THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay and bi sexuality.
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FIRST WEEKEND (Part 1)
When they reached his front door, Remy told Wren his mother would be gone for a couple more hours -- she was going to pick up Remy's topsoil, then make the rounds of her favorite Twin Cities thrift stores, looking for things to help her furnish their second floor spare bedroom. He reached under a flower pot to get the hidden spare key. Wren laughed.
"Ha! Security perimeter breached! Now I can break into your house whenever I want to, Remy!"
"But why the fuck would you want to? Ava and I haven't got shit worth stealing. You'll see, the whole damn house is furnished with stuff we either found in the trash or bought at Goodwill."
Wren thought about it, then her eyes sparkled. "I could steal all your dirty underwear and jockstraps! Then I could sniff you at home whenever I wanted! I adore your scent, Remy!"
Remy eye-rolled.
He raised his arm close to her nose. Wren fondled the smooth, hard musculature and took an exaggerrated sniff, groaning in pleasure. She madly licked his pit all over, cracking Remy up (and sending a jolt through his thickening cock).
He grabbed her and gave her a long lingering kiss, murmuring how amazing it was this was finally really happening.
When they got inside, Wren immediately oohed and aahed.
"Your house is scrupulously cool, Remy! Can we please look around for a wee tiny bit before we start having sex? I mean, we do have all day, yes?"
Of course, Remy answered. He proceeded to show her around.
As they wandered through the first floor, Remy explained how, while they were still living in Milwaukee, Ava found the house on-line the day she was told she got the job at No Hope.
Wren told him what she knew about his house, how it had been previously owned by the Church next door and used as the Pastor's residence. When the Church developed severe money problems last winter, the current pastor told the Church Board she would gladly live in the spacious caretaker apartment, ensconced within the maze-like second and third floors of the four-story old brick church building (the apartment was vacant because the Church Board hadn't been able to afford a caretaker for the past year). The Board eagerly agreed to sell the house for much-needed capital.
Wren added that Remy's house had a `For Sale' sign in front of it for months before Ava bid on it. Apparently, it was in too much disrepair, and abutted the Church too closely, to attract many buyers.
Remy told her Ava was overjoyed to get so much house for so little -- and right across from her job and Remy's school! -- even if it was in pretty sad shape. She knew, with Remy's very able assistance, they could make it livable. And the Pastor had even left all the appliances.
Remy told Wren they'd moved almost nothing with them when they bolted so fast from their life in Milwaukee. To quickly acquire the essentials needed to furnish a large, empty, three-story Victorian house, Ava spent their first few weeks in Minneapolis checking thrift stores, Craig's List, garage sales, and estate sales -- even getting up early to pick through what the people in the neighborhood put out on trash day.
"`One man gathers what another man spills,' I guess."
Remy quoted his favorite lyricist when he described to Wren that flurry of scrounging when they first moved, but it went right past Wren.
Remy told her he spent the initial weeks in their new house, while Ava was foraging furnishings, scraping and plastering and sanding and painting all the first-floor rooms -- kitchen, dining room, living room, his mom's office, and bathroom. The following month he spent working on the second floor -- Ava's bedroom, a huge bathroom, and two spare rooms.
He'd finished working on the walls and floors of his third-floor space just days before school started.
Even though his house was decorated by thrift and sweat and salvage, Remy was proud to show off to Wren the fruits of his and Ava's labors to make a happy new life for themselves after the disaster they'd fled.
He raved to Wren, as they ambled through the rooms, about what an amazing job Ava did of insta-decorating their house. Remy thought his mom was uncanny at finding both great bargains and really interesting pieces. His favorites included
-- an old chrome kitchen dinette set, in superb shape, someone's yard sale was practically giving away;
-- a huge pine farm table for the dining room, left curb-side on trash day (fire-damaged, but which Remy and Ava had refinished beautifully), along with a set of eight old schoolhouse teachers' chairs, picked up for sixty-five dollars at an auction;
-- two big, comfy couches for the living room, both found out in the trash within a week of each other, which were both getting thread-bare but looked great when covered with all the colorful quilts and blankets and pillows Ava found on her junk-store runs;
-- four mismatched bookcases, found here and there (trash or thrift shops), which now flanked, two on either side, the front picture window, framing its view of the front steps of Hope Academy);
-- thirty-two sets of fairy lights, bought as a bundle for five bucks at a yard sale, which now lined the windows and doorways in the living room and dining room, and ran around the ceilings, lending a magical ambience to that part of the first floor.
Remy showed Wren Ava's office, just off the kitchen -- "the former Pastor's study, we think it must have been" -- now filled with file cabinets, metal book shelves, an old teacher's desk, and a cushioned office chair, all picked up for fifty dollars total at the annual U warehouse sale in late July, when the University got rid of its outdated office furniture.
Also from that office supply sale were lots of occasional tables, table lamps, and floor lamps, scattered throughout the first floor.
Ava had even found an enormous wall-sized map of Minneapolis there, dating from the 1950s, probably from some office in the History or Geography or Urban Studies Department, which she'd tacked up in the dining room, not just because it made a striking wall hanging, but to help Remy and her get oriented in their new city.
While they toured the kitchen, Wren commented on the sweet little dining area in the room, which had a great a view of their lovely flagstone patio in back, enclosed on all sides by high retaining walls, with a dense border of lilacs lining the perimeter, in front of the walls. So wonderfully secluded, she told Remy, like a secret garden. Remy nodded his head.
"I can just see my boys and I, barbecuing back there, no shirts, high and horny as fuck. It's gonna be awesome. Maybe we can still do it this fall, if the weather stays this warm."
Wren loved all the spaces -- the eclectic mélange of unmatched pieces, which she thought all fit together beautifully, and how the various rooms were each painted in a different exotic color (red living room, mustard-yellow dining room, cocoa-brown office, sky-blue kitchen -- colors chosen, Remy told her, because that's what they liked best of the choices available in the deep-discount `returns' bin at the paint store).
What Wren loved most was how casual and funky and warm the spaces were. Her house (except for her room and Uncle Dexter's sun-room) was more like one of the re-created period rooms in the Minneapolis Institute of Art, filled with all her grandmother's priceless antiques, as well as the rare, exquisite pieces Dexter had found at auctions and estate sales and expensive antique shops over the years, making a space far too elegant and precious for her to ever really feel comfortable in, the way Remy's house already felt to her.
Even the floors in Remy's house felt warm and homey to her -- well-worn hardwood (which had been nicely cleaned and waxed by Remy), with all sorts and sizes of rag rugs and old, worn Orientals all over, where her house had expensive carpeting in every room, with huge roses or geometric patterns, which Marlo was always reminding her and her girlfriends not to spill anything on.
Especially, of course, Wren loved seeing Remy's artwork on the walls, his impressively rendered portraits of nude black boys. Ava had found some old, beautifully framed prints set out in someone's trash one day. She removed the dull prints in them and re-used them to frame three of Remy's beautifully worked pencil sketches, hanging them in a row, on one wall of the living room. Wren thought that wall was one of the most strikingly beautiful bits of interior design she'd ever seen.
On another wall, in the dining room, unframed, hanging next to each other, were two four-foot by three-foot oil paintings, also black boy nudes, also by Remy.
All of his art hanging on the first floor, Remy explained to Wren, were portraits of some of his best buds back in Milwaukee.
Wren couldn't praise them enough. She kept running back and forth from the dining room to the living room to take phone pictures of each piece. She thought they were easily as good as most of the work she's seen hanging in galleries and museums. Remy ate up her praise.
"I've got tons more stuff up in my studio room I can show you later -- I mean, if you're really interested."
"Remy, I'm not only interested, but I am begging you to not just show me but sell me some of your work, to hang in my room. Your stuff is so sexy, so erotic, so perfect! Your art is like you, Remy darling -- exquisitely beautiful and powerful. I could gaze at it all day."
Remy savored that `darling'.
