Rent - part 5 (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've been teaching winged monkeys Tai-Kwon-Do, and if you've ever seen a simian do a flying kick then you'll know it's a frightening thing. Don't make me use them on you! 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 vindacatrix@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
As always, many thanks to the people who have written to me with feedback and praise for 'Rent' - it means a huge amount to me that you've taken the time to get in touch. I apologise for the delay in part five; it was almost complete, and then the computer ate it. The moral of this story? Write directly onto stone tablets, maybe. Anyway, this is the final part of the story; I hope it lives up to expectations.
Chris
---------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-f-i-n-a-l-l-y-)-----------
Rent (part five)
The soft scrape of his briefs against my hip distracts me from tonguing the musky slaver around his mouth; the narrow material easefully gives way and crumples down his legs at the slightest insistence. Now his club of a cock heaves potently between us, oiled with his juice and the smearing of our combined sweat. Gingerly I edge him back towards the bed, until he slumps back, seated, his arms flung behind to support himself; smirking, he watches as I crawl astride him, my thighs straddling his own. To an audience of his relaxed immobility I reach beneath myself to grasp his waving hardness, marvelling again at its girth, letting my fingers linger through its wetness, lining the flared head against my sodden pucker before allowing my own weight to force its penetration. Each ridge of it makes itself known as I gawkily impale myself; he exhales strongly, lust-filled, and his shoulders tense beneath my supporting hands. Slowly the bruising thickness plows its way inside, and again I feel the dramatic sense of internals being re-juggled, only this time the sensation gurgles through me with the memory of our first time together. I can feel his hips flex up to meet me in miserly graduations, sense his struggle to keep this my own doing, not to let the hardwired urge to rut against me take control. Again, I play my fingers around the yielding pout of my ass, marvelling at the feel of this intruder half inside. I'm distracted by his lips on mine, a passionate kiss, and, as he chews half-serious on the fullness of my bottom lip, I drop down to sit fully in his lap. I am achingly, deliriously full. We gasp together, I with some obscure sense of achievement, Adam at the sensation of his cock lodged in the crenulations of my tail. My legs tense almost of their own accord, raising me away from the thick muscles of his thighs and drawing him out of me, before - just as I begin to craze at the emptiness - I force myself back down, driving his cock back through the squealing, clinging confines of my ring. He grunts and wraps his arms around my meagre waist, pressing us closer, and I feel the rise of his hips against me, ramming as much of himself into me as possible.
The hair at the nape of his neck is baby-soft and warm, damp with sweat, and I trail fingers through its sparse burr and then up to grip possessively at the ball of his skull. Between us my prick jerks back to juddering hardness, red and angry and still so terribly sensitive as it skates against the ripples of his flinching stomach. I chuckle into his mouth, both at the squirming of his fingers around my hips and at the dizzying sweep of his erection across my prostate; I tongue his smile, our bliss-filled eyes sparkling at each other, smell the reek of sex in the room and the spunk in his mouth. Together we stink of hot boy, layered addictively with cologne.
In my mind, I'm full of crazed conversation; words too tangled and complex for the gibbering, slobbering wreck that is my mouth to pronounce. I want to tell him that I need him - a physical need, yes, this overwhelming passion as he plugs me so gloriously, but a mental need too, for him to occupy the companionable space he has shouldered into existence just as his cock insisted a place into my bowels. I want to tell him I love him, even though I know this love is a vague, two-dimensional thing, sewn from scarce familiarity and laced with lust and shared discovery. Maybe most pressingly, I want to tell him to keep pounding into me with the staccato rhythm that's driving the entirety of my loins wild; a prostate-bruising, butt-wall-stretching, sphincter- spreading balls-deep ass-fucking that's beating the precome out of me.
His hands, gripping possessively at the flare of my pelvis, have gently, insistently guided me in my rise and fall in his lap; now, he scoops the dripping smear of juices that glaze our stomachs and brings them, first to my mouth, then to his, until our lips are salted and sopping. As we kiss, our faces mashing in the slippery mess, I reach up and squeeze roughly at the hard stubs of his nipples. His low growl serves only to fuel my intent, and I graduate from playing to pinching, nails digging evilly into the delicate flesh and raking down his scrumptiously curved pectorals, fingers tracing the contours of his ribs and scribing along them. "You little bastard..." He rears up, takes a handful of my hair and yanks my head back, my throat tensing taut and curved and open to the teasing ministrations of his lips and tongue. I can feel him marking me, sucking greedily at my skin until the blood rushes as if boiling beneath the surface. It's my first ever love-bite.
