Rent - part 3 (M/M, Anal) Copyright C.J. Davies
Standard disclaimer - don't read if you're under 18, easily upset or have problems (serious or minor) with gay-themed erotic stories. If your country/area of residence says this is naughty and illegal, well, I'm afraid I don't have a "get out of jail free" card you could use. Please, use your common sense. Whilst the characters in my story may or may not practice safe-sex, you really should. Not that you're foolish enough to eschew condoms merely because fictional characters don't use them, are you.
This story, or any part of it, may not be copied, re-edited, sold, or molested in any way without my saying it's okay. I still have specially trained winged-monkeys that are right now watching you, and they're authorised to attack should they see you disobeying this. They have sharp teeth, those monkeys. Re-posting is okay, as long as you leave this preamble in place and full credit is given where it's due. Any comments, criticisms or offers of gifts and/or sexual favours may be made to vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com
If you fancy reading some more of what I've written (it's slightly less porny, I ought to warn you), you're welcome to check out my site www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk
Many thanks to the lovely people who have written to me already; I hope you enjoy part three.
Chris
-----------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-a-g-a-i-n-)--------------
Rent (part three)
I could feel the warmth of his wrists taut against my shoulders as they supported the feline curve of his back, arching up from where our groins mashed together, slick and unwieldy. The soft hair on his legs brushed against my own, as with some natural instinct I wrapped mine around his thighs and pulled him closer to me. His cheek felt smooth, downy, against the side of my face, as he ran the probing tip of his tongue around the crenulations of my ear. I felt my hips begin to buck under his weight, grinding myself against his hardness, forgetting in that moment all that I'd done, that I'd become, to be with this one boy at this one moment.
His murmur to me was half-heard and half-felt, a gentle flood of air into my ear that made the damp flesh there squirm. "What do you like doing?" And with that question my ardour fled... because suddenly I was again an inexperienced, blushing boy, trapped beneath the practiced body of a professional fag. I turned my head away from him, ashamed, and the same time angry at myself for my embarrassment; for it being me who felt so ill-at-ease, and not this man who flouted so readily, so lasciviously the social mores I had always laboured within. I felt again the blush rising across my flinching shoulders and across my cheeks, but more than that I felt his eyes upon my face, quizzical and childishly curious. "You don't have to be coy about it... I've been asked to do all- sorts," and I realised he had mistaken my innocence for high perversion, that he believed me bashful for my fear of asking him to subjugate me, or piss on me, or to dress up in schoolboy clothes and whimper for me, his rough headmaster. My eyes began to prick and I fought the urge to squeeze them shut, knowing the tears would only ooze out in geriatric spurts rather than telling streams. Self-consciousness flooded my body, and I was hyper-aware of my crotch against his, the pressure of my legs around his, the firmness of his stomach as it pressed against my own. "This is... well... it's kinda my first time..." I eventually managed, stuttering over my words as I swallowed back the anxiety in my throat. He smiled. "Yeah, you told me. You've never paid for company before." My sigh was heavier than I meant it to be, as I felt goose bumps across me despite the warmth in the room and the warmth radiating from him. Honesty, or the prospect of it, anyway, gave me the courage to meet his eyes. "No, I mean... this is my first time..." and, with the overkill I'm known for, "...with a guy, I mean... y'know... sex."
I expected him to laugh or to snigger, to roll his eyes maybe or look at me with a searching gaze as if the taint that had preserved my virginity would become visible with my confession. I expected the reaction I got from friends whenever sex as a conversation arose: a few, loaded comments that conspired to say "what's wrong with you", phrased as a question but meant as a statement. I quarter-expected him to leap up, as if my asexuality was contagious and to lie with me any longer might jeopardise his livelihood. He did none of those things.