"I wouldn't dream of selling you my stuff, Wren. I'll give you whatever you want. I've got a nude self-portrait that I think is the best thing I've done. Ava really wanted to hang that up, but I was just too embarrassed. I'd love you to have it."
"Oh my God, I can't wait! I'll trade you some of my drawings for it. And I'd love one of your paintings of a black boy. I can just feel your lust radiate from your work!"
"I love painting black skin. Such a challenge getting the color right. So many black men and women have this quality to their skin color -- a richness, a depth, a soft gleam -- that you just don't get, from an artist's point of view, in rendering white skin. I mean, we say 'black,' as if that means anything, color-wise, when it's brown and dark brown and tan and copper and mocha and cinnamon and purplish-black and gold -- an incredibly complex palette."
"You're a poet with color, Remy Lord."
Remy could wait no longer. He grabbed her and slipped off her jean jacket, dropping it on the floor. It was like unwrapping a precious sculpture. He gently dared to run his strong but shaking hands over the small, flat, imperceptible mounds of her breasts, groaning deep with the consummation of days of gut-wrenching desire, causing Wren to sigh in soft excitement.
Quickly, Remy shucked off his basketball shorts, feeling desire course through every nerve ending in his body. His thumbs slowly circled her ruby-red, ruby-hard nipples, sending pulsations through his dick. Wren's sigh became louder and more breathless. Remy could feel his cock stir and rise like a ferocious, suddenly roused animal.
He kicked off his running shoes and tenderly laid Wren down on one of the living room couches. She purred dreamily. He unlaced her Dr. Martens and softly pulled them off, along with her long, striped socks, then cradled one foot and stroked and kissed it tenderly, sucking a big toe as if it were a small cock.
"Oh Remy, I'm so seriously wet. You're so beautiful, Remy. Like a dream lover. Your hard cock has me absolutely quivering with lust."
Wren reached out a hand to shyly fondle and stroke her first boy. He smiled, and made love to the other foot as she cooed softly and ran her thin fingers all over his cock and balls.
Remy slowly pulled off her short leather skirt. She lifted up her butt to help him ease it off, as eager to be naked as he was to see her.
She lay there, in the skimpiest underwear Remy could imagine -- basically a string-thin ribbon of satin or something, with only the teensiest scrap of lace covering her pussy. Remy couldn't believe the erotic force in what he was seeing. His cock hiccupped with unbridled excitement. This was beauty rarer and more precious than any he'd ever seen.
"My God, Wren! You're so fucking beautiful! How can you even be here? How can this be happening? It's like all my jack-off fantasies of the past few days have conjured you up."
Wren almost laughed out loud at that one! Oh, sweet, clueless Remy!
Remy continued rhapsodically.
"I feel like I'm going to fucking pass out or explode, I'm so damn overwhelmed with lust for you."
She smiled and held out her arms, beckoning him. He bent close, cradling those thin, smooth shoulders, and they kissed, humming in the ecstasy of `at last'. Remy softly played his strong, trembling hand over Wren's chest, dazzled by its perfection. She ran her small hands all over Remy's strong muscular back and shoulders.
"You feel so wonderful, darling! Your body is like classic sculpture. I have young Apollo in my arms."
Remy knelt beside the couch, letting his hand -- not even his hand, not wanting to somehow maybe hurt her with the whole force of the unruly desire he could feel quaver through his hand -- letting just his long middle finger play softly up and down the small scrap of lace just barely covering her pussy. He was transfixed by her beautiful alien anatomy.
Wren softly moaned out the quietest of breaths as Remy stroked and circled her small mound. He slipped his finger gently, timidly, uncertainly, underneath the small patch of lace. The novelty of what he felt jolted through him.
Her skin there was totally smooth. He felt, not exactlyly lips, as he'd expected, more like a small, soft ridge, and then a wet slit. He let his finger ever-so-shyly go a bit further, to trace up and down, and even hesitantly ease a bit into the moist skin of her cunt.
Another soft, lingering purr from Wren.
Then he pulled his finger out and bent down and kissed her lace-covered mound, softly, reverently, as if he were kissing a saint's relic.
Her pussy-scent was intoxicating -- a sweet, pungent perfume he could feel immediately fill his head like thick vapors, powerful enough to make him dizzy. He kissed a bit more -- until, as if by involuntary reflex, his tongue slid past his lips, and he began softly lapping the already-moist lace, up and down over Wren's slit.
Wren's moans were louder now, breathier. She placed a hand on the back of Remy's head, encouraging him. She loved the sensation of her fingers rubbing against her boy's close-buzzed, beautifully shaped head as she pushed his lips and tongue harder into her pussy.
Remy took the pressure of her hands against his head as a good sign and began tonguing her cunt with the full force of his hunger. His erection felt exquisitely painful and hard-throbbing now.
Wren brought an eager hand to his balls, cupped them, and began fondling the large orbs in his loose sac. With her other hand, she softly let her fingers trail up and down his thick, hard, straining shaft. This is mine now, she thought sublimely, and began to jack her prize.
The more Remy licked, the harder she pressed his mouth into her, and the more breathlessly she panted. He grew voracious. The lace became drenched, so he slipped it down her legs.
The first sight of her shaved pussy brought a stupefied groan from Remy. There it was, an actual girl's pussy! Wren's pussy!
He was vaguely familiar with the female anatomy, of course, from his naturist mother primarily -- as well as his crash-course watching pussy-eating videos last night -- but seeing his first real pussy, up close and in the flesh, was head-spinning.
So different, so utterly foreign from what he was used to seeing on a young naked body. The artist in Remy thought it exquisite, but a strange, cock-less beauty nevertheless, which he knew he needed to understand thoroughly because it was instantly entrancing. Also, he understood, it was his world now.
Wren looked down there like a totally hot, smooth twink -- but one whose nice, fulsome cock had been surgically removed, and who now had this shocking, strangely lovely, almost vegetable-looking bundle-scar where his dick had been. This seriously hot boy, and some fucker lopped his entire luscious package off!
It should be totally repulsive, Remy thought, like sex surgery gone horribly wrong, but it was mind-blowingly sexy to him, an unbelievable turn-on -- as if a brilliant sculptor had completed a statue of the perfect boy, then, where the cock should be, he'd carved the marble into exquisitely beautiful flower petals.
Remy marveled at its surreally perfect, wholly arousing beauty -- not at all like the genitalia he's always been used to when it came to intimacy. It looked like some shocking prosthetic in a David Lynch film, supposed to startle a viewer upon first reveal. This was like sex with a different being, it seemed to him -- an exotic, enchanted species.
Remy was reminded of that sonnet by Shakespeare they looked at on the first day of English class, about how the poet felt his young boyfriend was so beautiful, it was as if Nature took a gorgeous girl-child and gave her a dick, pricking her out for Nature's pleasure. Only with Wren, it was like Nature was Sapphic and created a boy so beautiful, she wanted him for girl-pleasure, so Nature un-pricked him.
The soft, succulent beauty of Wren's pussy made his mouth water, the way it did for a hot boy's ass.
He stroked her shyly. She purred, so he figured it was OK. He used a nervous finger to delicately paint the thick, clear residue of his saliva and her juices up and down her slit. It felt so different, but so incredibly sensual.
Not having a clue what he was doing, driven by sheer need, Remy dove back between the gorgeous girl's legs, lapping and licking with the force of his need. He decided just to treat Wren as he would a dude, focused on slavishly servicing her as he would with a sexy alpha-boy, with whom he felt challenged to bring his best game, trying to make him cum as much as he could, using fingers, tongue, lips, cock, whatever it took.
Remy knew from all those videos he watched last night that there was something important at the top of a girl's slit, just inside, under some skin or something. He traced his finger delicately until he thought he'd found her clit.
He licked and lapped at it, digging his tongue in and around. He figured he had indeed found it when Wren began squealing, using both hands to force his head down insistently hard this time, and drawing her thighs together at the side of his head, pressing against him.
Remy's tongue became a hard dart as he worked at the nubby little thing. Remy's tongue was long and thick, with a nice tapered tip -- strong and agile, too, from regular workouts tongue-fucking so many boy-holes.
Wren had never experienced such a hard, raw, hungry onslaught from oral with a girl.
While he tongued and fingered her clit, Remy brought his other hand close, and daringly began probing inside Wren's moist slit, as if he were fingering a boy's hole. Two fingers now, crossed in a King's X, sawing in her wet pussy as his tongue worked her clit. Wren squealed softly.
It sounded like she liked it, so Remy kept at it -- teasing her now-hard clit, fingering it, tonguing it, while digging into that delicious little fold with his other hand. Wren cried out in high-pitched, hyperventilating gasps, mashing Remy's head into her and gripping it with vise-like thighs.
Spurred on by her excited state, he kept up his furious cunt-play, his tongue and fingers a frenzy of motion. She started crying out harshly, sounding as if she were poised on the edge between pain and ecstasy.
"Oh Remy! Oh Remy! Oh my God! I'm cumming, Remy! Oh my God!"
Her thighs crushed his ears, and the pressure of her hands on the back of his neck actually hurt, but he wouldn't tear himself away even if he could. Her soft voice screamed thick and raspy.
"Oh! Oh! Oh, Remy! Oh God, Remy!"
Then a choked gasp and a trail of juice. Remy lapped up everything he could, wanting to taste Wren wholly. It was incredible, like a tart, thick, tangy-metallic liqueur.
The pressure on his head was suddenly gone. Wren's thighs seemed to melt off his head, and her arms dropped weakly to her side. Her breathing gradually softened and slowed.
Remy couldn't believe it -- he'd actually made a girl cum! He kissed her slit over and over, sweetly, softly, utterly grateful for this amazing new gift.
Another half minute, and Wren was calm again, her arms held out, calling for him.
"Remy, you were astonishing! That was beyond incredible! You lied to me, I think, darling. No way was that the first pussy you've eaten."
"Swear to God, Wren! I don't know a fucking thing about what girls like. Especially lesbian girls. I've never been face-to-face with a girl's pussy. I had no idea what I was doing. It was like your vagina was mind-controlling me or something. I fucking loved it!"
Wren laughed softly at her naive darling.
She got up from the couch, and he rose with her. Her hands slid down to caress his hard, jutting, leaky cock while she kissed him softly. Their mouths opened, their tongues slow-danced sensuously. She could taste herself on him.
Oh, how wonderful this was, Wren thought, how beyond anything she'd even dreamed. He's so utterly beautiful and sweet -- and he took the pussy-eating instructions she'd willed into him perfectly!
Now, her turn with his body. And they could just keep doing this the whole rest of the day.
"Let's go to your room, darling. Darling Remy. Remy Lord. My Lord and Master. Let me show you how I've dreamed of pleasuring you."
He slowly led her upstairs, her hands never leaving his cock.
As soon as they reached the second floor, though, Wren asked if she could poke around -- she wanted to see every square inch of her boy's house. They had all day for sex, after all -- actually, Wren knew, they had the rest of their lives.
It was important for her to start to get the feel of this space, her new second home, the place where'd she be spending so much time from now on.
It was 1:30 PM, she'd noticed downstairs, from the huge, round, vintage bank clock hanging in the kitchen. She laughed to herself -- she'd guessed they'd be hooking up by 2 PM today!
1:30 -- how many 1:30's had she spent so far in Prospect Park, she wondered? Over a thousand, easily. But never one like this, never a 1:30 here, in this amazing house, with her gorgeous lover, on the threshold of their future together.
Wren stood still, there in the second-floor hall, and closed her eyes, concentrating hard, emptying everything else out of her mind, savoring this one moment, this first time ever in Remy's home.
Soon they'd be in his bedroom, where she'd show him joy undreamed of.
It was all so deep and mysterious and utterly thrilling -- this wholly new, utterly singular, never before lived 1:30 of her life. This landmark afternoon.
And in just a few more minutes, there would be Remy's body, hers at last, to pleasure and be pleasured by. It was all finally so wonderful and complete.
She took slow, deep breaths, attuning herself, feeling the force of her senses thrumming, willing her focus to the now of their love. She opened her eyes again and smiled at Remy.
They toured Ava's bedroom first -- huge sleigh bed (Craigslist, Remy said), covered in a flowery chintz comforter and soft-looking blankets (thrift store), the space pungent with sandalwood incense -- then an unfurnished guest bedroom, beautifully painted a lush moss green color. There was a third bedroom, which Remy and Ava (thanks to a flat-screen they found in the garbage) have turned into a makeshift media room/reading room.
Wren took her time poking around the spacious second-floor bathroom because she knew they'd be spending so much time together in here. It looked like a perfect setting for their sex-play -- kooky green tile-work everywhere (is that avocado, she wondered, or pistachio?), a huge double-sink (so she and Remy could primp next to each other), nice old-timey fixtures (also in fine shape), and a large green-tiled, walk-in shower space.
Besides the shower, there was also a big clawfoot bathtub where Wren could see Remy and her luxuriating often. She'd have to remember to buy a big bottle of that super-foamy, lilac-scented bubble bath Tom's drugstore sold, and bring it over next time.
Wren felt safe and comfortable in Remy's house, in every square inch of it, which made her supremely happy. After all, this was her boyfriend's house, her future husband's house.
After the baby came next spring, they might even be living here -- although she thought her house more likely.
At last, she was ready for Remy to lead them upstairs.
Outside the door to his room, on the small third-floor landing, Remy held out his arms, so Wren could jump into them, then he carried her through the doorway, into his room, Wren kissing him madly the whole time.
Remy had a fairly large third-floor space -- the front half was where he could have friends over, the back half was his sleeping area. There was even a smaller room adjoining it in back, which Remy used his studio, as well as a tiny outdoor porch off the front, closed off by a pair of French doors.
Remy apologized that his room wasn't totally the way he wanted it yet, but it was getting there. The `chill area' part of his room, as he called it, had two used, spacious, Ikea leather couches -- Ava's best Goodwill find, Remy said; she scored them the day they were being unloaded, $75 each. He'd set up the couches so they faced each other across a huge coffee table Remy built himself from scrap wood, then shellacked. On the front wall, flanking the couches, was the only fairly spendy item in the room -- a huge, flat-screen TV (Ava's house-warming gift to her son).
The back wall of his room was all built-in shelves, floor to ceiling, where Remy kept the books and records he'd moved from Milwaukee, along with a vintage Marantz stereo system he'd picked up at an estate sale in August (allowing Remy to move his old portable stereo down to the living room).
Wren walked by Remy's dresser-area, not knowing at first what it was.
"Remy, why do you have a mirror hanging over a file cabinet?"
"Open a drawer, and you'll find out."
She did and she squealed softly.
"Brilliant!"
Remy explained its provenance to Wren -- at Goodwill, over the summer, for five bucks, Ava had found Remy an old metal lateral file, which she felt he might use to store his art. She also found a huge mirror, salvaged from a downtown hotel that had been torn down when they built the new Timberwolves stadium.
Remy, who'd been looking in vain for a used dresser, decided just to use the low, wide, two-drawer file cabinet to store what little clothes of his he'd moved from Milwaukee. He described how he re-purposed the file it.
"I just took all the hardware out of the file cabinet, so it's just basically a long, low box with a couple drawers, which is basically what a dresser is, right? Then I just hung that cool hotel mirror over it."
"It's genius-level awesome!"
His loft-like room's sleeping area still needed work. It was just a king-size box spring and mattress on the floor, flanked on either side by the milk crates that he'd used to move his records from Milwaukee, flipped over now to serve as night-stands, with junk-store clip-lamps attached to each crate.
There was an awesome poster Wren liked, tacked up on the wall between his bed and the back wall of shelves, of a cool-looking black dude in some hip clothes wearing wild sunglasses and holding a trumpet. Remy explained it was Miles Davis, whose music he loved.
A little further down on that wall, though, by Remy's sleeping area, she noticed, right above where Remy's pillows lay on his mattress, more of what she assumed was Remy's work tacked up on the wall -- what looked like two nude sketches of a white boy. Of course she went over to take a closer look.
She fell in love with Remy all over again when she saw the two nude drawings Remy had done of her, from a combination of memory (her face and shoulders and arms) and inspiration (he'd gotten her breasts practically perfect without having ever actually seen them). Wren just gazed at them, about ready to cry.
Remy flushed with fear and embarrassment, seeing her stare at them so long, thinking Wren might feel he was some weirdo pervert, caught fetishizing his home-made stalker porn of her.
Instead, she turned to him after a long couple of minutes of silence, her eyes moist, and softly told him they were absolutely beautiful. She hugged him, clasping her bewitchingly flat chest against his beautifully worked upper body, and whispered he was amazing, and that she would try to be worthy of his utter sublimity.
Wren nosed around the room more, looking at everything, even scanning all the titles of the books and the record albums on the back wall shelves, occasionally remarking when she saw a record she liked or books she'd loved. She felt like a detective, looking for further clues to her gorgeous mystery.
While Wren explored his space, Remy focused on her, savoring the delectably nude Wren Damson, there in his bedroom at last. He couldn't get over how much like a super-sexy, super-slender young boy she looked, only different, way different, and utterly beautiful, the most alluringly attractive, perfectly formed human he'd ever seen.
Remy's small studio, Wren thought, was the best part of his large, third-floor space. Not just because it was such an inviting place to work -- which it was indeed: Remy had found a pair of long, deep, metal book shelves at that University warehouse sale he went to with Ava in July, which now took up half of one wall, along with a long utility table and old office swivel chair, taking up most of the wall opposite in the narrow space.
It looked to Wren like a great space in which to hole up and work. She laughed when she noticed Remy's copy of the Federalist Papers next to his laptop, exactly the arrangement on her own desk at home. She loved that Remy had an easel set up at the far end, by the shelves that held all his paints and brushes.
What made the small studio the coolest part of the room for Wren, though, was the way Remy had it decorated. The walls were enitrely covered with images of nude males. There were about two dozen of Remy's drawings of nude black boys tacked up here and there, and everywhere on the wall where there wasn't a Remy black-boy nude, there were photos of all sorts of naked or mostly naked men -- muscular and big-dicked, either alone or with other naked men, often having sex, so that every square inch of visible wall-space was covered with the imagery of naked gay lust.
It seemed to Wren like she was staring into Remy's id, before he'd met her.
Remy explained how the tiny space came to be decorated the way it was.
"When we moved in, I really loved that I would finally have a small studio space, except the room was covered in shitty, water-stained wallpaper. By the time I got done with plastering and painting the first and second floors, I was so damn tired of working on refinishing walls, that a week or two of stripping wallpaper, then plastering and sanding and painting, was just not happening.
"So I tacked up all my favorite drawings of my friends from Milwaukee, and then in-filled gay porn pix over any remaining patches of wallpaper still visible. There's this really cool queer bookstore in Dinkytown I discovered over the summer, my second week in town, that had this insane sale on vintage gay porn mags. I bought a huge stack for five bucks, and cut out the coolest pictures of the hottest dudes, then collaged them onto the shitty wallpaper."
"It's absolutely breath-taking in here now, Remy! I feel like I'm in a small shrine."
"Yeah, I love drawing in here, painting, doing my homework."
Gawking over every inch of this amazingly sexy studio-space, Wren suddenly recognized the boy in the sketch on Remy's work-table.
"That's Trey Washington! My God, Remy, it's gorgeous!"
"Well, Trey's gorgeous, that's for sure. But yeah, it's coming along nice, but it's not even close to finished."
She just paused there for a second, imagining her boy working here in his artist's loft, surrounded by all these beautiful nude boys he'd sketched, as well as all this scorching-hot gay porn, creating such beautiful nude boy beauty.
Wren was beginning to understand Remy perfectly -- his strengths, his needs -- and it inflamed her.
Remy brought his two best portfolios down from a shelf and let her pore through his sketches. He brought out the self-portrait he did -- him from head to cock -- which she adored, so he immediately gave it to her and offered her more.
She chose a drawing of one of his Milwaukee buds, Bryson, which she told him was exquisite, along with a study he'd done of just cocks, which she thought was an amazing image and brilliantly rendered. She could hardly wait to frame everything and hang them in her room.
She stepped into his large closet, pausing to look at the chin-up bar Remy had installed high up in the door frame -- her strong, powerful young god, of course he had one. She jumped up and grabbed on and tried to do one. She got her nose to the bar but had to drop off. Remy grabbed her and lefted her so she could do a few. They laughed, and he set her down.
Of course Remy is strong enough to do a bunch of pull-ups. She'd make him do his routine on the bar later, nude, filming the whole thing.
There were three baseball caps sitting on a closet shelf, all with letters on them -- two "G's" and one "M" -- sports teams, she figured. She tried on one of the G hats and left it on, even though it was little too big on her, because she craved something of his as a talisman.
There weren't many clothes hanging in Remy's closet -- a leather motorcycle jacket, a down jacket, a jean jacket, two hoodies (both zip-ups), one denim shirt, one white oxford-cloth button-down, and a two flannel shirts. She went through each article of clothing once, sliding hangers down so she could gaze longingly on each, imaginging her gorgeous young god in it, then went through them all again as she slid the hangers back. She wanted to memorize them.
On the floor were a pair of brown, lace-up Red Wing work boots; a worn-looking pair of boat shoes; two pairs of running shoes; and two pairs of flip-flops. She picked up each pair, turning them over in her hands, deeply inhaling Remy's scent from each (much to Remy's amused delight), then placing them back down.
She took one last look at everything again, thinking happily of how she'd be seeing Remy in each of these items of apparel, again and again and again, as fall turned to winter. No fancy dress shirts, she noticed, or dress pants or sport coat or suit jacket. Of course not, not for my rugged young stud!
If someone had asked her earlier to guess a complete catalog of all the clothing in Remy's closet without having seen it, she felt certain she'd have been able to list each one of these very items, down to the last flip-flop.
If she stayed in his closet any longer, she knew she'd start crying because of the love she felt for this gloriously perfect boy, so she finally backed out of the walk-in closet and hugged him, willing back her tears.
"You look amazing, Wren, naked in just my Packers cap."
He felt another stab of shame at what a dump his room was. He tried to explain.
"I'm sorry my room is like the worst room in the house, but like I said, I got so damn tired of doing all that work on the first two floors of the house this summer. When it came time to fix up my room, it was that week before school -- I mean, it's still super-warm now, but remember that week before school? Minkya! I just said fuck it.
"I had about enough left in the tank to rip up the carpet. The maple floors are beat to shit, but I thought they looked good enough to get by, so I just washed them, put a coat of paint on the walls in the main room, then tacked my posters and art and called it."
"I adore your room, Remy! The floors feel so soft and warm on bare feet. I wish I had your floors in my bedroom, instead of what I have -- a bunch of expensive Persian rugs my friends and I are paranoid about spilling wine on. All your room really needs is just a bit better lighting, and then it will be positively perfect -- like you, my utterly gorgeous Lord. Now, Remy, I absolutely have to ravish you."
Wren gazed hungrily on his naked body. Every part of him looked toned and smooth, beautifully bulging and lusciously lickable. Painstakingly sculpted muscle everywhere -- flawless, lean and hard, just the right definition, the right proportion. And that utterly exquisite cock she'd be spending so much time pleasuring, and being pleasured by.
She wasn't quite sure what to say, her head was swirling with the impossible wonderfulness of the moment and the beauty of the boy. Their passion for each other erupted. They kissed, and it was like their mouths were doing battle with each other.
"Remy, you are a god! And, your cock! I've never seen a boy's dick up close before, but I don't see how any boy's dick be more lovely than yours. It's so beautifully big, Remy! Long and fat and smooth and sleek! And the sexy little tip juuuussst peeking out from under that yummy-looking foreskin! You're bigger than, like, ninety percent of white dudes in porn, you know that, right? I'm fucking in love with your cock, darling!"
She dove for it, rushing forward and kneeling down in one swoop, kissing it, rubbing it like a magic lamp, holding it in both hands (unable to grasp it all round with just one), and smearing its glistening tip all over her face. The fury of her passion knocked the Packers cap off her head.
"Your balls, too, Remy! Such a big damn nut-sac, bro! Big as apricots, I'd say. Or plums, maybe. Some kind of round, perfect, succulent fruit. I can't wait to taste your cum! I adore every inch of this achingly beautiful cock! I worship at the Temple of your Phallus, my astonishingly endowed Lord!"
Remy loved her kissing and licking his meaty girth all over. She was as cock-crazed as he was, he realized.
Wren kept rubbing the tip of his dick back and forth across her eyes, trying to form the words in her head to a charm that might keep the sight of his cock always before her.
She smiled and looked up at him.
"Oh, my awesomely beautiful Lord! Now I'm going to suck your cock better than any boy you've ever been with!"
She pushed him down on his bed, abruptly, brazenly. Taken off-guard, Remy laughed helplessly at her boldness.
Wren crawled up seductively between his legs. Remy loved watching her move, like a lithe, sexy jungle cat. Her breasts barely showed -- Wren had the toned upper body of an athletic 12 year-old boy, he thought, only with maddeningly succulent nipples the size of large, juicy berries.
Wren ran her hands up and down Remy's thighs and across his insanely ripped abs, knowing from watching gay porn that jock-boys loved muscle-play. She tongued up and down the center of his ripped abs and then all over his eight-pack, letting her tongue play sexily over each deep groove of his hard-carved washboard. Remy groaned in pleasure.
"Love havin' my abs worshipped like that, Wren. So damn hot."
She'd remember that for later. Right now, it was all about the cock, so her tongue trailed down over his shaved-smooth pubes and on to her prize.
She just gazed at the huge there-ness of Remy's cock for a second -- the fullness of it, the exquisite shapeliness, the ripeness, the bold hardness, the astonishing length. It had such an impressively meaty heft to it, a sleek, sculptural firmness that begged to be caressed and fondled.
"Now you're going to know what it's like to have your cock really sucked, Remy. The way only a lesbian cock-slut can do it. It's going to be so good, you're going to fall on your knees and beg me to suck your cock every time you see me, from now on. Which I will gladly do, darling, any time you ask."
The sight of that nude sylph kneeling over him, so thin and willowy, yet suddenly now forceful and dominant and lusting after his dick, had Remy achingly hard and twitching. She noticed.
"Look! Just seeing me getting ready to suck your cock gets you hard as fuck, son! That's from my enchantments, Remy! All the spells I put on you! Oh Remy, Reemy, Creamy, Dreamy! Now I'm going to show you cock-sucking like you've never even dreamed of!"
Wren realized she'd messed up -- she hadn't meant to say anything about how she'd used magic to get him. But Remy didn't seem to notice, so she hoped he'd been too carried away by the sex to have really heard her. She needed to be more careful.
She shook off her worry and got back to boy-business.
Wren's trembling fingers grasped Remy's magnificient cock. She kissed the tip, then all up the shaft, caressing his ass-cheeks sensuously with her other hand. She licked and sucked, getting used to the taste and feel of dick, playing her tongue around the tip.
She carressed it again and rubbed its hardening thickness all over her lips, marveling to at last have her prize in her grasp. She was so excited, she didn't know what to do first with it. She wanted her lips and tongue and fingers to be everywhere on it at once.
It was transformative, feeling a boy's cock, hard and throbbing in her hands, for the first time. As she held it, she could feel it pulsate, swelling even harder.
That was his power she was feeling, Wren knew, a boy's special power. She held the key to Remy's power in her hand.
As a sex-witch, she knew it was a power she had to understand fully if she hoped to enchant it, an awesome force she would need to use all her skill to match. It wouldn't be easy, she knew, because she could already feel herself being subjugated by its overmastering majesty.
She had to pause, in fact, and draw a couple of centering breaths, so overcome was she with this first staggering impression.
"Remy, your cock is the most exquisite thing I've ever seen! I'm going to take so many pictures of it, do so many drawings. I want drawings and photos of your cock all over the walls of my bedroom, the way you have nude boy drawings and pictures of naked men all over your studio. I'm going to copy you exactly, darling, except all my images will be of Remy Lord only -- mostly just your dick.
"I think I'm going to get a dildo made of your fully hard cock, so I can pleasure myself with it whenever you're not around. It's so thick and long and smooth, so shapely and gorgeous. Not too thick -- a too-thick cock can be gross, I think. And not too long and scary.
"You have the Platonic Penile Ideal, Remy. I know, because I've seen thousands of cocks in gay porn. Some are just so-so, some downright repulsive, and some insanely erotic. None, though, as perfect and luscious as this."
She got her bearings and got down to work. Get it wet, she knew, so she licked and tongued and licked -- an absolute pleasure. Her gliding tongue over his outrageous hardness felt like a giddy dream.
But `super-wet, super-fast,' Njeri told her, so she let a huge gob of spit drool over it -- which was easy, her mouth was watering with enough drool to choke her.
Delicate tonguing-- becuase this majestic beauty deserved it -- then sloppy licking to get everything slick. Spitting more, and tonguing it all over again.
Wren stopped and just held it again, gazing on its gleaming perfection. She adored that beautifully sleek, casually elegant back-curve to his thick length when it got fully hard like this. It could be a famous piece of classic sculpture -- "Jutting Victory," it should be called. A lost Brancusi, maybe. That sleek curve was going to feel amazing when he fucked her.
Back to sucking, and she rapidly became addicted to the pungent, slightly salty taste. That must be the precum, she figured.
`OMG! What's cum going to taste like?' she suddenly wondered. She'd been thinking maybe it would be like that gooey cream in her favorite chocolates that Dexter buys her, only boy-flavored.
Remember Remy's gay, she reminded herself, and ass-play was crucial. She rolled him over on his bed, feasting on the sight of his muscular back and shoulders, and his smooth, firm ass -- not soft and plump and cute, like a girl's butt, the kind Wren was used to, but hard, solid muscle, like the young jock Remy was.
She grabbed those smooth, dimpled cheeks and slightly pulled them apart. There it was! His tight little boy-hole! His boi-pussy! It actually did look like a rosebud. A starfish, too. It looked even smaller and tighter than Lavender's or Njeri's. Clamped so tight and sexy, it seemed to be daring Wren to try to penetrate it!
Remy's ass-crack, like the rest of his butt, was all smooth, whitish-pink marble, with that rose-pink pucker in the center. Damn, Wren wanted some of that!
She smiled slyly at how excitingly vulnerable Remy looked right now. Wren felt like a horny cis-boy, looking at a girl's pussy he was about to pound.
Reaching between his strong, muscular thighs, she pulled his huge cock back between his legs and let her tongue tease the tip for a while until slowly, deliciously, she licked up and down the underside of the shaft and all over his ball-sac and taint. She smirked at the soft, contented groans coming from her boy.
The fresh, pungent, sweaty scent of Remy's ass was marvelous. Wren's tongue trailed slowly up to his tight pink pucker, circling around it, trying to dart the tip into his sealed-shut hole.
Oh, you'll open for me, little boy-hole, because you're mine now, she thought. And you're going to love what I do to you when you let me inside! Oh Remy, the things I have planned for this hole!
She spread his cheeks and was able to push her tongue a bit further through the center of his tight ring, loving the sound of Remy's encouraging groan.
Wren knew she would have to pop back home at some point later this afternoon, to get permission from her aunt and uncle to have her first sleepover with a boy. When she did, she was going to get her strap-on and seven-inch dildo and give Remy a mind-blowing pegging. She became flushed and shivery at the thought of fucking him.
She let more spit drool down over his crack, then tongued it around Remy's tight little boy-hole, fingering its wetness, loosening him. Another delicious moan from her boy.
She tongued more, savoring the taste -- fresh boy-sweat, with hints of what she figured must be residue of the soap from the No Hope boys' shower, from his time Teen Town.
She kept licking until -- like one of those candies that change flavors as you suck on it -- she got her first true taste of Remy, the seductive, metallic tang of his boy-pussy. She lapped and lapped, instantly addicted. His groan now was loud and harsh.
"Oh, fuck yeah, Wren! Eat my ass!"
She played her tongue round and round it, until it was positively juicy and creamy with mix of saliva and ass juices. With two of her thin fingers (she'd been keeping her nails trimmed short for the past two weeks, in anticipation of this moment), Wren began to tease and pry and loosen, loving the whimpering sound of her stud-god jock-boy as she worked open his hole.
As she insistently worked his hole, she tongued up and down his thick shaft, still pulled back between his legs, licking it lusciously, loving the taste of boy-cock. She licked those big walnut-sized balls, too, so round, so beautiful, so delightfully smooth on her tongue.
Remy's balls were sacred to Wren, since they were filled with the seed that would make their baby, so she worshipped them with her tongue, knowing it would get Remy excited and start churning up his boy-cream.
She loved how Remy had such a big, loose ball-sac in which to hold his precious seed-orbs. She'd seen so many boys in gay porn with pathetic scrotums -- so small and tight, you couldn't even see their balls! But Remy's big nuts drooped ripe and inviting, like low-hanging fruit.
She sucked each one deliciously in her mouth, savoring the huge orbs lusciously, as if they were an oversized jaw-breaker she could suck on forever, working her tongue over and over it, relishing its sweet, scrumptious succulence.
Mmmmm, sucking her boy's succulent eggs! Like Cadbury creme eggs, Wren thought excitedly! That's what Remy's balls are! Her yummy creme eggs!
To the sound of Remy's steadily grunting pleasure, she continued worshiping his now fully hard, erect cock with her tongue, working more of her spit over it, coating it, enameling it, so that it was burnished like a fine ceramic, with a thick, shiny glaze.
Then she trailed her tongue back to Remy's boy-pussy, licking it, fingering it, too, while she began jacking Remy's cock downwards, like she was milking a sexy gay bull. She would milk Remy's cock like this at least once a day, she decided.
She found she could slide two fingers easily now into his ass, and play them around, finger-fucking him the way she did Desi and Jeri.
After a bit more ass-play, Remy cried out sharply.
"Yes! There! Aw fuck!"
Wren realized that nubby little thing she'd been rubbing must be his boy-clit, so she immediately began teasing it more, torturing him, the way she liked it when girls did it to her.
She flipped Remy back around and knelt between his legs, feasting on his outrageously perfect musculature for just a second before he got back to fingering and jacking him, keeping it up, driving him crazy. She fingered him as hard as she fingered a girl's pussy, and he loved it.
Wren thrilled to her control over Remy, to the sight of this strong young god, a slave now to her sex-power.
Remy moaned and writhed, his head hanging off the edge of his mattress, his strong hips reduced to wriggling jelly, his muscular legs jostling back and forth deliriously, working his ass over Wren's fingers, desperate to fuck his hungry hole on her.
"Fuck, Wren! Amazing! Unreal hot! I'm so fucking hard now, angel -- keep fucking me like that! Aw shit!"
Wren realized she had finger-fucking a boy down cold.
Remy's cock was a hard, throbbing, leaky mess. He was having some of the most thrilling sex of his life. He wished they could just fuck each other for the rest of the day.
Wren went back to tonguing Remy's balls, jostling them in her thin fingers, while she slowly jacked his wet cock with her other hand.
"This is my new treasure, Remy -- this big, sexy pouch you have, filled with your sacred orbs. I'm going to churn up all the boy-seed in them I can because I want you to shoot more cum than you ever have before."
Wren tongued his balls -- fiendishly now, delicately, luxuriating over them in soft, exquisite slowness, so Remy couldn't tell, at any point, whether she'd stopped or not, until he'd suddenly feel the soft, maddening touch of her tongue-tip again.
It was torture to Remy, the way she used her small pointy tongue to circle painstakingly lightly over each ball, almost imperceptibly, just enough for Remy to barely feel it, round and round over his sensitive balls, one then the other, with a light, excruciatingly feather-soft sensation that surged through his scrotum like an electrical current, paining him, driving him crazy, all the more erotic for being so mind-bendingly light and soft and gentle.
Remy could feel the cum boiling in his nuts. He began crying out now, groaning with a harsh, guttural sound that seemed ripped from his chest, breathless and almost panicky because he'd never felt pain this intensely in his nuts. He was used to a boy's lips and tongue slathering over his balls, churning up cum quickly so he'd shoot that much faster. This was like some ruthless spy-torture -- Wren was using the barest hint of her tongue to -- it felt like to Remy -- draw the semen right out of his testicles, then out through the skin-pores of his nut-sac.
The pain was so intense it seemed to bore into his gut. Remy felt like he would either pass out or something would rupture.
She didn't know what she was doing, he had to tell her.
"Wren, angel, I need to cum so bad now! Please, honey! I'm going to literally explode if you keep this up!"
"I am going to keep this up, and you are going to literally explode, darling. You're going to cum harder than you ever have before! Because you've never had sex-magic like mine before!"
Damn, she slipped again! She needed to focus -- she was getting too carried away.
More torture, Wren decided, because this simply had to be her boy's most memorable orgasm ever so far. Over and over her tongue-tip lightly, mesmerizingly, traced over those smooth flesh-covered eggs. She delighted in the pained sound of Remy's high-pitched, staccato cries.
Back to his cock, lubed enough now, she thought, given all the precum she'd felt oozing out of his piss slit, while jacking him during her ball-teasing.
Wren slowly eased down that superbly sexy foreskin hood still covering most of his cock-head, and swirled her tongue around, circling the head over and over. She daggered her tongue-tip into his piss-slit while her fingers danced back across his balls, reminding him of her power.
Remy was back to whimpering now, panting, moaning, begging her -- "Please, Wren!" -- to let him cum. He was like a puddle of burbling goo, she smiled to herself, which was exactly the plan.
Wren dug around deeper in his piss slit with the tip of her thin, small pinkie, boring in, getting louder groans. She decided maybe she'd let the nail on one of her little fingers grow, to use for piss-slit play.
Wren pulled that lovely, thick collar of foreskin-flesh back up over the head and pinched it, nipping at it with her teeth, taking a harder bite, pulling at the hood, working her finger underneath it, circling the head, stretching the skin out more, a steady whimpering moan coming from Remy the entire time.
His hood was so thick, so meaty, so tasty! She nipped at it more, nibbled it, bit it hard a few more times, loving Remy's harsh cries. She bored her index finger deep into his stretched-open piss slit. Remy's pain-cry was absolutely blood-curdling.
All the while Wren kept finger-fucking him, hard and quick, like she thought a totally gay boy would want a boy to fuck him. She knew he liked it because he kept forcefully working his ass around her fingers, clenching around them with his strong muscles, craving as much penetration as possible.
Her tongue worked into his piss slit, lapping up as much of that clear, luscious, free-flowing Remy-nectar as she could. So delicious her boy was! Everywhere! Every part of him!
Wren delighted, when she lifted her head off the cock-tip, to see that long, thick, gooey strand of precum and saliva that stretched off with her lips. He's ready, she thought. Showtime!