Still yanking, still sucking, he rolls me to the side and underneath him; my legs find themselves crossing, possessively, in the space beneath his butt as it corkscrews and jabs into me, pulling us together and driving him deeper into the aching confines of my warmth. Eventually I squeal, not at the angry, rhythmic pounding he's delivering to my tail, but from the stinging at my neck; I push him off, hands cradling his head and eyes drinking in his full lips, occasionally lapped at by his tongue, the sharp creases of his cheekbones and the clearness of his skin. In return, he takes firm hold of my face, a thumb resting across each of the hollows of my cheeks, fingers gripping tightly as he pins me down. Now his hips rise and fall more slowly as if this better, more secure grasp allows him to truly take his time; like that first, exquisite fuck I'd swear each vein and crease of his wet, swollen shaft made their presence known on my ass's inner walls. I realise my breath is coming in irregular judders, lips drawing back to show my teeth: I must look furious, animal in his possessive embrace. Like a cat, he bends to me - my arms little resistance, shot through as they are with submissive weakness - runs his tongue across their enamelled whiteness, and then around, lathing my lips and then, occasionally brushing his own digits, across my eyelids.
As he pulls back from me, I peer down the valley between our chests, marvelling at the contrast between his delicately muscled, deliciously toned torso, and my own fragile clatter of ribs and close-to-concave stomach. Staring back, sandwiched within our hot clench and grazed awesomely by the unyielding friction, my cock looks ready to explode. With each long plunge into me, the head of Adam's prick grinds against the most delicate and sensitive parts I never knew could give me so much frothing, bleating pleasure; a glossy hiccup of precome spools out of me. The scent of it is thick, syrupy... overlaid and mingling with the fruited tang of our sweat and boyish hormones. It fills my nostrils and coats my fingers, as I let a solitary hand trail down our bodies and feel for the thickness that conjoins us, that hard ram of flesh skewering me so scrumptiously. Beneath my fingers the stretched lips of my ass cling sleazily to his shaft, foamed with the energy in his fucking; it's like the entire lining of that sucking, quivering tunnel is being dragged out with each emptying backstroke, as if the sleeve of some casually- removed coat.
I tug gently on his balls, hot and tight, and paw sloppily as far as I can reach down the sweaty crack of his flexing butt, feeling him slow his motion against me as if painfully close to release. Each scuff across his ring provokes shaking from the base of his spine upwards, spilling out as a low groan through gritted teeth. Eventually his whole midsection twitches and bucks, and it's that rubbing which - so pleasurable it's bordering on pain - finally propels me over the edge of my own climax.
Gurgling hilariously, I feel the milky spatters fleck our bodies, together with the incredible waves of bliss radiating from my sexually tormented crotch. I must look ridiculous, but Adam's too far gone himself to notice it - eyes wide, he forces his way one last time and "shiiiit" unloads his spunk into the depths of me.
We lie like that for a while, Adam slumped on top of me, my legs gently hooked around his. There's that familiar smell - well, as familiar as our one other time can be, I know - of boy and boy, and I drink it in, savour it. For one reason or another, there isn't the paranoia and guilt that haunted me before. Only the warmth of his flesh and the ease of our breathing.
I guess I knew then that it would be our final time together. As we dressed - a slow process, searching out each scattered item, clothes clammy against unwashed skin - we made the playful eyes of friends, giggling inwardly as if at a shared joke. I kissed him again as I left, a beautiful boy framed in his doorway with combats hanging from his hips, t-shirt tugged on unruly. He was exquisite, and so were my regrets, but right then the coolness of the night air was the only thing upon my cheeks, not those tears that had followed our first encounter.
His number is still in my phone, although I haven't called it again. Sometimes, when I'm lonely, and it's simplistic to mistake the most available option for the most appropriate one, I'll scroll to it and sit with the memories. And then I'll scroll away, and call a friend, and make myself go out and do the social thing. I still get nervous in pubs and bars, still shy away from clubbing and still don't think I need to be half of a couple in order to be wholly happy. When push comes to shove it was just sex - the same old sex that people do at sixteen and at sixty - and if you think it's going to change your life then you're looking in the wrong place. Thank goodness things don't have to be life changing to be fun.
Like it? Hate it? Want a winged-monkey? Mail me at vindacatrix@ntlworld.com
Oh, and please, check out my site, www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk