Service Out of the Ordinary 3
Notice: The following account depicts homosexual acts between consenting persons and is intended for mature readers only. Exercise your own judgment, in consultation with the appropriate laws and moral standards of your community, in deciding whether or not to read this work. While this story depicts significant events in the lives of certain individuals, readers are cautioned not to assume that their experiences are in any way representative of those of most homosexuals. Any connection between persons named herein and real persons, living or dead, is vigorously denied. Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com. This story may not be copied or distributed without the express written consent of the author. Copyright 2001 All Rights Reserved.
Chapter Three. A Certain Brand of Love
A new master, a new prayer.
I'm sure that Paul did not realize the extent of the transformation that had taken place, and once I passed out, I'm not sure what he did. All I know is that when I finally woke up, at about six-thirty, he was long gone. In my fitful sleep, I had sweated completely through my clothes and into the sheets of Matt's bed. My hair was pasted to my head, and the spot of precum on my shorts, which had grown considerably, was dried into a fine white ring. I sat up and felt a heave rising in my gut, so I ran to the bathroom next to Matt's bedroom, fell onto the floor, and vomited up the rest of the beer in my stomach. Somehow I managed to get it all into the bathtub, so I was able to clean it up easily. After wrenching my guts for about half an hour (I had no alcohol tolerance then whatsoever) I felt much better, and I began to be conscious of the hard, dull pain in my groin. My balls were engorged and painful to the touch, and my prostate felt like a gigantic fist squeezing itself into oblivion. It was so tight that I had to wait two more hours before I could urinate again. The muscles in my abs and inner thighs felt like they had been badly pulled. If you've ever had a massive case of blue balls, you know what I'm talking about. It's the worst feeling in the world, almost like you'd rather have someone rip a tooth out of your mouth with pliers than be in such torturous agony. I was there on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, and cried for some time.
Then another feeling began to grow in me. Slowly at first, but then it spread through every vein and fiber in my body. It was like a heat, yet it was cool, and a gentle breeze, yet it flowed like viscous syrup. It was kind of frightening, the metamorphosis taking place on the cold tile of that bathroom floor. The feeling was like being invaded by a blood-borne pathogen of some kind, like you sometimes hear of people in the jungle being strong as an ox in the morning and dead by sunset. But I wasn't dying. This was a transfiguration, and frightening only because it was so new, so thrilling, and so comprehensive. My entire being was reborn, as I was reforged in some unfathomable primordial manner. A new presence entered into my life, into my very being.
It was Paul. Psychologically, I had opened myself to him, and he had deposited himself in me, at the very center of my spine, right beneath my heart. Paul, like his brother, was clearly superior to me, and we both knew it. But something else was there, something unnamable—a presence that you felt yourself aware of, but couldn't quite put a finger to. Something in him that didn't just make me submit to him, but made me want to submit, want to be dominated. Want to be employed as an instrument of his desire, whatever it may be, whatever it may take to fulfill it.
As a consequence, which seemed only natural, I understood now that I would serve him. So having already taken possession of my mind, he now began to take complete possession of my body. Everything I did, I would do for him. Now when I stood, it would be Paul standing. When I spoke, it would be Paul speaking. When I took a breath, it would be Paul's exhalation that filled my lungs. When I went out, it would be a veiled reflection of Paul that others saw in me. For the first time in my life, I felt complete. My grinding hunger disappeared, the constant urge to cry was lifted, and my crippling fear of the world was replaced by a new feeling of exuberance. The former, pussy-boy, fuck-up self in me—though not gone—started to slip away, and a new self, willed into being by Paul, emerged. For the first time ever, I felt a dim comfort in the person I was.
It's hard to explain what was happening to me, but if you've ever experienced it, then you know something of what I'm talking about. Other people, people like Paul, for example, will never fully experience it because they are already complete and don't need to. If you're this kind of person, then you won't know what I'm talking about. But maybe you will get a sense of the kind of effect you can have on another person who needs you. At the time, I couldn't have put it into words, for it was completely a felt experience, and one I didn't really understand. After the space of many years, I am able to analyze what happened and put some objective sense in it and find some terms to describe it. Still, there was a fundamental mystery at work that even now I can't put words to. For some reason, Paul made me his and gave me that all-transforming power that poured forth from him, that was, in a certain sense, love.
I was one day into seventeen. Paul was only four months past fifteen. Clearly, he did not understand what he had done to me any more than I did, and it would be several years before he fully comprehended the gift he had given me on that summer day. He certainly didn't decide on his own to give it to me, as it just happened despite what either one of us may have wanted. Still, like me, he had a dim grasp of what had happened back there in some murky, pre-linguistic area of his brain. He sensed that he had taken possession of me, and as he later told me, the surging rush of power he felt that afternoon was unlike any he has ever known, previously or afterward. And being the hot, cocky fifteen year old that he was, he was likely to exercise his newfound authority like a baby handling a loaded gun, so I don't blame him for the fumbling way he went about discovering this new aspect of our lives. More often than not, as you'll see, his priority lay in getting himself off, and I became the easiest, most convenient, and most willing outlet for his needs. But in a certain adolescent way, he acknowledged to himself that he would someday owe me for the benefit he reaped. After all, he did hit three successive homeruns that day, something he has never done since!
Come on, I hear you say, "love" from a fifteen year old, and for you, a seventeen-year-old crybaby pussyboy faggot? What a crock of shit! Well, I can certainly understand your skepticism, and there are times in my life when I have a hard time believing it myself. But I can only tell you what happened to me as I now remember and understand it, and, as I said before, at the time neither Paul nor I really comprehended what took place. First, you have to understand that by "love" I don't mean something gushy and romantic and that now Paul and I were going to date and sigh into each other's eyes and live forever in some blissful, warm puppies and flowers-out-your-ass paradise. We were from that point on a part of each other's lives, but many times there was more grieving than rejoicing, and from the outside our relationship would have all the appearances of Paul's using me.
But on that day, without either one of us trying to make it so, a bond between us was created. Something else larger than ourselves produced the connection, and that something else, though so dimly recognized, was love. Paul gave me an unseen piece of himself, something I had needed for years and something he had in abundance and could give freely: a certain kind of acceptance for who and what I was. He understood, and that was love. And I received Paul's gift undeserved, in a spirit of highest wonder, appreciation, thankfulness, and gratitude. That, too, was love. Call me deluded if you want to, but teenagers are capable doing and feeling extraordinary things, even if they don't yet have a mature understanding of the world.
After I had regained some of my composure, I made my way back across the street to my own house and own room. The ache in my groin made it difficult to walk, and the dried spot on the front of my shorts made me hope I wouldn't run into anyone on the way, like Matt and Paul's parents or my mom. Luckily, I didn't see a soul. Up in my own room at last, I saw that it was now well past seven o'clock. People would start arriving for the party at eight! I quickly showered, shaved, and changed my clothes, doing my best to make myself presentable. I also took time to inspect the stain on my shorts, but decided it was light enough that it wouldn't be noticed in the laundry (my mom still washed all my clothes, then), so I just threw my shorts into the hamper in my closet. At the time, I had no idea how full that hamper was going to get by the end of the night. Boy, oh boy.
When I went downstairs, my mom had just come back from the store with a few last-minute supplies. I helped her get the final touches in place, even putting the candles on my own cake. That seems kind of weird now, but with all the planning she and Matt put into this party, there wasn't much left of any surprises. As eight rolled around, and nobody had showed up yet, I went into the living room and watched TV. People started to arrive around fifteen after, so I moved out to the backyard where the party was getting started.
After about forty-five minutes, nearly thirty people had shown up (Matt really was something with those invitations), and when he finally arrived with the guys from the ballpark, there were around forty to fifty. The whole time before Matt came, I was anxious for him to get there, because I didn't have what it took to keep this many people entertained for very long. I know that as the birthday boy that wasn't really my job, but I felt responsible in a way for everyone having a good time. Also during this time I was finally able to go into the bathroom and pee, something I hadn't done since about three-thirty, and something I couldn't do for the last two hours! But anyway, by the time Matt and the other guys showed up, there were people inside, outside, and all over the house. Music was playing and people were dancing or talking and popping the balloons every now and then. There was plenty to eat and drink, and about ten minutes after the baseball crowd arrived, the pizzas came and were consumed in about twenty minutes. Then there was cake and everybody sang to me, and a few people gave me cards and presents, but really I was just happy everyone came and was enjoying the party. All of this is probably more than you want to know, but I mention it only because it was, after all, the one big success of my high school social life, even though none of it would have been possible without Matt.
At about nine forty-five I needed a break. Despite my earlier encounter with Paul, the weirdness of it all was starting to wear off, and I was getting a little tired from all the nervous tension that had built up within me. And with tiredness comes the shyness and mild paranoia, so I went up to Matt and told him I was going to slip out and go over to his place and rest for a bit. By this time, my mom had left us alone and the party was starting to get a little wild, so I didn't think anybody would miss me if I were gone for a few minutes.
"Hey, man, that's cool," Matt said. "You can go lie down on my bed if you want. Hey, if you see my parents tell them..." and then his voice trailed off. He cocked his head a bit and looked me over. "Are you okay, dude?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a little break, that's all."
