Rooming with Dylan

Rooming with Dylan

By Ben Coolen

bencoolen@protonmail.com

Readers, please keep in mind that this story is 100% fictional. In real life no man is better than the other, and nobody is entitled to treat other people cruelly.

This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, humiliation, oral sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it immediately.

Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free service running.

Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text.

Chapter Five

"Well, next Saturday you'll have a chance to prove to me that your cocksucking skills are worth more than that. Cocksuckers are disposable, you know," Dylan said and grabbed his backpack.

"What time do you want me to be at your house on Saturday?"

"I'll let you know."

On Saturday morning I was lazing in my bed after breakfast and dozed off. The ringtone of my phone next to my ear woke me up. I glanced at the screen: Dylan. Too drowsy to pick the phone up I just pressed the speaker button.

"Yeah," I groaned.

"Whassup, cocksucker," Dylan's voice greeted me, loud and clear as always. I snapped out from my drowse and hurried to turn off the speaker mode.

"Nothing much."

"What time is it now?"

I glanced at the screen.

"About eleven."

"One o'clock sharp."

I could hear skateboards rattling in the background.

"Okay. What's the address?"

He told me the address and instructed:

"Park your car a few blocks away. Just press the button next to the gate and I'll buzz you in. Don't be late, gay boy," he said and ended the call.

I had time to shower, get dressed and have something to eat before the time of the rendez-vouz. I left right after twelve to make sure I wouldn't be late. I didn't have any trouble getting there, the gps of my phone guided me to the right address 35 minutes before the given time.

I parked my car a couple of blocks away, as instructed, and waited in the car listening to the radio and thinking what he would expect from me. I knew I had to prove myself more valuable to him than the other cocksucker who offered his services -- despite being less handsome and apparently having less money than him. There was nothing in the world I enjoyed more than pleasing Dylan and making him feel good. I would do anything he wanted. Anything.

I was fully aware that he was selfishly using me as his sexual outlet and errand boy. But I loved him from the bottom of my heart and worshiped the ground he walked on, and if being his servant was the price I had to pay for spending some time with him, so be it.

The time came. I got out of the car and walked the remaining few hundred yards to his house.

Their property was surrounded by a six-foot brick wall, and the house appeared to be big. Judging by the top parts of the white stucco villa that were visible from the street, it was pretty impressive.

Dylan had never told me exactly what his parents did for a living but I had heard they were some sort of designers. Apparently designing something paid off well. I smiled to myself. Dylan sure got a winning ticket in the lottery of life: he was smart, strikingly good-looking, confident and well off. I felt prouder of him than ever.

In the middle of the wall was an iron gate and, as he had said, a button next to it. I walked over and pressed it for a few seconds. In a minute a blue light indicated that a camera was screening my face.

"Yeah? What do you want?" A male voice asked me over the intercom. The voice didn't belong to Dylan.

"I came to see Dylan, Sir."

I could hear laughter at the other end.

"Sir! He called you Sir! Haha!"

The gate slid smoothly aside, and I stepped into a huge, beautiful garden with a carefully tended lawn, a large swimming pool and a state-of-the-art home yard basketball court. A shirtless young guy in dark blue basketball shorts walked across the lawn towards me. Another shirtless guy was holding a basketball under his foot, watching us.

I immediately recognized the young man in the blue trunks as Dylan's younger brother, Skeeter. I had seen him a couple of times with his big brother. I didn't know him, but I knew he was a rising star in the football team of another high school.

He was a younger version of Dylan all right. The same arrogance and confidence, the same smirk, the familiar intense eyes and the slim, trimmed body. But whereas Dylan's could be best described as wired, Skeeter's body showed the results of constant merciless exercise under professional coaching: his slender torso was evenly decorated with muscles.

He was wearing a black baseball cap backwards, a thick fringe of blond teen hair gushing out from under the strap. His basketball shorts were hanging very low on his hips, revealing the upper part of his white Calvin Klein underwear. The thin boxer trunks were soaked in sweat, and shamelessly transparent on his loins; only his crotch area was properly covered by thicker cotton.

He stopped in front of me and gave me the once-over. We both knew that he could crush me without breaking a sweat, and he knew that I knew that.

"Dylan's out. What the fuck do you want from him anyway?" he asked.

I was taken aback by his bluntness.

"I... I'm a friend of his and I came... came to see him."

Skeeter's friend wandered over and settled behind him, staring at me menacingly. He was shorter than Skeeter but carried the same athletic build. His long black locks were combed behind his ears and kept in place by a backward baseball cap -- an essential part of a high-school jock's outfit.

"You're Dylan's friend?" Skeeter asked with a disbelieving sneer.

I nodded.

"You sure don't look like one of his buddies, dude. He doesn't hang with losers. What're you here for?" Skeeter questioned me.

I wasn't prepared to answer that question, and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell the truth.

"Well, I was... I mean..."

"Speak up, dude. You can speak, right?"

"Why don't we just kick his ass and send him back to his mommy, Skeeter," his friend suggested and flexed his biceps.

"We'll do just that Nash, if he doesn't come up with a good explanation why he's trespassing our property."

Skeeter stepped closer, and I instinctively took two steps back, until my back touched the gate. He took three more steps, entering deep into my un-comfort zone. He braced his forearm on the gate above my head and leaned in so close to me that our faces almost touched; a classic move to terrify a weaker kid.

Skeeter's body reeked of jock sweat, and I could feel his heat. His air of authority and bold-faced young masculinity made my legs feel wobbly.

He was a couple of inches taller than me, so I had to look up to meet his piercing blue eyes. He leaned in to whisper in my ear; I could feel droplets of his spit on my earlobe.

"So, what the fuck are you here for, pussy-boy? Speak up or we'll beat the shit out of you," he whispered.

"I was gonna... gonna..." I stuttered, but I was too upset to form a real sentence.

"I was gonna... gonna... gonna..." Skeeter mimicked me aloud with a high-pitched voice and his friend cracked up.

"I was gonna... gonna help him with something. With homework, I mean."

Skeeter lowered his voice to a whisper again. His next words terrified me.

"You're not one of Dylan's pals, dude. You're his flunky, the little faggot he told me about, ain't you?"

He raised his voice again so that his pal could hear him taunt me.

"You were gonna... gonna... gonna... help Dylan with homework, is that what you're saying? You expect me to believe that?"

"He was gonna... gonna... gonna kiss Dylan's ass," Nash suggested.

"Yeah. I mean, no, to help with homework."

Skeeter touched the shorter boy's shoulder.

"Nash, get my phone, willya? Dial hashtag one, that's for Dylan. I don't believe a word this little wimp is saying."

Nash went to fetch the phone and handed it to Skeeter who was quiet for a minute. Dylan didn't answer.

"He's probably fucking some cunt as usual. I'll try again later. You can wait here by the gate if you want. But we'll keep an eye on you."

I stood there and watched as the boys returned to their rowdy game, trying to wrestle the ball from each other's hands and making daring swoops towards the hoop, the soles of their basketball shoes screeching on the blue surface of the court. I particularly liked to watch when one of them broke through and jumped as high as possible to score, and his already low-hanging shorts fell even lower, exposing the tight mounds of his boxer-clad buttocks. Despite my nervousness I had to admire the effortless way those athletic youths darted back and forth, wrestled for the ball and jumped with seemingly limitless endurance.

After fifteen minutes or so I got tired of standing, so I walked over to a garden chair a couple yards away and sat down. I took out my phone just to have something to do. Suddenly a basketball hit the table right in front of me with a loud thump.

Skeeter was pointing his finger at me.

"Did I give you permission to sit down, fucker?"

I sprung up to my feet and the boys snickered at my reaction.

"Sorry."

"Fuck sorry."

Skeeter sat in the chair I had just vacated and rested his feet on the table. I stood in front of him, looking at his angelic young face, feeling like a kid summoned to see the headmaster.

"I'll try calling Dylan again. If he doesn't pick up, we'll kick you the fuck outta here."

This time Dylan took the call and his brother explained the situation.

"Man, we got some fucking pussy-boy here. He says he's here to meet you. You know this loser?" Skeeter asked, looking at me.

Skeeter listened to his brother's reply and looked at me.

"What's your name, motherfucker?"

"Ru... Russ."

"He says his name is Ross."

He listened to his brother's reply and looked at me again, frowning.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. He's a fucking liar. Should I call nine-one-one?"

"No, no, not Ross. It's Ru-Russ. My name's Russ," I tried to explain.

"Now he says his name is Russ. Wait, I'll put you on the speaker."

Dylan's voice said:

"I don't know anybody called Russ. I guess you'd better call the cops, lil' man."

I panicked.

