bigger, actually. But to be fair, he's the only proper boyfriend I've had who has been that lucky. What about you – your boyfriend must grow pretty stiff when you blow him. You always get me totally boned."
Peter was silent for a while, toying with the dildo in his hands as he knelt between my open legs.
"I actually don't have a boyfriend yet. I'm hoping I might meet him any day though."
The innocence and honesty of this answer startled me, and I said nothing. It was time we stopped talking anyway. I was on a deadline here.
"What you want me to do with this thing?" he asked, suddenly business-like.
"Use a little of this lube" – I passed him the bottle – "and work the head around my hole. After a while you can push gently and the head will slip in and out. Then when I give you the sign you can go in deeper, and then just trust your instincts."
"Cool." That was it. From that moment it was business as usual, his lips went around my soft cock. One hand played with my balls while the fingers of the other ran in little swirls over my ring. Who was he kidding? – he seemed to know how to play with holes.
I punched the remote and got the scene I wanted, the enormously hung young lad totally possessing the elastic ass of his blond pal, whose huge erection – the top couple of inches of it at least – was being hungrily devoured by the third lad as he furiously wanked his own spectacular hardon.
I got lost in the scene and sank back against the leather, naked in front of this fully clothed and mystifying teenager.
I was half hard; now fully hard; now rock-hard; now bulging-throbbing-painful hard as Peter worked his oral magic. The dildo had slipped in easily and he was fucking me in little strokes. My ass began to relax and I wondered if I might actually enjoy that night's hard fucking from Jeff, rather than just getting poppered up and steeling myself for the onslaught. If I could in any way enjoy the fucking he could dish out, I might consider marrying him.
The enormously hung porn boy pulled out his dick completely to remind you just how preposterously big it was. Then the sucking guy began to lose it and his pals watched him with great pleasure as he unloaded copiously, his fabulous dick spewing endlessly over his flat stomach as his body crunched in orgasm and his face wrinkled in ecstasy. Peter's mouth moved down over my dick until his mouth nestled in my pubes for the first time that day. He stayed there, breathing heavily through his nose, squeezing my shaft inside his throat, the dildo in full deep as he worked it gently.
"Oh fucking hell, yeah..." I moaned, pulling on a nipple and rubbing Peter's hair.
"Quick word, boss?" said Steve, standing by the door. "Nursery was closed, but they're open again in an hour, so if it's OK with you, I'll go back after lunch and plant the stuff up this afternoon."
I gazed at Steve, at first unsure if this was really happening, then deciding that it was, then wondering why on earth Peter hadn't sprung away and run off, then finally concluded that not only had Steve seen all, but had decided it was so unworthy of comment that it would be totally ok to talk about the fucking nursery being closed.
"Oh, er, thanks, Steve. Yes, that will be fine." Peter worked relentlessly on my cock and ass. My legs were splayed as wide as they would go, each ankle practically on the arms of the sofa. The guys on the screen had gone back to fucking now that their buddy had shot his load. "Erm... just a bit busy right now. Can we talk later?"
"Sure, boss," said Steve, and as if still in the unreal moment that had just been and gone, I expected him to go away and get on with the gardening. But the unreality had passed, and Steve didn't go.
He stood.
He watched.
He flicked his eyes from the action on the sofa, to the TV screen, and back again.
Although he obviously wasn't fazing Peter, he was sure unsettling me. I couldn't concentrate on the sublime sexual wave I had been riding a few moments before.
"For fuck's sake, Steve," I said. "This is too weird. The garden, please...?"
"Does he take it up the ass?" asked Steve, ignoring me.
"Does he... wha... who?"
"Does he take it up the ass? Obviously a great cocksucker, just wondering if you do his other end too. You know, your boy there. Does he take it up the ass," he repeated, as if explaining his question was to justify it.
"Not from you, if that's what you're asking," said Peter, suddenly rising off my cock and letting the whole spit-slick shaft slap noisily against my stomach.
"Well, I didn't –"
"But," interrupted Peter, "if you want a blowjob I'll be done in a little while. Thirty- five quid. I don't swallow. But I'm good, aren't I, and getting better?" he said, looking to me for confirmation.
"He's excellent," I said, bemused, wondering how we had reached this point of absurdity, and wondering if I now could ever orgasm, while being pleased that it seemed I was getting the discount rate.
"Boss, how much you paying me for today?" asked Steve as Peter went back to work on my aching hard dick.
"Erm, Steve, I don't--- can we leave this till --- please?"
"Coz, if you're going to pay me seventy like last time, could you just pay me half and spring me a sesh off this guy in lieu?"
Peter sucked away hungrily, now working in full sweeps of his tight lips the whole length of my shaft.
"Steve," I said, patiently, "you're straight. You have children. Go get relief from your woman."
"Hey," answered Steve, defensively. "Don't tell me how to spend my money."
"MY money at the moment, actually," I corrected, "which you haven't earned yet."
"It's just that, Jesus, pal, I've never been given a blowjob like THAT." He pointed at my lap, where Peter was totally excelling himself. Showing off. Shop window, in fact.
"Well, I got excellent stuff to work on here," said Peter suddenly joining in. "What have you got? It'll be more than thirty-five if you're any bigger than this. Harder work, you see."
"Hmmph," grunted Steve. "I do ok. I got this." He stared to unbutton his jeans.
"Steve, stop," I said. "If you want to pay Peter for his services, fine. But you are not doing it in my sitting room."
"Why not?" asked Steve, and surprisingly, Peter also.
"Please," said Peter, looking at me, sincere. "It's a little difficult to do this kind of work from home. Just this once?"
I guess I couldn't refuse him. "OK. But for fuck's sake get back to finishing me off, please. Jesus, this has been the weirdest blowjob ever."
"Looking pretty good from over here though," said Steve, unbuckling his belt. "Can't wait to get some of that."
Of course, Peter and I both being gay, the moment a straight guy wants to get his dick out and show his bone, neither of us was going to ignore it. So while Steve stepped out of his jeans and boxers we suspended other activity in favour of ogling his straight cock. Steve was nicely shaped and already fully hard. Fat without being too short and with a good juicy looking head. His skin was tight over his bellend, and he displayed his set-up proudly, smirking like he knew that guys like Peter and I don't get to look at a hetero hardon that often.
"Fucking best one in the room," grinned Steve.
It wasn't actually. First it wasn't as big as mine, and second, who knew what Peter kept under wraps. But if he wanted to think that, fine.
"Move over, boss," he said, lifting his t-shirt off. He tried to sit next to me on the sofa.
His legs were furry with fine blond down over his worker's tan. His body was hot: muscly from work and football rather than the gym, ungroomed and unclippered, but all the hotter for it. If Steve the odd-jobbing gardener wanted to get naked on the sofa with me, he was going to get more than a blowjob from Peter. Peter sensed this as well. He lifted off my cock, and looked me in the eye while Steve was jostling for space. We exchanged a secret, conspiratorial look and pounced him.
Peter went for his cock and I went for a nipple. Steve gasped, but didn't flinch. Peter had gone down on Steve's attractive erection in one hit, and was already nosing around his bush. I licked and nibbled and chewed on his nearest nipple, and while Steve was gasping and adapting to the ferocious attention to his cock, I moved my hand to his nipple and my mouth to his neck. I kissed and tongued his throat and ear, and then surprising both of us I think, within a minute of our initial assault I was playing tongue hockey with Steve. He didn't back away. He kissed properly and passionately, with a heady dose of masculine sexuality, and seemed unconcerned, even excited, that he had moved from a bit of harmless straight-guy fooling around to a full-on threesome in under a minute.
The dildo was still up my ass, just poked there, redundant, but I saw that Peter already had two fingers up Steve, and it wouldn't be long before he needed something larger. Steve was a revelation: one of those straight guys who maybe had always wanted to dabble, and who would probably still call himself straight afterwards, but who, in the moment, was completely up for anything. Steve may have been enjoying the first class work Peter was doing, particularly when Peter neatly removed the dildo from my hole and slid it into Steve's with one very elegant bit of instinctive skill, but it was obvious that it was me who did it for Steve. It was my body that had lured him into this, and it was me that he would give himself to. This suited me fine. I pulled the hunk towards me, pulling him on top of me on the sofa so Peter had to completely reposition himself, and gave him a full-on body embrace, naked male flesh to naked male flesh, kissing fully and deeply, allowing our bodies to become open to the possibility of full union.
"I'm going to fuck you," I purred in Steve's ear.
He made no objection or reaction. It was so.
At that point Peter could probably have slipped away and neither of us would have noticed. Peter was a young guy in the presence of two men, he was inexperienced, he was there as a paid party, and more than any of that, he was fully clothed while Steve and I were writhing together naked. I decided that if Peter backed away and disappeared, I would call him back later and pay him for both Steve and I. Then I remembered he was going on holiday and needed the cash. I pulled away from Steve and whispered to him, let me just deal with the business.
For the first time since I had met Peter, he was then embarrassed by our regular arrangement. "No money today," he said instantly. "This is way too hot. Can I join you properly?"
Steve and I sat on the sofa side by side, naked, hard, fit and horny, only moments away from some seriously good sex and maybe even from defining something important. It was Steve who said, "you wanna play with the men then, kid?"
In that comment I knew that Steve was far more up for this than I had thought, and it was likely that Peter was far more out of his depth.
"Don't push yourself into anything you're uncomfortable with," I said, but Peter had already decided. Hell, he was seventeen, gay, and more horny than he had ever been. And two guys were naked on the sofa, and they were going to fuck. No way was Peter walking out on this.
He stood up and began to undress. I had never seen his body. He was taller than I had realised, and hairier. His chest had a few dark wisps around his nipples, and his skin was flawless, uniform, pearly. His legs were hairy, and his feet big. His dick was a beauty, coyly revealed, his shorts lowered slowly so his bat bounced up and thwacked his abdomen. His balls hung low, and above it, a perfectly neat seven inch stalk throbbed desperately, his skin already partially back, his bush neatly trimmed, his sac as smooth as a baby's.
Now Peter was the novice. Steve and I licked him all over, suckling on his dick and balls, opening up his trench to a tongue for the first time. Peter gasped and moaned and whimpered. He had given out the pleasure, many times; but he had never received it. Steve hungrily lapped at Peter's back door. Steve obviously had a past. No straight guy goes from first-timer to accomplished rimmer in ten minutes.
He had form. I challenged him.
"You've done that before," I laughed.
"Once or twice," he smiled, before diving back in.
Steve reached between his own legs as I kissed him, and pulled out the dildo. Despite two separate assholes it was still glistening clean as Steve held it to Peter's little boyhole, rubbing and teasing with it. Peter was breathing fast and shallow, his eyes rolling. He was going to lose it very quickly. I watched Steve slip the dildo upwards into Peter's hole, and we both smiled, kissing and wanking each other as Peter was totally lifted to a new place.
"Oh my God, oh my fucking God," he whispered, wanking himself frenetically. "Oh my God please fuck me with that thing..."
Steve gave only a few more gentle pushes before Peter yelled and started to shoot, utterly out of control. His muscles twitched, his legs tensed and his chest heaved. There was a lake of semen. It went everywhere, mainly over my chest. The force of his ejaculation was nuclear, but he just kept that climax going and going.
Peter flopped into a gap between Steve and I, and Steve smiled. "The boy's done for the moment," he said, gently removing the dildo from Peter. "How about the main course?"
How I had thought of Steve as straight, I do not know. He was an accomplished and talented lover of men. He scooped up the biggest dollop of Peter's jizz and lubricated my dick and his hole. And skilfully and without any effort, he moved Peter aside and got us into a position where I could enter him without trouble, and where we could smile and kiss, and enjoy the first magic moments of penetration.
My dick was like granite. It swooped into Steve's channel with nearly no resistance.
"Jesus, man," sighed Steve, after a little while of squirming and shifting his body around my rod, his own dick throbbing against my stomach. "I knew you'd feel that good."
Peter was entwined between and around us, but it didn't stop the fuck starting. This fuck was going to be a true mind-warper. We were both so up for it, and I was hot for Steve. "I used to watch you dig from an upstairs window," I confided as our rhythm got going. Steve was on top riding, even though Peter's head was on my chest. "Yeah?" said Steve, "and do what?"
"Wank myself slowly, thinking of fucking the ass off you..." I smiled.
"You should have done more than sit and wank," he said. "You should have come out into the garden and ripped my fucking shorts off and pinned me against the fucking fence. I've wanted to do you since I first time I saw you..."
I guess we would have gone on like that, talking the kind of blokey lovespeak that was acceptable during sex, as our fuck progressed and built in speed and energy, had Peter not said, "Jesus guys, get a room!"
I hugged Peter towards me, and his face lifted to mine. I kissed him for the first time, and then so did Steve. "You next," I hummed in Peter's ear. He snuggled closer to our fucking bodies, his dick still hard, his spunk still gluing us together, his smile as wide as the Ganges.
I let Steve ride me for about five minutes; he enjoyed every bounce, every thrust, every grind. Then I flipped us over and got him on his back, his legs high and spread wide, and Peter restarted his champion mouth work. As I pummelled him from on top, Steve totally gave in to my fuck. He cried and yelled and groaned as I worked harder and harder, driving my wide, hard meat into his hot hole, time and time again, pushing his button repeatedly, non-stop, until that and the blowjob on his beautiful dick proved too much, and he let himself fall off the edge of the cliff laughing and crying all the way as he pumped arc after arc of the his hot white stuff over all of us; his chest, Peter's face and hair, my stomach. "Don't pull out, don't pull out!" he moaned as his orgasm subsided and my dick, aching for release, kept going. Steve's orgasm, and in fact his wanking, seemed to go on far longer than this ejaculation. His sperm was spread between us, and he and Peter kissed trailing sticky strands of it between their lips, but his hand still worked his hardon, gradually slowing even though I was still working hard at his ass.
After a minute or two, when his bliss had faded, he looked me back in the eye and nodded his head at Peter. "Let the kid have a feel of how fucking great your dick is."
Peter couldn't move fast enough. As I withdrew from Steve's beautiful hole, Peter instinctively got on his knees and Steve went in to tend to the prep. His tongue and fingers worked such magic on Peter's ring that I had to urge him to slow down before Peter lost it again. But when Peter had been rimmed into a frenzy and when Steve held Peter's cheeks apart, his twitching, glistening little boyhole, a light patch of soft pubic hair around his virgin rosebud, was so appealing, so fucking sexy, so maddeningly, impossibly desirable, that I just launched at him right then. I got above him and pushed my bone downwards, letting my long shaft fill his open cleft.
I humped him for a minute or so, sliding and rubbing my full length in the curve of this virgin valley, my bush grinding against the small of Peter's back and my helmet pushing into the soft skin at the back of his ballbag. He loved the force and energy of a big cock manoeuvring in this way, and arched his back sharply to make the contact more complete, moaning and sighing.
I would have loved to have watched him squirm and wriggle against my cock until he lost it again, but I knew I wanted penetration, and was damn sure Peter did too. When he was purring with delight and forcing his ass strongly back at me, I repositioned myself on my knees so I could point my dick at his eager, desperate little hole. I skinned back fully and Steve slicked my bellend with a mouthful of saliva, rubbing lovingly with his closed, slippery palm until my helmet was shining.