"No, I mean you look... like... are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine, really." Suddenly I was paranoid that having let my guard down, I was acting gay, even though then I wasn't sure what "acting gay" meant. But Matt just patted me on the shoulder and smiled.
"Okay, man. You look different somehow. It must just be the beer." He was grinning widely now, and suddenly I was, too. Matt had told everyone there about his present to me, so now he was the most popular kid at the party since in everyone's mind he could now supply liquor. It didn't bother me at all that he took the limelight away from me.
"Yeah, that stuff did get me kind of messed up. We'll have to take it slower next time," I said.
"You got it, dude. Say, when you get back, come get me and we'll hang together." That was a new expression at the time, and Matt was always smooth in his use of the latest teen slang. It was a given, of course, that Matt and I would spend the evening together. He just added the last part in for the benefit of the others standing around, because having followed Matt, a few people were starting to listen to our conversation, and he wanted them to know that I was his closest friend. It was his way of boosting me up in the eyes of others, and for a teenage guy, such a generous thing to do.
When I stepped into Matt's house, his mom was in the kitchen, so I talked with her a few minutes. Matt had wanted me to tell her something, but now I couldn't remember what it was. She wished me happy birthday and complimented me on my handsome appearance. I was kind of surprised, because no one but my own mom had ever done that before. She also asked me about the party, which was going better than I could have hoped, but to explain my presence, I told her that Matt had asked me to get something from his room. After she had just complimented me, I didn't want to tell her that I really needed a break from all the people, because I thought that would make me seem like a pussy again and kind of invalidate her kindness.
So I went up into Matt's room and sat on the bed for a while, thinking hard about what had happened with Paul earlier that day. Once I thought of it, I began to get scared that now Paul had proof enough that I really was a fag (I assumed he had put two and two together), he would be out spreading the news. It never occurred to me that Paul might be gay, too, but the possibility was too unlikely. Then I heard Paul come home, and my heart really started to beat hard. He had been out to a pizza place—the local Shakey's, where winning teams usually went—to celebrate the team's victory earlier that evening, so he was late getting home. I heard him talk for a bit with his mom, and then he bounded up the stairs and just stopped for a few seconds. By now he could see the light on in Matt's room, and I think he somehow knew I was in there. I certainly knew he was out there, because I could feel some kind of internal magnetism, like I was being drawn toward him the way two drops of oil will eventually find each other in a pan of water. Then Paul stood in the doorway, him looking at me and me looking at him. I began to really sweat now, for I wanted him to be the first to speak. I knew that whatever he said, I would be able to tell how things stood between us. He had been the object of my desire for over a year, and now he was as beautiful as ever standing there fresh from the grime and sweat of a hard won game, in his dirt- and grass-stained uniform, his cap and mitt in one hand and two of his homerun balls in the other (apparently the third wasn't recovered). The great thing was that there was no malice in his look whatsoever, so I knew the worst things I could imagine were not going to happen to me. The only problem was that he looked at me like he didn't know what to say.
He shifted his weight and shut the door, and turned around a bit to lock it. He put the mitt, cap, and balls on Matt's dresser and turned to look at me again, this time with hips cocked, one hand on each, and a slightly perplexed look on his face. Then he turned to me and spoke:
"I don't know how to say this, but... I..." He paused again. "I noticed how you've been watching me over the past year, here and at the ballpark..." Oh my god, he knows! I thought I was so careful! "...and it was weird at first but now it's kind of cool, and I don't know how to say this, but after seeing you earlier, I... I want..." And then, as if I was living in a dream, I knew exactly what he was going to say: "I want you to suck my cock."
Oh, Paul, you seemed just as surprised as me that you finally said it. Here I had been all that time worshiping you from afar, and you only needed to say the word and I'd do anything you wanted me to. And now you finally did! The rush of emotion within overcame me, but somehow, basking in your presence, I remained relatively calm. On the outside, at least. Any other time before this, and I would have been shaking like a schoolgirl, but you, you were so firm and considerate about it, and now that I was completely yours, you finally acted on your desire to make me serve you. And you shepherded me through what could have been the most terrifying experience of my life with the bare honesty and innocence of your request. When I rose from the bed, you seemed a bit surprised, but I could tell from your look that you knew I was going to do exactly as you wanted. I was going to suck you and willingly travel down every avenue of your desire.
I walked over to where you were standing, you guiding me with your eyes. Then I knelt down in front of you, never breaking eye contact. Unbuttoning the top of your pants, zipping open your fly, and pulling out your cup, I deeply inhaled the musky scent of your manhood. It was simply intoxicating, and waves of dizziness ran through me. You began to harden as I pulled your pants down toward your knees, your cock straining against the confines of your jock. That, too, I pulled away, and there it was, your proud dick jutting straight out in front of me, lilting slightly in measured pulses of anticipation. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, your long, stiff cock, your large, pendulous balls, and the thick golden luster of your bush. I looked up and saw the begging look of sexual hunger on your face. You were so hot! I couldn't have resisted you then even if I wanted to.
I learned forward and pressed my nose into the base of your dick, inhaling deeply again and mouthing the firm meatiness of your testicles. The scent of your sweaty, musky vapor filled my lungs. The red-hot branding iron of your cock pressed against my cheek, the desire in your eyes burning into my mine. You put one hand on my shoulder to balance yourself, and the other you used to caress my face and stroke my hair. The whole experience was loving but thrilling. I was in heaven. Then you placed your hand under my chin, and with your thumb on one side and index finger on the other, you gently pressed my jaw open. I put my tongue out to cover my bottom teeth, and you guided me onto your cock and just let it sit there, me getting used to the feel of your flaring cockhead and you getting used to the sight of me hungrily engulfing your manhood. This was our first blowjob, and I was determined to make it everything you wanted it to be.
I did a pretty good job for its being my first real attempt, and only a few times did I nick you with my teeth or gag when you pushed in too far. I tried to think about how I would go about eating a Popsicle and then do the same on you, rubbing my lips up and down the first few inches of your solid shaft, licking and sucking down to the base, and then working my tongue into your piss slit. Yours would be my first taste of a man's fluids, so when your precum began to flow, I let it run down the back of my tongue and into my throat, sometimes pausing to swirl it around in my mouth and enjoy the full flavor. There was so much of it, I could hardly wait for the load in your balls to come boiling up into my waiting mouth. Looking up at your face, I watched your eyes gloss over and your lids slowly drift shut as you sank into your bliss.
You sensed how close you were, too, and pulled me off of your quivering erection. You needed to catch your breath, and the warm glow of satisfaction beaming down from your face told me how much I pleased you. The degree of your self-control surprised me, but after about a minute, you told me to get up and lie down on my back on Matt's bed, with my head hanging over the end. After I did so, you came over to me, and I instinctually opened my mouth to receive you. You were still in your baseball uniform, your pants and jockstrap pushed down just below your knees, so it was a little hard for you to maneuver. Nevertheless, you pulled a pillow under my shoulders, placed your hands on my forearms to brace yourself, and, pressing me down into the bed, reinserted yourself in my waiting mouth.
Then the former tenderness you displayed was gone, and I knew the only thing in your mind now was your own lust, which I was determined to satisfy. You began to fuck me, in determined jabs that forced your penis deeper and deeper into my throat. I gagged only a little, and then I deep-throated you, your lovely bush pressing against my chin and your tightening, yet still pendulous ball sack slapping against my nose. The only sounds I heard were of your wet cock slipping through my lips and the steady cadence of your panting. I knew the moment had arrived, and I did my best to wriggle my tongue over the top of your cock. Being upside down and a little disoriented by this new and intense feeling of invasion, I had to do everything by feel. I started to moan, and that's when you gasped and started to vocalize your pleasure for the first time. It was almost a grunt: "Yes... yes... yes... yes..." You kept repeating it over and over, this term of agreement and affirmation, in rhythm with your forward thrusts, and when you took one hand and placed your palm over my throat, feeling your own hard cock slip up and down my esophagus, you came. "Oh, fuck, yes!" When you shouted, I felt your hardened balls fully contract, and you thrusted even more fiercely as thick, burning jets of your jism began to erupt into me.
That's when, for the first time in my life, I came. All this time I had been focusing on your manhood, training myself to feel and respond to every nuance of your needs and desires, completely oblivious to what was going on in my own pants. I had been erect the whole time, never once touching myself, and when you came, the dam inside me burst, seven or eight of the most powerful contractions I ever felt totally flooding my underwear. Months' worth of backed up desire emptied out of me at once, and with the waves of nut-breaking pleasure came flashes of searing pain, as though my penis had split lengthwise in two halves, such was the force of my contractions and the extent of my seminal congestion. At this point you pulled your cockhead out of my throat and back into my mouth so I could taste some of your load, and with my own orgasm, I literally began to scream into your cock in guttural, animal-like wails. At this, you fired a second volley of shots, your shouts of "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck" filling my ears and the most tangible expression of your maleness spilling into my mouth.
You have made clear how things stand between us: You are the sexiest, studliest jock in the world, and I cannot resist you. Your semen is my aphrodisiac. Hot, thick, salty... narcotic. Raw power. Eating it and I am eating you. You are my god, I your servant, and this is how I will worship you.
Oh, Paul. Drive your cock into my mouth and fuck me, Paul.
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
Look for "Chapter Four. A Man's Best Friend."
Comments may be sent to paulsgoodboy@hotmail.com.