"Stevens! It's me, Dylan, Stevens!"

"You heard that, man. The motherfucker changed his story again. Now his name is fucking Stevens."

"What's he look like?" Dylan asked.

"Well, he's skinny and nerdy, a sissy for sure. Probably a faggot. And he's shit scared of us, hahaha!"

Dylan laughed for a long time.

"Ehehehe! A scared guy named Stevens who looks like a sissy. I think I might know him."

"Why don't you take a look yourself?" Skeeter said and pointed the lens of his phone at my face.

"Stevens, why didn't you say it's you in the first place? He's totally harmless, Skeeter. Tell him to wait, I'll be there pretty soon."

"Got that, bro."

With that the boys returned to their game while I stood next to the chair and watched them, shifting my weight from one leg to another. After twenty minutes or so the gate slid open and Dylan steered his black Jeep into the parking lot next to a silver BMW and a blue Yamaha motorbike.

He got out and picked up his skateboard from the trunk.

"What's up ladies!", he greeted us and went inside. He left the front door open. No one seemed to stop me so I followed him.

"I'll go get something to eat. Wait for me downstairs," Dylan said, pointing at the stairs.

I climbed down and found myself in a really cool rec room, sort of like a second living room with a huge screen, four maroon armchairs, a matching L-shaped couch and a bar counter with stools. I sat down on the edge of the couch. After a while Dylan came downstairs with a plate of sandwiches and a large bottle of pop.

"You kept me waiting for an hour," I said, my voice trembling a little.

"Yeah, I had business," he replied with his mouth full of food.

"Your brother is a fucking bully," I tried to make him interested in my suffering.

He laughed.

"Skeeter fucked around with you a bit? Haha, forget about it, he was just having a little fun with you. He does that all the time."

I couldn't come up with anything to say so I just sat there, watching Dylan munch his sandwiches with no hurry. Finally I felt I had to say something.

"Dylan, you told me to come over and I'm here now."

He looked at me like he had forgotten I was there and burped.

"Look Stevens, I don't need a blowjob today. You can go home if you want."

"What? You changed your mind just like that? I kept my whole Saturday free just for you because you told me to come over and now you dismiss me? Just like that? Can you at least tell me why!"

He frowned and took a sip of his drink. Then he turned to look at me.

"Well, if you really have to know, I tried the other cocksucker out today. I was horny and you know I can always use some extra dough."

"Dylan! You promised not to!"

Dylan sighed.

"Look, he texted me right after I called you and offered 75 bucks if I let him suck me off. I told him to meet me in the woods behind the skate park. He paid up front and I let him do it. That's all."

Dylan took another bite of sandwich and went on.

"Besides, I didn't promise you anything. I said you could prove your cocksucking skills to me. Well, you can do that some other time, what's the big deal? And I've got great news for you dude, the other cocksucker was no good so I just dumped my load and walked away with his money."

Dylan saw the disappointment on my face and chuckled.

"Aww, look at you, you wanted to suck my dick sooo bad and now you're a sad little gay boy, hehehe."

He thought about it for a while. Then a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Maybe I can find you a cock to suck after all. Skeeter! Come downstairs for a sec!" he shouted.

I realized immediately what he was up to. Skeeter was sizzling hot, but I was scared to death of him. And Dylan couldn't pass me on to his little brother just like that, could he?

"Oh no, please Dylan, no."

Skeeter's voice called back from upstairs.

"Waddya want?"

"Don't do this to me, please." I pleaded.

Dylan paid no attention to me.

"Come to the den lil' man, I've got something for you," Dylan yelled, and in a minute we heard his brother thumping down the stairs.

Skeeter appeared at the doorway wearing only his underwear and socks, his blond hair all messy and sweaty. My gaze fixed to the bulge in his boxers. It looked like something long and thick was hiding under the thin white cotton.

"This better be important, man," he said and leaned his back on the counter next to Dylan.

"It is," Dylan said and pointed at me with his thumb.

"Stevens here is a homo and he desperately wants to suck you off," he explained nonchalantly.

"What? Fuck no!" Skeeter spat out.

Dylan chuckled.

"Skeeter, how many times have I heard you bitching about not getting a proper blowjob from any of your chicks? Well, I'm offering you the services of a dedicated cocksucker."

"You're offering him to me? So, you've let him suck you off?"

"Yeah, a few times. He knows how to please a guy, believe me. And he needs a dick in his mouth real bad."

Nash appeared at the doorway, curious to see what was happening. He leaned on the doorframe.

"What the fuck's going on here?" He asked.

"Dylan says I should let this fag suck me off."

"He says what? Holy fuck, hehe! I've heard stories about guys using fags but I thought they were bullshit. You gonna let him do that, Skeet?"

Skeeter looked at me, his eyes full of contempt.

"I dunno. The idea of letting some fag touch me feels weird," he snapped.

Dylan gave him a big-brother smile.

"Suit yourself then. But listen. No chick sucks dick like a fag. And you don't need any sweet talk to make him do it, he's here to service you."

"I ain't doing anything back," Skeeter defended his manhood.

"Who says you have to? Well, I sometimes give him my dirty boxers or socks to sniff afterwards."

"Yuck, that's fucking sick," Nash exclaimed.

Skeeter pondered his answer for a long time, looking at me and biting his lower lip which looked sexy as hell.

"I ain't showered and I stink. He'll puke on me."

"No problem, man. Stevens loves your stink," Dylan mused.

Skeeter eyed me for a good while. Then a sly smile appeared on his face.

"He loves my stink?"

"You bet your ass."

Skeeter looked at me for what felt like an eternity, but then he gave me a shit-eating grin.

"Okay, homo-Stevens, let's find out if you really like my stink. Come over here and have a go," he said and pointed at a spot on his left shoulder.

I stood there, frozen. My cock told me to go, but the part of my brain that was still working told me not. Approaching him would mean revealing myself to Skeeter and Nash as a shameless cocksucker -- a fact that Dylan already knew. On the other hand, there was nothing I wanted more right there and then to have Skeeter's dick in my mouth and touch his ripped body.

I looked at his blue eyes and arrogant smile and let my own eyes wander down his tanned body; I took in his broad shoulders, washboard abs, slim waist and firm legs. All I had to do was go through the humiliation of revealing my secret desires to this cocky and reckless youngster and his friend. I glanced at Dylan who looked amused. He knew I would comply. Nash was watching the scene with a disbelieving but hopeful little smile.

I took one more look at Skeeter's grinning face and took the necessary steps. I leaned on the counter next to him and touched his shoulder lightly with my nose and took a deep whiff of his sweaty body. The contact made Skeeter wince a little. I took another whiff.

"I can't fucking believe this guy," Skeeter exclaimed.

I had imagined this scene countless times in the locker room after PE class while secretly admiring the jocks peel off their steamy gear, play their rowdy games and fill the cramped room with their masculine odor. I dreamed of walking over to them and smelling and touching their muscled bodies. And now I was doing it for real. My cock pulsed in my pants.

I heard Dylan chuckle when he watched me nuzzle his little brother's sweaty body. I didn't care. I moved my nose from Skeeter's shoulder to his hard bicep. I expected him to push me away in disgust any second, but he let me snuffle his muscles, instinctively flexing them against my nose.

"Hehehe, look how much the faggot loves me," Skeeter laughed as I worshiped his gun.

"Toldya, lil' man," Dylan mused.

The guys chatted about me like I was some sort of pet they owned.

"Are all faggots like him?" Skeeter wanted to know.

"I don't think so, I guess Stevens is more of a freak than most of them."

"There's a homo in my homeroom class. He's almost like one of the guys," Nash chimed in.

"Yeah, I know, I heard some of them play sports..." Dylan was interrupted by the ringtone of his phone. He took the call with a wide smile when he saw who was calling.

"Cassieeee, the love of my life! I'm good, how about you baby-girl? Oh nooo... Sad and lonely? Aww, poor thing. They left you home all alone? How could they do that to you? Aha. You want me to come over? Aha. Aha. Okay, I'll just take a quick shower and I'm on my way, babe!" he cooed.

With that he disappeared through the doorway and left me at the mercy of two obnoxious and selfish brats.

Skeeter and Nash looked at each other and grinned. They knew they now had free rein to whatever they wanted with me. Skeeter pondered his next moves, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

"Now where were we? Oh yea, he was sniffing me. Look Stevens, I got a real treat for you!" Skeeter said and bent his right arm behind his head, exposing his smooth armpit to me.

"Go ahead," he said and Nash let out a delighted giggle.

"Skeeter," I pleaded, but that was a mistake. He looked suddenly pissed.

"Don't call me Skeeter, boy, or I'll punch your lights out. My friends call me Skeeter. You're not a friend of mine, don't forget that."

Nash soothed his hot-headed friend.

"Come on man, no big deal. He can call you something else. How about... boss... or master... or something?"

Skeeter looked at me for a long time, like he was seizing me up. Then he smiled.

"He can call me... Daddy."

Nash cracked up.

"Daddy? He's a fucking senior, Skeet," he blurted out.

"Oh yeah? Look at him man, he sure don't look like a senior right now, does he?"

"Hehehehe, you're right, he looks more like a boy!"

When the commotion had dried out, Skeeter bent his arm again behind his head.

"Come to Daddy, faggot."

All my resistance was gone. I braced my hand on the younger boy's shoulder for support and leaned in to press my face into his warm, smooth-shaven armpit. I felt the hot and moist skin against my nose and filled my lungs and mind with the essence of a sweat-soaked high school jock; an odor most people would call repulsive, but I couldn't get enough of it. I took another big whiff.

"Yeah, that's a good boy, have a piece of Daddy," Skeeter taunted me and used his free hand to hold my head tight in his pit. My lips were pressed to his sweat-covered skin, and I felt an urge to taste it with my tongue. The taste of his armpit was heavy with salt but it also carried a faint slushy taste of old deodorant. He held my head in a tight grip, but that wasn't necessary. I didn't want to be anywhere else.

My unnatural stance got me a bit off balance and my crotch momentarily brushed Skeeter's bare thigh, making him exclaim:

"Holy fuck Nash, this fag has a boner!"

"Hahaha, of course he does! He's yearning to get his lips around your fuck-stick man!" Nash burst out, encouraging his friend to accept Dylan's offer.

Skeeter let go of my head but grabbed some of my hair in his fist. His grip wasn't too hard, but firm enough for him to guide my head the way he wanted.

"Keep sniffin' boy," he said and pressed my head downwards.

I took in the smell of the space between his pecs, the mounds of his abs, and the valleys between them where I managed to lap up some precious drops of jock sweat, and then my nose met his navel and the beginning of his thin treasure trail. I already felt my chin pressing on his bulge when he bent my head back so that I had to look him in the eyes. I saw no signs of jest in them anymore, just raw lust.

"Dylan said you like to sniff guys' dirty underwear. Have a go with my Calvins, sicko. I've been wearing these since yesterday morning," he said and pulled my face against the pouch of his boxers.

Before my face hit the target I was able to notice that they looked new and pearl-white except for a couple of yellowish stains next to the fly. And then I took a long breath, and a loud moan escaped my mouth.

The stinging odor of young athlete's sweaty crotch was raw and merciless. The intoxicating concoction contained all the spices one could expect; ball sweat, piss, precum, testosterone, aggression -- his genitals smelled like the sheer power of young masculinity.

"You like that, boy?"

"Yes."

He bent my head back again.

"Yes what, boy?"

"Yes Daddy."

The boys laughed and Skeeter guided my face back on his bulge.

I noticed that his rod was hard and stretched the front of his underwear. I kissed it through the thin fabric, making it grow bigger and harder. Nash who watched the show from his ringside seat, seemed to notice it too.

"Looks like you made up your mind about the blowjob, huh?" he snickered to his buddy.

Skeeter looked at him.

"Should I let him do it, man?"

Nash licked his lips. His face was flushed and his gaze was intense. He wanted to see me suck Skeeter's cock.

"Yeah. I think you should," he said.

"You swear not to tell a soul about this? Like ever?"

"I swear."

Skeeter wanted desperately to have his cock serviced but he was still hesitant. He seemed to think hard, without letting go of my hair.

"Fuck, how can I know that you wont' blabber about it when you're high or drunk?" He groaned.

"I won't man," Nash assured him, but Skeeter wasn't convinced. He thought for a minute before setting his terms.

"He gives head to both of us and we're in this together. Okay?"

Nash stared at me. I could see lust in his eyes.

"You got it."

"Okay. Let's do it." Skeeter decided.

Skeeter bent my head back again and I looked at him. His command was simple and clear.

"Did you hear what I said, boy? You can suck Daddy off now. How's that?"

I knew that I really, really wanted to please this superb hunk of a boy.

"Thanks Daddy," I said, and the guys cracked up.

"Good girl!" Skeeter laughed.

I took hold of the waistband of his Calvins and pulled them down, exposing first a neatly trimmed lawn of pubes that were surprisingly dark in contrast with his blond hair, and then the root of his dick. I saw immediately that it was thicker that Dylan's and hoped it wouldn't be much bigger. I pulled the boxers down to his thighs and his rod sprang out in its entire glory like the mast of a battleship. It was maybe an inch longer than his big brother's; I would need all the skills I had developed sucking off Dylan and practicing with the cucumbers I kept buying from our nearby grocery store.

I pulled Skeeter's underwear down to his ankles, and he lifted his left foot so I could pull the boxers off.

He dangled his socked foot in front of my face.

"Take my socks off, boy."

I peeled the white Puma ankle sock off his foot and waited for him to lift the other foot so I could take it off too. I was just about to put them aside when Nash got a nasty idea. Watching Skeeter humiliate me was clearly a big turn-on for him.

"Skeet, make him kiss your feet."

"Fuck, you're sick, Nash, haha! You heard him, son. Kiss my feet."

I felt a sudden urge to show them how far I was willing to go to please them and make them enjoy their superiority. I crouched down and kissed the top of Skeeter's right foot.

"You like my feet, boy?"

"Yes Daddy," I said and gave his foot another kiss, looking at him in the eye. He bit his lower lip and I could see he was drunk from the enormous power he suddenly had over an older boy. He was jerking his cock, preparing it for being serviced by me.

Nash walked slowly closer to us. His mouth was slightly open and he fondled his crotch through his shorts.

He stopped right next to me and hunched down.

"Look at me, boy," he ordered and I complied, making contact with his hazel eyes.

He swiped some of his unruly locks back behind his ears.

"Tell us what you are, boy," he ordered.

"I dunno."

"Don't lie to me boy, you know what you are."

"A faggot?"

"Yes. Say it. And keep kissing Skeeter's feet."

"I'm a faggot."

Nash was rubbing his crotch.

I kissed Skeeter's toes.

"I'm a faggot!"

I kissed the arch of his foot.

"I'm a faggot!"

I pressed my lips on the downy hair on his ankle when Skeeter stopped me.

"Okay, enough of that. Suck me off now, fag," he said, and offered me his cock. It was fully hard now.

A large drop of precum had oozed out from his piss slit. In a second it would be falling down. I stuck my tongue out and lapped in the first taste of Skeeter's ball juice, but I saw more of it already pouring out. I didn't want to miss a drop so I opened my mouth and enjoyed the feeling of his cock sliding in between my lips.

Skeeter let out a sigh. He had just discovered how accurately Dylan had described my abilities to him.

"Ahhhh..."

I placed my hands on his hips and helped him with the first steps of using a cocksucker; I pulled him closer and then pushed back again, setting in motion the steady rhythm of fucking. He picked it up quickly, however, and we worked in unison to provide him maximal sexual pleasure.

As he didn't need my guidance anymore, I felt his firm thighs and tight buttocks and enjoyed the feeling of his powerful muscles tensing and easing against my fingers. He fucked my face and I used my already skilled lips and tongue to pleasure his slimy rod as it pumped in and out of my mouth.

I was pleased to notice that my practice with the cucumbers had paid off. After focusing my mind to the task and relaxing my throat muscles I was able to take his cock to the root. The coarse meadow of his pubes tickled my nose and lips pleasantly.

What more could I do to please Skeeter? An idea, a potentially suicidal one, crossed my mind. It was a move that I had so far experienced only with myself, intending to perform it to Dylan as a part of my upcoming cocksucker aptitude test. I moved my right hand between his legs and explored the area behind his bouncing ball sack, until my middle finger found what I was searching for: the spot behind the pouch, dangerously close to the crack. I looked up to see his reaction, ready to pull back if necessary.

Skeeter looked horrified. He opened his mouth to order me to stop, but at that moment I pressed that special spot with my finger, hoping to god that it would be as sensitive as my own.

Instead of an angry command, a groan escaped his mouth.

"Aaaaahh fuckkkk!" he yelled and threw his head back.

I kneaded his G-spot while I felt his rock-hard abdomen and tight chest with my left hand, and he allowed me to do it. Occasionally the tip of my middle finger sneaked into the hot and sweaty valley between his buttocks, but he was too ecstatic to protest.

Both of us would have loved to continue doing it for much, much longer but Skeeter reached the edge after a minute or two. He grabbed my hair and I opened my mouth wide, eager to catch every drop of the cum he was about to feed me.

"Umhhhhaahh..."

And with that grunt my mouth was filled with warm, slimy jock sperm. It tasted young and fresh, slightly milder than his big brother's, but not a bit less masculine. I noticed the biggest difference in their cum when I tried to swallow the first shipment: Skeeter's substance was considerably stickier and I didn't manage to consume all of it before the second and third shots filled my mouth.

I had to pull back to swallow his load, but three thick strings of sperm connected his softening cock to his cocksucker's lips. When I got the sperm in my mouth safely down in my belly, I dutifully slurped in the precious strings.

Skeeter panted for a while, but like a true athlete he was quick to recover. He looked down at me and grinned.

"You're an awesome cocksucker, boy."

I smiled back.

"Thanks."

But Nash was already waiting for me with his shorts down to his ankles. His cock was hard and ready; I was pleased to see that it was considerably smaller than Skeeter's. I would have no trouble taking care of it.

Nash took a look at my face and grimaced.

"Fuck, faggot. You expect me to dip my cock in Skeeter's cum? Go wash your face and lips, for godssake."

I got up with heavy legs and limped around the bar counter to wash my face under the faucet. Then I gargled a couple mouthfuls of water and returned to my service station on the floor. Nash glanced at my face and was satisfied enough to stick his cock into my mouth and start fucking my face. But the young macho was too horny to last for long and he shot his load in no time. Then he turned away sheepishly and pulled his shorts up. He avoided looking at me and said to Skeeter.

"That was hot. Thanks, Skeet."

Skeeter smiled and picked up his boxers.

"Any time, buddy."

Pretty soon Nash said his goodbyes. I knew it was time for me to take off, too.

"I think I'd better get going, too," I said.

Skeeter smiled. To my surprise it was a friendly smile.

"Sure. You okay, kid?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, we weren't too rough with you or anything, right? That's just how we keep up our jock rep, you know."

"Yeah, I got that right away. No problem..." I lied.

"Wanna do this again, sometime?"

"Yeah. Absolutely!"

"Gimme your Whatsapp, I'll hit you up. Oh and yeah, Dylan said he sometimes lets you have his boxers, right? You want these?" He asked, holding up his white Calvins.

"Yeah. Please."

"Sure, buddy. Here." He tossed the underwear to me and I caught it mid-air.

"Thanks... Skeeter."

He smiled, not opposing to me using his name anymore.

"Socks?" he asked, nodding at the pair on the floor.

"Thanks," I said and picked them up.

Skeeter walked me to the door butt-naked.

"Take care, Stevens."

"You too, Daddy," I said, and he smirked a little before closing the door.

I drove home with Skeeter's boxers and socks on the shotgun seat, occasionally caressing them with my fingers. I was determined to bury my face in them the second I got into the privacy of my bedroom.

After that day Dylan turned to me for relief less and less frequently until he stopped contacting me all together, resorting to his constantly growing collection of adoring girls. He moved out of town soon after graduation and became a very successful music producer and DJ in California. I still miss him, but not as much as I miss Skeeter.

I served as Skeeter's cocksucker until he graduated from high school. Those two years with him were the best of my life so far. He soon realized my potential and took full advantage of it.

I was his sexual outlet when he was horny, his loyal listener and scapegoat when he was frustrated, and someone who was always on call for him in case he needed something. I also helped him with his chores when he was busy with school or football or girls, i.e. most of the time. Cleaning his bedroom, picking up and sorting his laundry and scrubbing the bathroom he shared with Dylan became therefore a part of my weekly routine.

He appreciated the fact that I was always extremely discreet; I never approached him in public and always made sure he didn't have company when I came over to straighten up his room. A young man with Skeeter's reputation could not take the risk of being seen with a guy like me.

After graduation Skeeter got recruited to a college in Florida and continues to play football there. He still chats with me online sometimes. Recently he told me about a neighbor of his, a gay student who has a crush on him. The guy does his housework, but Skeeter doesn't want blowjobs from him; he told me that nobody could ever suck his cock like me. I was so proud to hear that, and I was glad he had someone to take care of his chores; I knew how sloppy he is and how much he hates housework.

I still have the first pair of Calvin boxers and Puma socks Skeeter gave me the day I met him. They, and the jockstrap he was wearing when they won state championship, are my treasures.

Did you like the story or not? Please drop me a line or two:

bencoolen@protonmail.com