She began bobbing her head up and down on his shaft, while her fingers expertly kept fucking his ass like they fucked Njeri's pussy. Further down she went. With each bob of her head, her eyes watered a little, but she thought that might actually have been tears of joy.
Remy croaked out a warning.
"Don't try to take me all in, Wren! Not the first time. I'm way too big for you, darling. This feels amazing, just what you're doing, fingering me and sucking me like that. I don't want you choking or gagging, honey!"
Oh Remy, you silly boy, she laughed to herself. Wren concentrated now, her mind clear and focused -- breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose, up and down, up and down, breathe through your nose, breathe through your nose.
She got her breath-rhythm perfect -- up and down on the cock, further and further each time. So far, effortlessly!
Wren couldn't believe the difference, though, between sucking a dildo and sucking an actual boy-cock. Cock was way better! This was no dense, lifeless, silicon rod. This was seriously scrumptious -- a warm, wet, live, juicy, throbbing thing, which had grown wonderfully bigger and thicker and harder with all her handling.
Still -- not too big or too thick for her, she felt, as her mouth went ever-lower, aiming for the root. Her goal -- to feel her nose nuzzle up against that flat, gorgeously smooth, shaved pubic patch of her sublime young god-boy, while his enormous divinity throbbed in her throat.
It was intoxicating to suck cock, she found. She began humming in pleasure as her lips rode up and down on his thickness -- both because that's what she felt like, plus she'd heard boys liked it during deep-throating.
She couldn't wait to try cock-sucking on the black boys at school in Remy's crew. What would it be like taking one of those seriously huge black cocks all the way down, she wondered. Could she really do it? Could she even take Remy all the way?
Suddenly she could feel the tip of his dick really deep in her throat, stretching it! Awesome!
She worried, though, that this was where she'd fuck it all up and start choking. Please please please! You can do this, Wren! Just further down each time -- slowly, steadily, no need to rush this, just a tiny bit more each time.
Watery eyes, she could feel, but still no gagging.
"Wren, seriously! You don't know, honey -- you're gonna choke!"
She began to hum again, this time to calm and focus herself. Remy's voice crooned out another loud pleasure groan, in harmony with her humming moans, so now there was the sweet sound of their wordless duet, a charming little ditty called "Wren's First-Time."
Oh, this was the most luscious thing ever! Wren had no idea boys actually tasted so seriously yummy!
Lower, lower, humming, humming.
YES! FINALLY!
She felt the tip of her nose press against his sleek shaved pubes. She wanted to cry out in triumph, but couldn't with her mouth and throat stuffed full of Remy.
"Jesus Fucking Fuck, Wren! Oh my fucking God! Holy fuck! Unreal!"
All the way back up now, then right back down, not even needing to gulp for air because her breathing was so under control. Like learning to swim, she thought -- and then once you learned, you wondered why it seemed so difficult.
Her fingers really started fucking his hole now, because her jaw was getting a little tired. Plus, she was dying to see him cum!
Still she kept going, easily, loving the sound a slurping mouth made on hard, wet cock. Her head-bobbing was synched in harmony with Remy's adorable whimpering and mewling, as she kept humming her own sweet song.
She remembered hearing that playing with a dude's balls supposedly made him cum really fast, so she teased the fingers of her other hand over his sac, cooing to his balls in her mind, as if singing them a lullaby, telling them that some day soon their marvelous seed would be in her, deep down in her fountain, working their wondrous magic.
Wren's eyes grew wide as the thick folds of Remy's nut-pouch started to contract and cling tightly around the big juicy eggs it held, drawing them closer to Remy's thick, hard shaft, outlining them in strikingly bold relief. Remy's balls looked so beautiful and sexy and potent, it made her light-headed.
"I'm gonna cum, Wren! Aw fuck! Get off, honey, I'm gonna shoot! So fucking hot, Wren!"
She wanted to swallow his load right from the source, of course, but she decided she could just lick it up after he shot -- because she wanted to actually see Remy shoot for the first time. It was the gay porn addict in her.
She pulled off and started fisting his cock while she kept fingering his hole and jostling his nuts. Sure enough, about a half-minute later, his ass muscles clenched so hard she thought they'd snap off both fingers she had buried in his hole. Then Remy's thick, glorious phallus erupted in dazzling magnificence.
Wren shrieked with joy as long, thick rope after long, thick rope of boy-cream come shooting from Remy's cock-tip, like a Roman Candle exploding in stream after stream of thick, creamy sparks.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven! All over everywhere! Her first actual live cum shot! Incredible! This was her favorite new toy!
She couldn't scoop Remy's load up fast enough, scraping off every drop that landed on her face and forehead, her chest and shoulders, and Remy's abs and thighs, licking her fingers clean, sucking them like a cock, savoring the taste of her boy's seed.
When her mouth was filled with cum and her lips smeared sloppily with it, she covered Remy's mouth with hers and French kissed all the seed she could into him.
When Remy finally caught his breath after their cummy kiss, he could only stammer at the vision of semen-glazed loveliness gazing down at him.
"Jesus Fuck, Wren! I don't think I've ever cum harder in my damn life! What the fuck, girl? I mean, most BOYS who suck my cock can't deep-throat me -- but you can? Never-been-with-a-boy Wren Damson? Seriously? How the fuck you do that?"
"I've practiced deep-throating a dildo, like twenty times the past week, getting ready for you, Remy. Plus, I've sucked your cock in my mind about a thousand times the past two weeks."
Remy stared at her incredulously.
Wren paused, uncertain what she wanted to say next. She'd already slipped up a couple times and knew she was probably going to keep slipping up. So why not just tell her darling? Njeri and Desi knew. Remy was exactly the kind of boy who would be totally into her powers -- she was certain of it.
"Plus, Remy, I guess you should know -- I'm also a witch, a sex-witch. I know all kinds of sex-magic!"
Remy's confused face broke into a big grin. He gave a soft, sweet chuckle and tousled Wren's hair, loving her goofy sense of humor.
"Well, that was magical as fuck. Got any other tricks?"
He doesn't get it yet, Wren knew, but he will.
She noticed his dick was still thick and full, not jutting up hard, but lying back with a meaty fulsomeness, a proud 'there-ness' Remy's cock never seemed to lose, even when it was just lolling between his legs in a soft, lazy dangle. It still had a greasy sheen to it from all the saliva and cum, a sex-icing that made Wren's mouth water.
"I'm going to clean you, darling."
She held his thickness daintily in her thin fingers as her tongue neatly lapped off every yummy splotch and glob still clinging to his cock. Her ministrations got Remy fully hard again, of course, which made Wren hungry for more cock-sucking.
Remy realized at once he was in for another go-round.
"Damn, Wren, you're insatiable! That's so fucking hot!"
This time, though, she wanted to get off herself again, so Wren quickly flipped her lithe, agile body around and bluntly mashed her crotch against Remy's face while she resumed sucking that exquisite cock. Remy began pleasuring her immediately, his excited tongue long and skilled and firm and powerful, thrusting into her like a small cock.
Remy ate her out with a fierce rawness, an overwhelming need, which she'd never remotely felt from her girlfriends. This was new to Wren, this ravenous hunger of a boy. The force of his boundless appetite as he feverishly worked her pussy and clit coursed through her in a warm rush, super-charging her oral assault on his cock.
Each teen wanted to gasp and moan and cry out in delirium over how well their partner was pleasuring them, but with their mouths full of genitalia, it just came out a loud, sloshing jumble.
As Remy's tongue kept working busily, like a burrowing, persistent animal, a feeling of radiance ran through Wren, from her vagina, through her womb and chest, right to her brain. Remy's tongue, she knew, as it furiously played over her pussy, would wash away every trace of residue left from her horror -- the best boy ever healing her from the worst.
She could actually feel it happening, in fact -- feel herself being washed clean and whole again and perfect. She forced her hips down, wriggling them, making sure Remy's fingers and lips and tongue could get at every single little scar and stain still left from the badness.
Wren's own mouth was on auto-pilot, luxuriating in Remy's hardness, but her mind was awhirl with ecstasy. She began dancing her hips over his face in celebration, working her pussy lips in a wild dance across Remy's face. So wonderful to be clean and pure now, ready for life with her boy! The warmth of her delight flooded through her loins.
Wren came, savoring the sound of Remy's choked moans, but she stayed planted there, wanting more, pressing her ass down harder, mashing against his face insistently. She raised her head up off his cock so she could concentrate on her pleasure -- sitting on his face, riding his still-eager mouth and hands.
She had to be sure. It all had to be gone, every last trace.
Her boy kept at. God, he was so good at this!
Once more should do it, she figured.
She steadied herself on his strong upper body as she worked her pussy back and forth, in small, sure movements, over his face, feeding his mind with what she wanted. He clasped her ass for leverage, then attacked her cunt wildly.
Oh my God, yes! Oh yes! She was coming again! Oh! Oh my God!
She collapsed on top of his chest and savored the feeling of being virginal again now for her fairy prince, as Remy kept lovingly lapping at her pussy and clit.
Wren had to thank him for this gift, so she flipped round again and took his dick back between her lips. He grabbed the back of her head now, pushing down, pumping his thick, long hardness into her mouth.
She was being face-fucked by a boy! By her young god! It was overwhelming, at first -- she coughed and choked with the pounding force of his insistent pistoning -- but she hung on.
He's using me as a boy, she knew -- because she'd watched boys get face-fucked like this in hundreds of porn clips. He wants me as a boy, so I have to be that to him -- his ultimate boy, so he'll realize exactly what I mean to him, my true worth.
Wren had never felt such urgent fury from someone during sex before, the feeling of someone using her like this. It was exhilarating.
She wet her fingers, grabbed under his muscular ass, and attacked his crack with Remy's fury in her fingering. He screamed out his high-pitched whimper this time, and in less than a minute her mouth was flooded with that luscious, creamy seed, so tangy and smooth and yummy!
When their hearts stopped racing, and they got their breath back, and finally stopped kissing each other in stupefied giddiness, Remy suggested a shower, which was wonderful. No sex in the shower, they were both spent, so they just lovingly explored each other's body's as they sensually kissed and soaped each other.
Wren luxuriated in the strong, fresh, pungent scent of the body-wash he used to soap her up. She realized it was part of the Remy scent' she'd been smelling on him every day at school! Essence of Jock Boy' is how she'd thought of it. Now she'd have that scent, too!
The way Remy washed her -- gently, shyly, reverently -- felt to Wren like the way he'd nervously clean a precious, delicate objet d'art. He kissed her softly everywhere, murmuring repeated praise for her beauty, unable to resist tweaking and tonguing her juicy, ruby-red nipples.
Then he leaned back against the wall, and she lathered him up. Her hands glided slowly, reverently, over his hard young muscle and soft, thick cock.
"Your body feels amazing, Remy. Just washing it is like having sex. If I were a boy, and I had your body, I'd just stand naked in front of a mirror, masturbating for about five hours a day."
"I just about do that now. I spend so much damn time front of the mirror, Wren -- posing and flexing and jacking -- huge vice of mine."
"With your body, Remy, it's not a vice, it's a virtuous ritual."
Her light, delicate hands worshipped his ripe young muscle more than she actually washed him, every muscle so beautifully round and hard and perfect and sexy. She knelt down to do a thorough job on Remy's cock and boy-hole -- not trying to jack or finger him, just cleaning her steed after working him hard, readying him for their next ride.
Before they left the pistachio-green shower stall, their toned, wet bodies rubbed sensually against each other as they hugged and fondled and kissed and confessed the depth of their desire for each other.
Remy dried Wren, and she dried him, playing with his cock irresistibly until he was hard -- which was almost immediately. She smirked and led him by his hardness back upstairs. They both checked their phones.
Remy noticed the time on his phone, then it suddenly occurred to him that last night, before he fell asleep, he'd predicted he and Wren would hook up by this evening. He excitedly told Wren all about it, and how he'd foreseen them having sex late tonight. Wren sweetly undercut him, telling him she'd predicted they'd be having sex by 2 o'clock today.
Remy saw he'd missed a text from Ava, saying she'd be home around five-ish and asking what he was making for dinner, wondering if he needed her to pick up anything. Remy thought about what they had around the house and asked Wren if she liked spanakopita, one of his and Ava's favorites. She nodded her head eagerly up and down, her eyes gleaming.
They ran naked down to the kitchen to make sure Remy had everything for the meal. From their freezer, he took out some frozen spinach and a box of phyllo dough. He left the dough on the counter to defrost, and set the spinach to drain in a colander in the sink.
Poking around the fridge, he found a wedge of brie and a nice hunk of gorgonzola, so he took them out to get runny for their appetizers.
He texted Ava back, telling her what he was making and asking her to pick up a baguette, if possible, and maybe something nice for desert.
He added that he had a friend over, who'd be staying for dinner, and hopefully sleeping over. Ava quickly texted back that she would stop at a bakery on the way home for French bread and something yummy for desert. What she added in her text immediately following cracked Remy up. He had to read it to Wren.
"Ava texts, `See you boys soon, probably closer to six!' She's expecting my friend to be a boy! But of course she is! This should be hilarious!"
"Remy, it's a little after three. Can we get dressed and go back to my house for just a bit, so I can ask permission from Marlo and Dexter to stay overnight? Plus, I should grab a few things. I've never slept over with a boy before. I'm positive they'll say yes, but I have to ask. They really should meet you anyway, darling. And you, them. They'll adore you, of course. And you, them."
Wren pulled her boy close.
"Oh Remy, our first night together! Isn't it utterly dreamy? We can talk and draw and take movies and watch porn and listen to your records and suck and fuck all night long!"
"It's beyond wonderful, Wren. I'm more excited after just two hours with you, than I've ever been in my life."
"I know! I know! Same here! It's real now, Remy! It's happening at last!"
"It's happening at last, Wren. It's fucking incredible."
Remy's phone sounded on the counter with a new text. Ava again, this time blowing Remy's mind.
--Remy, btw I have a friend staying for dinner and sleeping over tonight, too! Can't wait for you to meet her!
He showed it to Wren who squealed and jumped up and down and clapped her graceful hands.
"Your mom's bringing home her new girlfriend! Did you know about this, Remy?"
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I knew my mom was into women, but I didn't know she'd found someone already."
He told Wren all about the young lesbian student teacher Ava had an affair with back in Milwaukee, and how hard his mom worked to hide it from his homophobic father.
"So cool Ava's met someone, too! This should be an awesome dinner!"
"'Ava and Remy's Excellent New Girlfriends!' We should definitely bring champagne back with us from my house, to celebrate! Dexter always has a bunch of bottles chilling."
They ran back upstairs to dress.
Remy decided to just dress like he always dressed, so Wren's folks would see the real him.
He slipped on a jock first. The sight of it fitting so perfect and sexy on his young, muscular body had Wren moaning in delight. She ran her hands over the huge, bulging pouch and the skin-tight straps on his muscle-hard ass.
Remy buttoned his British army walking shorts on, pulled a Stüssy T over his muscular upper body, and slipped into some flip-flops.
He carefully rolled up his sketches for Wren and put them in a cardboard tube, while Wren adjusted Remy's Packers cap on her head in front of his dresser mirror. She begged him to let her wear it, and he simply gifted it to her, with a long, slow kiss, secretly thrilled to see her in something of his, especially when it looked sexy as hell on her.
They headed back downstairs, where Wren got on her leather skirt, jean jacket, socks, and Doc Martens. Remy begged her to leave him her thong underwear, which he inhaled for like a full minute, enraptured with her scent, before he ran back upstairs and put under his pillow, as a sachet.
Then the two teens walked the half-block up Tower Hill to Wren's house, full-tilt daffy in love.