Steve and I exchanged a look of deep understanding and pleasure. He winked at me, meaning, give the boy the ride of his life. I smiled and nodded as I gently rubbed his ring and slipped a finger in. Peter sighed deeply and moaned, "yessssss." I immediately added another finger and Peter squirmed and pushed backwards, still moaning his pleasure. Then I removed my fingers and pushed my glistening pulsing cockhead into the little nest of teenage bum fluff that guarded his hole, rubbing and pushing and teasing till my pressure and his need and the slick mixture of sperm and spit and sweat and desire helped my knobend nudge into the dark, and out and in and out and in again several times, each time a fraction further, each time Peter's eyes screwed shut in desperation, each time his body denying the stabs of pain he felt as his torso lurched back for more, hungry for penetration. The couple of minutes he'd had with the dildo had more than warmed him up. Very quickly my strokes were inches deep and my thick cock was being vacuumed deeper into his teenage tunnel.
"You've got him," smiled Steve, wanking again, his erection renewed. "What do you think to that, kid?"
Peter opened his eyes and laughed. "Brilliant! Never stop! Just keep on doing it! I've wanted this for so long!"
I went in deeper. I never gave him all of it, and never gave him even a quarter of the energy with which I can fuck if, for example, I'm going to town on Jeff's ass. But Peter didn't need it. He was lost in the lustzone of his first fuck, the penetration itself more thrilling than anything he had known. He flipped over onto his back so he could feel it like Steve had taken it, and he looked as beautiful as any teenager ever has. His head back in ecstasy, his eyes closed and his mouth wide in half-gasp, half- unstoppable-grin. I held his hairy legs by his ankles, spread wide and high, his tight chest twisted and tensed as it adapted to a hundred new sensations. My own thighs were spread as wide as Peter's, my knees buried in the leather as I used my hips to fuck forwards into him. Steve sat behind him, his body and arms like a fuck chair for Peter, holding the lad in his arms, massaging his chest and nipples while I fucked him. Peter's head was hard back against Steve's chest, his body coiled like a spring from the intensity. But the wonder was Peter's cock. It was so hard. It was perfect. None of us touched it – his beautiful bone just lay there, rigid and flat against his stomach, bouncing and jerking and spasming with each fuck thrust, his cockhead shining with precum, his ballbag jiggling, his ass gripping so, so tightly. Peter was perfect. His body was perfect. His first fuck was perfect. It was a sublime honour for me to deliver.
I wish those moments could have gone on for ever, but it was me who lost it first. Hell, the other two were one cum each ahead of me, and it all began to bubble and itch in my groin and I knew it was coming, I told them I couldn't hold it back and they were both so excited, Peter gasping yes-yes-yes, Steve urging me on, don't stop, pal, go on mate, all the fucking way, work it all the way through... Peter finally touched his own cock and began to wank himself frantically, lost, as we have all been before, in that particular magic of wanking yourself hard and fast, knowing you are going to cum while you are being fucked; Steve somehow reaching under Peter to get at his own rod; but it was my orgasm that arrived next. I knew I was going to cum without pulling out – it was the perfect end to this fuck for both Peter and I, and once I had made that decision, my hips and ass pushed on and up and an orgasmic tingling spread outwards from my crotch like warm sunshine, to my chest and fingers, to my thighs, to my feet and my scalp. I caught Steve's eye as a crippling electric charge jolted my balls, unleashing a surge of burning hot juice, scalding and blissful, and then another surge, and another, and many more, as I let out a great cry of release as I rode the top of the tide, and as my hips went into overdrive to push the unstoppable waves right into the hot core of Peter's new, animal, adult body.
He was wide-eyed now, staring at me in wonder, working his own dick so hard it looked like he was going to yank it off. As his second orgasm hit he clenched his ring tighter than at any point so far, and his jizz shot out like bullets, ammo firing everywhere, his ass still squeezing like a fist, his body taut enough to snap. Like me, he yelled without realising. It was a cry of carnality; a cry of coming of age. He launched himself up at me, panting, my dick still deep inside him, and kissed me very, very hard, his body still shuddering with the most powerful orgasm of his life. I held him tight, watching Steve over Peter's shoulder. Steve was nodding in serious and deep approval. Great, great fuck, he mouthed to me, and then upped his wrist speed and exploded all over Peter's perfect back and buns. In that moment I loved Steve's selflessness. He was as bowled over as I was to think that Peter's first fuck had been an earth-trembling blitz of a fuck, a truly blinding shag, a thrilling, brilliant physical and emotional climax experienced in a totally safe environment; a fuck that would be a vivid memory forever, a wank fantasy to relive until he could no longer get hard. But it was Steve that was on my mind, even though I held Peter in my arms; I knew Steve was hitched, and twice a father, and I knew Jeff was coming round that night to work my ass over, but somehow I also knew that despite these minor issues, Steve was my new boyfriend. I had totally clicked with him sexually; he was obviously a bottom, and the best kind: an appreciative one, but a manly, masculine, hard-bodied one. But more than any of that, I really liked him.
As our climaxes faded, we gradually slipped into a spunky, manly heap; three naked men on a sofa. It was many minutes before my cock deflated and slipped out of Peter's hole, and in that time he had drifted into a delirious half-sleep. Steve slid out from the sprawl of limbs and fetched cokes from the fridge, and I reached behind the sofa for cigarettes. Peter was dozing, still wrapped in my arms, but grinning like he had just won the lottery. He went on holiday that afternoon, but never came back. Much later, six months later, his parents said in passing that there was nothing the matter, but they obviously didn't want to talk about it. I had guessed immediately, though: something had kept him there. He'd found his first boyfriend, maybe, fallen deeply in love perhaps, or got in with some guy and had come to rely on the fucking, or some other guy, cock or opportunity that had made him simply opt out of coming back to England. I smiled at the image, and Steve and I secretly wished him luck. Steve agreed with me on that as he did on most things. He moved in, after a while. Well, we were cuddling and laughing every evening and fucking every night and 69ing every morning, and he even encouraged me to continue playing golf with Jeff, as long as he got to supervise the fucking. And I guess you can't ask for more than that.
If you enjoyed this – if you got off, even – or if you would like a list of my other stuff in the Nifty Archive, please feel free to drop me a line and let me know at jsmith381@hotmail.com. It is always a pleasure to hear from guys who like to take time to wank over a story like this one.
Cheers, J
Oh. And I couldn't resist an epilogue:
He was quite tall, rather good looking but with an aura radiating supreme disinterest. Not camp, not overly trendy, and absolutely not threatening. The kind of guy that reminds you of your little brother's pals, or your sister's quiet boyfriend.
He stood in an anonymous doorway between a café and a dry cleaning place, staring into the middle distance. He groped his cock automatically as I passed.
I wasn't really expecting hustlers in this neighbourhood; in fact I had been looking for somewhere to dive out of the way and drink a beer and catch up on the newspaper, then I wanted to shop for some new clothes for Steve and maybe some new porn. But what the hell. I doubled back, thinking a bit of fun would make the beer taste better. Without messing around I asked him in deliberately poor Italian how much for a blow job.
"Fifty," he said, in Italian, still bored, still not making eye contact. If his current demeanour was symptomatic of his oral skills, it probably wouldn't be worth it. But I was still attracted to him.
"What about a fuck?" I asked in English.
"I far kyou, wi condom, wun hundr'." An absurdly comic, heavily-accented version of English. Still smoking, still looking over the road at nothing in particular.
I smiled. Anyone else and I would have moved on; but some piece of mischief made me say, "okay, but then how much to rim you till you are screaming for it and then bang your cute ass for a couple of hours with my long thick cock?"
He looked at me and smiled, as if amused for the first time in several weeks.
"Ah," said Peter. "That you can have for nothing."