Our first kiss had been hungry, unexpected, borne of lust and my long-repressed desire, of my inescapable draw to someone who showed any kind of interest in me. This kiss was different, no less passionate but also tender, the thickness of his lips both firm and easeful against my own. With one distant synapse I felt myself harden again, insistent at his pelvic bone, creeping, as it lengthened, through the slickness and drool that had leaked between us. Whilst in my head the thought "but where next?", because this confession had always been my stumbling block, the wall around my sexuality and, for all its inconvenience and my fury at its constraint, I nonetheless felt secure and knowing within its boundaries. Such thoughts were quickly pushed aside, however, at the insistent wriggle of his tongue between my teeth, duelling with my own, and the gentle laying of his full body, torso-to-torso, upon my own. The pressure on my chest was exquisite, and I found myself hugging around his back and lethargically running my nails down the gullies of his ribs. Softly, at first, in full strokes from spinal valley down to his muscled sides, then stronger, more resolute, digging into his flesh and raking across in sore, red arcs, hearing and feeling him gasp and hiss into my mouth, bite my lips and force my head back deeper into the pillow. His hips ploughed down against me, thrusting and lifting and thrusting again, until I could feel with every rotation the contours of his cock against my own, and the dull ridge of his hip bone sweeping with breath-taking, dizzying effect across the incredibly sensitive head. Opening my eyes I saw him looking full at me, a combination of lust and understanding in his gape, and as I clawed deep into his waist and his eyes widened and body tensed, I came, explosive and long, between our clenched bodies.
For a second we lay still, Adam's lips scant centimetres above my own, my face flushed and damp and my hands still cupping him in his firmness. Breath heaved through my rasping lungs, trapped beneath his weight. In the clarity of my afterglow, I felt him move against me again; tiny, scribing motions from his waist downwards, smearing my juice from groin to stomach. The tension there surprised me, the sudden knowledge that I was still angrily, painfully erect despite my release. The cloying scent of spunk began to echo in the room, its bleachy edge coloured with sweat and our shared musk. For the first time I grinned at him, and he returned the smile, his face illuminated and glowing. His hand moved deftly, slyly between us, fingers tracing patterns in the goo, scooping and sliding until he raised them to our faces, ran them in their warm sliminess across my lips and then his own, before dipping down again to kiss me chastely. I tasted myself, familiar, and yet changed by his body and his presence, and purred with pleasure.
As he rolled off me, and to my side, I caught a glimpse of his flanks, scored by my ministrations, though miraculously I'd failed to break the skin. Then, as they slipped out of sight, my attentions turned to the travesty that was my chest, my stomach and the matted, creamy tangle of my pubic hair, all smeared and glistening with gobs and slides of sweat and come. He trailed his fingers back through this slick, abstracting shapes and curves and contours on my baulking stomach, occasionally brushing the deliriously sensitive flare of my cock which saw me hiss and buck. Lying on his side, facing me, he groped his oily hand down, past the jerking shaft and around to cup the tight clench of my balls, matting down the hairs there and proceeding southerly, tenderly, with greased digits prising between the cheeks of my ass and zeroing in on my innocent hole. "So I'm your first?" I half-heard his question, the rest of my senses focussed utterly on the foreign sensation of his fingertips tracing orbits around my asshole. His touch was soft, inveigling; a leading massage that lulled that guileless part of me into acquiescence. "Yes... for proper sex, I mean" I burbled, caught in the giddiness of his fingers' slow, shallow advance inside of me. I felt the familiar stretch, well known from my dalliances with vibrators and dildos, only this time the intruders moved sinuously and unexpectedly, twisting and probing with my own seed as lubricant. Adam's thumb lay hooked in the crease between scrotum and thigh, as his fingers slyly demanded - and received - entry. Meanwhile, my hands did their utmost to rip through the duvet and take hold of the mattress, as I reared and contorted in my fervour. The swollen head of his prick brushed rhythmically against me, drawing glistening strings of pre-come between us, as the force with which he drove his fingers into me increased until he was fucking at me with their full length. I groaned unashamedly, paranoia and reserve lost in the sensation, as he began to raise his legs up and underneath my thighs and, in the process, part fold me over and splay my ass to deeper assault.
The scent of boy-love in the room had been joined by the smell of my tail, but I leeched from Adam's glorious lack of concern and watched with raw eyes as he raised himself to kneel between my gaping legs. All the time his digits continued their delving, curling exploration of my sensitive insides, by turns brushing or gouging at the broad, flat hump of my prostate and, to a chorus of my gasps, causing my cock to belch a languid drip of pre-come onto my twitching abdomen. Peering down my body, I could see his prick bobbing promisingly, as he ran his spunk-slick fist from its wide base to the tip until it shone wetly. I whimpered as he drew his hand from me, leaving my hole gaping obscenely and the full length of my crack sodden, before bending down between my thighs to rest his weight one-handed beside my head, my legs pinned back, and kissing me. Below, he pressed the blunt head of his cock to the spasming lips of my ass and, hips swivelling scrumptiously, pressed it past the meekly-protesting muscle there to slot tightly into the hot confines. He exhaled. "So... fucking... tight..." and I was too far gone in the sensation to berate him for his clich‚, the sensation of being torn in two and of being filled so completely, so utterly and so unusually that for a moment I forgot to breathe. Just for a moment, mind, as he further lodged his swollen length inside of me, and I gasped at the shards of lightning pain that slashed me from crotch to coccyx. "Jesus fuck" and then he smothered my mouth with his own and I couldn't say any more, only squeal monstrously as the organs in my lower body, whose purpose and nature I couldn't be sure of but of whose presence I was convinced, were made to rearrange themselves in order that his delving prick be newly accommodated. And through that pain and jiggling, jumbling insanity came the exquisitely excruciating jolt of my prostate, as it rumbled beneath the pulsing friction of his intruding meat and shot spurts of liquid honey to the each pleasure receptor within gushing distance. Because then so easily the raking agony of his thrust and parry and thrust became the raging screaming pleasure of being well and truly fucked, long-dicked, nailed and screwed, and of their own accord my loins pressed back against him as if demanding "more, more, you thick-cocked bastard". And I may have even said that out loud.
It's hard to describe how it felt. There was the immediate sensation, yes, of having Adam's inches wriggling through me, tweaking my innards and making me froth at the mouth, and there was the though that this was my first, that Adam was the first man to fuck me, that I fucked with. And all my doubts about him, and the relative morality of paying for his attentions, paled away to nothing as he brushed his thumb across my lips, smiled a million-megawatt smile, and asked me "Having fun yet?" before scoring his cock balls-deep into me over and over and over again, the prickles of his buzz-cut pubes grazing against my balls each time, until I rocked beneath his rigid form and screamed out to anyone that would listen that I was coming, coming, coming. My ass clamped down as best it could on the slab of pistoning gristle debasing it as my cock weakly juddered and spat against our bellies, the creamy jelly foamed and smearing by Adam's lunging above me. I could've sworn at that moment that I could feel each vein and each ridge bulging from his prick through the sensitive, battered inner walls of my rump, and I brought my feet down his back to pull him deeper inside of me, to open up as far as I could and keep the feeling of fullness that I now knew would be my addiction. Our sighs had turned to guttural groans, and I felt more and more of his weight upon me, pressing me down, hard, into the bed. I ran my tongue up his throat, taking advantage of his thrown-back head to caress his Adam's apple and suckle needily at his jaw-line, until he pressed his lips against mine and our tongues slopped angrily for a moment, punctuated by laboured breath and moaning.
We were joined that way, at mouth and at ass, for barely a minute, until I felt him flex inside of me and knew, instinctively, that he was close to eruption. Now his driving against me was more laboured, more measured somehow, as if each stab deep into my guts was carefully aimed and intended. He grunted animalistic, holding the curves of my shoulders as he forced his way past the point of no return. With a scream through gritted teeth, he crammed himself into my ass and held there, back arched and taut, muscles beginning to judder, and I felt him come within me. I realised the voice I could hear was my own, gently mumbling "shit, shit, shit".
He fell on me, my legs still cradling his ass, his face pressed into the bed above my left shoulder. I could feel his thumbs scribing tiny circles on my arms. Our skin alternately stuck and separated as we breathed, clammy with sweat and mingled juices. He stayed inside of me, thick and reassuring. The voice inside my head asked again, "But where next?"
End of part 3 - part 4 is almost written and is to follow.
Like it? Hate it? Want a winged-monkey? Mail me at vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com
Oh, and please, check out my site, www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk