The Wild Boy by Araddion (c) 2014 by R. Keith Peck
Author Email - araddion@gmail.com Twitter: @araddion [ for story announcements and retweets of porn pics I like ] Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/araddion
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Story Codes: MMMM/oral/anal/piss/authoritarian/drugs
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He lights up the joint he'd been fingering the moment he steps off the bus, even before the other riders dispersed Looks of horror are fired his way. Doesn't he know where this is? This isn't Denver. This isn't the inner city. This is suburbia. We're normal! A mother with a Greenpeace handbag clutched her fifth-grader's shoulder and scurried off, casting over her shoulders spear-sharp expressions of fear and opprobrium.
He spits. He grins. Fuck 'em.
He doesn't look the stoner. More the jock. Maybe the Marine. His hard body is on display as he strides down the sidewalk. Athletic shorts, too small for him, reveal long legs firm and strong. Substantial genitalia sway in those shorts with each step. This kid's hung like a Shetland pony. Tight fabric molds itself to taut, round, proud buttocks. His midriff is bare, exposed by a cutoff tee. It is flat as a prairie, hard as granite. His skin is the color of wheat ripening in the sun. The tee sports the logo of State College. If you've watched an intramural scrimmage on Saturday afternoon you've seen it. Biceps threaten to rip the fabric. In fact, the seams in both armpits have parted. There, amidst the sweat-soaked cotton, you can glimpses light wisps of blond hair. He totes a backpack slung over one shoulder. He could be a kid making his way to PE, if it wasn't for the joint, smoldering and laying down an odor as pungent if not as enticing as that streaming from his armpits.
His face? A little slack now, a little stupid. Quite happy and glowing with anticipation. A soft grin. A strong clean-cut jaw. His eyes, though narrowing as he comes to each intersection, studying the street signs, expand in the shadows under the old trees to show sapphire gemstones large, luminous, and somewhat bloodshot. High and tight cut hair glitters on his sculpt like golden-brown moss.
Sparkles of gold dapple the sidewalk as he exits the shadow of maples freshly-leaved into the sun, which is too warm for the calendar.
Call him the Wild Boy.
Demeanor? Clean-cut Mom-and-apple-pie fresh.
Age? Set it at twenty two.
Character? Decadent.
Goal in life? Sleaze and filth.
The day, warm and humid, bathes him in sweat. Cars roll past, windows up, air conditioners set to maximum. The houses he passes drone like angry bees, emitting the hum of air conditioning.
Shit. It isn't that damn hot. Fuckin' pussies! Global warming? Fine, stop emitting carbon. If your computers are right -- and the mathematicians, Pythonesses of the modern era, have mastered the Butterfly effect -- it'll be centuries before you return to 'normal.' Adapt, motherfuckers, adapt! The sturdy old oak falls in the windstorm, the slim supple beech grows, and thrives.
The Wild Boy is fragrant. Smell his pits and you might become lost in hallucinations of orgies in locker rooms. Au natural, the Wild Boy. A creature of earth.
Six blocks after leaving the bus stop his phone rings. The Wild Boy pulls it from his pocket, thumbs it on. He rec0ognizes the number. "Yeah?"
"You on the way?" The voice is anxious, as if pressed for time.
"Fuck yeah. Three studs? No wives? You think I'm gonna skip out on you fucks? A kid's gotta party!"
"Where you at?" The stress has left the voice, deep and mellow now, perhaps as stoned as the Wild Boy is.
The Wild Boy squints. "Corner of Mason and Wayne."
"Coo." To someone lingering near the caller: "Fucker's on the way!" Back to Wild Boy. "Go one more block and hang a right. We're at the house at the next intersection. I'll meet you out front. How long you free?"
"'Till we're done," says the Wild Boy. He puffs deeply, exhales. His crotch swells. The streamer rises and floats up above this suburban paradise like a ghostly kid's balloon inflated with sin.
"Well, the wives're going to be back sometime around six."
"Cool man, no marathon, got it."
"Wish it could be. That profile's hot." A pause. "I'd pound you all night!"
"Maybe we can hook up later. I'm always up for it." The Wild Boy grins. "But don't worry. I'll get you fuckers to unload before the bitches gets back!" He thumbs off.
At the corner of Mason and Hartman he lingers briefly, finishing the joint. An old lady passes him slowly, driving a giant purple Cadillac at a speed a retreating glacier could outpace. She lingers at the stop sign, waiting for traffic that doesn't exist to get out of her way. Seeing the handsome young man on the corner, she waves, smiling brightly.
The Wild Boy finishes his joint, flings the roach into the grass, waves back. As he makes the turn and moves on down the sidewalk his ass rolls in the gray cotton shorts in full blown bitch-in-heat mode.
The house at the end of the block is a small, neat brick cottage draped with ivy and bejeweled by flowers. A thick hedge screens the yard. Parked on the street are a turquoise Prius and a gleaming black Mercedes. The driveway, leading into a detached garage, holds a crimson Volvo. Oil spots on the pavement indicate where the wife of whomever owns this place parks when she's here.
Blood continues filling the Wild Boy's cock. Anticipation electrifies him.
A man leans against the brick post beside the driveway. Staring at the Wild Boy as the young man struts down the sidewalk, eyes glitter, measuring, categorizing, fantasizing.
The Wild Boy grins to himself. Yeah it's gonna get sleazy!
The man is tall, slim but well-built. A tank top reveals a lanky frame. Good chest, nice biceps. This man looks to be in his lower thirties. He sports shoulder-length brown hair, wavy, combed but it hasn't been trimmed in a while. Shaggy. Undisciplined. It is easy for the Wild Boy to picture this man as a musician, strumming a guitar in a smoke-filled club, crooning about moonlit oceans and warm, languid brown eyes, with the object of eliciting a shower of women's panties. The feral quality of his eyes, as he rakes the Wild Boy's sweaty flesh from top to bottom, suggests that this crooner is the type who would gladly insert himself between girlfriend and boyfriend and jam his fingers -- perhaps even the one wrapped by the golden band -- up the boyfriend's snug butthole.
"Nice," murmurs the man, grinding a cigarette out on the post. "I'm Todd."
"Call me WB," says the Wild Boy. Brazenly he palms Todd's crotch, right there on the sidewalk, the noise of kids playing in the yard a few houses down providing the soundtrack. He hefts what he feels there. The Wild Boy is always curious about the toys he gets to play with. Todd wears boxers. Goddamn motherfucking boxers, but at least they allow the Wild Boy to gauge the size of a man's cock.
"Nice," says the Wild Boy. "So that pic wasn't BS." Big balls, too. Betcha this guy's got kids. A whole fucking brood of 'em.
Todd grinds his crotch against the Wild Boy's palm. "No BS Come on. The old man wants to get this party started." Todd grins. "He's a horny fuck."
"So am I," says the Wild Boy.
They haven't gone two steps up the driveway when one of the other men emerges from the back yard, walking through the gap between cottage and garage. He is not the old man. He is tall and lanky, like Todd, but his hair is black and short. A neatly trimmed beard lines his jaw. Everything about this one is neat. He wears a polo shirt and khaki shorts. His calves are hard like a bike Nazi. Gold too gleams on one of his fingers. He sips a beer from a local microbrewery. Surely this man would lead a team of young web programmers in some refurbished office building downtown, building some talking smartphone app that might relieve America's overtaxed population of the burden of, say, reading a fucking map.
A ghostly smile flickering on the Wild Boy's lips, he says, "He your brother, Todd?"
Todd laughs. "What? You from West Virginia? Come here, Sean!" Todd throws an arm round the Wild Boy. Suddenly he sniffs. "Shit, man, you smell good."
To the Wild Boy's disappointment, Todd smells like fresh cotton. At least he doesn't stink of cologne.
Sean strides up to the Wild Boy. As he passes a patio table he sets the bottle of beer on it. His brows furrowed with intensity, he stops right up to the Wild Boy. His hands caress the Wild Boy's smooth stomach, rising slowly, slipping under the State tee, appraising the smooth young muscle beneath. His fingers locate the Wild Boy's nipples.
His eyes flash like daggers into the Wild Boy's eyes. "Nice." Then Sean pinches strongly and yanks the Wild Boy's face against his own, shoving his tongue down the Wild Boy's throat.
As the Wild Boy's cock stiffens, slim Todd plasters himself to the Wild Boy's ass, grinding his crotch against those hot, sweaty globes. His hands slip into the shorts. "Jockstrap?" he murmurs. "Yes. Good."
Sean breaks the kiss. "You kiss better than my wife." He looks down the Wild Boy's body. "You're gonna get raped, you know?" He tugs at his groin, where his hard shaft tents the khaki.
The Wild Boy grins. "That's the fuckin' idea!" The Wild Boy unzips Sean's shorts and starts to kneel.
"Not here." Sean hauls the Wild Boy back to a standing posture.
"What's in the backpack?" Todd asks, cupping the Wild Boy's buttcheeks, kneading them.
"Change of clothes."
"Come on," says Sean. "Can't rape in the front yard."
The big garage door is closed but there is a smaller door to one side, standing open. Sean leads them towards it. The Wild Boy stumbles once because his eyes are fixed to Sean's small, tightly packed globes.
Sean calls over his shoulder, "Want a beer?"
The Wild Boy snatches Sean's beer from the table as they pass. "Got one." He chugs.
Inside the garage the air is somewhat cooler. Todd shuts the door behind them. The garage looks to be one of those that have been repurposed as a junk room. There is stuff. Lots of stuff, though someone has cleared a space there in the middle of the heaped junk. Boxes lean precariously against the walls. Drills, saws, hammers, and screwdrivers are bracketed against the pegboard above a workbench. A table saw lies against a wall. No sawdust, someone must've swept up. A set of tires leans against the big door. The garage smells of gasoline and oil. There are old oil stains on the concrete near the drain in the center.
The Wild Boy's heart begins to race and a wet spot appears on his cotton athletic shorts. He drains the beer as Todd's hands gets frisky in his sweaty jockpouch. Sean turns, again teasing the Wild Boy's nipples, bending down to sniffle at his armpits, his hands also exploring beneath the Wild Boy's shorts, roaming over smooth buttcheeks.
"You the old man?" the Wild Boy laughs.
Balanced on a folding table is a mirror on which someone has cut lines of fine white powder. Beside it is a cooler where bottles of beer bob in a mixture of ice and water. At the table --
Through a mouthful of sweaty neck flesh, Todd calls, "Hey, old man!"
Wiping his nose, the man, who had been leaning over the mirror, straightens. Old? Not even by the Wild Boy's standards, which measures age by prowess on the athletic field and in the sling. Man? Certainly. Black as midnight. His head is shaved and gleaming with sweat. Built like a bull. Broad shoulders piled high with muscles, exposed because he's shirtless, just the way a man would be after mowing his yard. Corded muscles ripple on his arms. The bull man wears jeans old and faded and plastered to his body, stained with oil and grass. They bulge ominously over his crotch.
The Wild Boy's mouth waters.
"You call me Jackson, boy," the black man growls, a fierce look on his face. "Mr. Jackson." Then he grins. "Nice. I thought your pic was fake. You're hot. We're gonna have some fun." He beats his chest. "Aw, yeah, let's get it on!"
"Toss me a beer," asks the Wild Boy. "I finished this one." He catches the bottle Jackson tosses his way, uncaps it, and chugs deeply.
Jackson folds his arms across his chest. "Do 'im, guys. Do that hot fucker!"
Sean kneels, scraping over the Wild Boy's stomach with his beard. He stares at the young man's bulging crotch. Leaning in he sniffs. "Sweaty," he murmurs. "Yeah. I like this!"
The Wild Boy chugs. Excess beer flows over his chin, down his chin, soaking his shirt.
Jackson undoing his belt. "Todd. Sean. You want some brew? Some coke?"
Todd shakes his head. He lifts the Wild Boy's tee and flings it away. It lands, fluttering like a flag of surrender, on the stack of tires. His tank top joins it. "Nope. I'm good." One hands crawl around the youngster's flesh and tug at his nipples. The other remains fascinated with the Wild Boy's taut buttflesh.
Sean murmurs, "I'm thirsty, yeah man, but for something else." He seizes the waistband of the Wild Boy's shorts and yanks them down.
Jockstrap. Bike. Old. Worn. Piss stains the pouch and the fabric reeks of jism and sin. The Wild Boy's cock juts above the waistband, leaking. His balls spill out on either side of that straining, frayed fabric. The straps barely crease his hard buttflesh. Beer leaking down the Wild Boy's body mingles with the less refined fluids enriching his jock.
Sean sniffs, snorting the reek from the Wild Boy's as assiduously as Jackson had his coke. Licking his lips, he unzipping his shorts. "Nice," he murmurs. He extracts the Wild Boy's cock, tugging the pouch aside. Nine inches of hard, cut jock cock jerks and throbs in Sean's face.
"Your wife ain't got that," grins the Wild Boy, belching loudly.
"Get him, boys!" Jackson barks.
But Sean doesn't move, adoring that hot cock with smoldering eyes. Todd squats behind the Wild Boy. A kiss to the left. A kiss to the right. Then he pries open the buttflesh and stares at the pucker concealed within. Not a hair in sight. This kid is smooth as a choirboy.
"Hot butt, boy," Todd mutters.
"Don't forget -- it's a condom-free zone!" laughs the Wild Boy. He looks down at Sean and a sneer disfigures his coltish innocence. "Come on, Sean. Sniff me!"
Todd moves more swiftly towards what he's burning for than cock-sniffing Sean, spitting on the smooth cheeks and shoves his face in that swampy canyon. Todd's tongue begins tasting the sweat the Wild Boy accumulated on the hot bus ride and walk.
"Oh fuck yeah," mutters the Wild Boy, chugging hard. He spits a mouthful onto Sean. "Suck it!"
"Sean stuffs the Wild Boy's cockhead in his mouth. Just the head. His tongue lashes the steamy flesh, tickling the slit and the frenum. The Wild Boy lays his free hand on Sean's head, gently guiding the man.
"Come on," he orders. "Eat my cock like you do your wife's cunt! Here, Mr. Jackson." The Wild Boy tosses the empty bottle back. "I'd throw it away myself but I gotta pee!" He rests his forearms on his head, fully exposing the swampy, fetid mess of his armpits.
Sean's cheeks hollow.
The Wild Boy's eyes close. He sighs, relaxing.
The first blast of piss Sean is able to swallow, because he's hungry for it, but the Wild Boy has been saving up a bladderfull, so his stream is thick and the pressure is immense. The second mouthful escapes, flowing between his lips and the Wild Boy's nine inch meat, pouring through his beard down his chin, soaking his crisp polo shirt with the rancid evidence of what he lusts for. He doesn't give up, gulping away, drinking as best he can what he's been craving. Pee puddles round his shoes briefly before beginning to run for the drain.
"Drink it, Sean." Jackson, sweat blooming on his naked chest, chugs another beer. He departs the table. He strides around the three, studying the Wild Boy from every angle. He cups a hand beneath Sean's chin, catching a handful of the Wild Boy's golden nectar, and lifts it up to his lips, slurping obscenely at it. He taps Todd, still munching jock butt, on the shoulder.
Todd rises. He unsnaps his jeans and exposes his cock. Eight inches of meat. Enough to cause a woman some discomfort as it plunges in her cooze. Jackson spits a huge wad onto it, greasing it up and guiding it to the Wild Boy's socket. "Breeding season!"
Todd, tongue lolling, seizes the Wild Boy's hips and impales him.
"Shit!" the Wild Boy howls. His cock rips free from Sean's urinal-fresh mouth. His dying stream of piss drenches Sean, exploding on the bearded man's face and striping shirt and shorts with reeking piss. A final burst soaks Sean's hair as Todd sinks his shaft to be base into the Wild Boy's butt.
"Nice cunt," Todd growls into the Wild Boy's ear.
"Did it hurt?" Mr. Jackson rumbles.
"Oh yeah," murmurs the Wild Boy, hunching his hips back as Todd begins stroking his guts. "Fucking awesome!"
"Get up, Sean," Jackson grumbles.
The bearded man rises. Piss drips from his beard.
Jackson slaps him across the face. "You're a sick piss pig, aren't you?"
Sean nods. He drops his wet shorts. They fall into the puddle of piss the trio stands in. Jackson seizes Sean's hair and hauls him to his feet. Jackson then grabs the Wild Boy by the back of his neck and forces him to bend over. The Wild Boy, his guts blazing with pain, absorbs the brutal thrusting as Todd pumps his butt. He thrusts Sean's cock into his face, sniffing the piss fumes rising from a soaked forest of pubic hair. Gagging and spluttering he takes Sean's piss-soaked hardon all the way to the root. Tears leak from The Wild Boy's eyes. He braces himself, locking his palms on Sean's thighs, as Todd pummels his butt.
Fuck yeah! The Wild Boy is happy!
Jackson staggers back, admiring his work. Two tools drill hot young flesh. He likes it. Something huge leaps and bobs in the thigh of his jeans. He kicks Sean's shorts across the floor, cupping the bearded man's ass. His fingers find the pucker and probe. "You wanna go too, boy? You've been holding it an awful long time."
"Yeah I do, Daddy. I wanna piss in his mouth!"
Sean relaxes. A solid shaft of piss explodes from his cock just as the Wild Boy's lips press into his sopping pubic bush. The urine gushes down the Wild Boy's gullet directly into his stomach. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. But the Wild Boy's not having this. He backs up, coughing up the seven inch log Sean's stuffed in there, because, hell, a pig like him can't pass up the chance to taste man-piss right from the spigot. Far more practiced than Sean he's able to chug the flood without spilling it but, because he's a pig, he from time to time spits a mouthful of liquid gold against Sean's hairy belly. The droplets of juice dripping from Sean's hairy bag mesmerize the Wild Boy.
"Watcha think, son?" Jackson asks.
"Better than Michelle!" the long haired man growls. "Helluva lot better!"
Todd churns his raw cock in the Wild Boy's guts. A little mucous has emerged there so he can slip and slide more easily than he could on just Jackson's spit. Ripping his cock out, he stares at the Wild Boy's cunt, a gaping cherry-red wound. The pucker, empty and bereft of cock, suckles at him, beginning for me.
"Shit, kid, you're hot!" Todd smacks each buttcheek and buries himself again, pumping madly. "Give me some poppers, Dad!"
Jackson caps Todd's butt, circling round him on the way back to cooler. He takes his time, snorting another line, while Todd spits and curses, pumping the Wild Boy's butthole, while Sean's fingers rake the Wild Boy's stubble, pumping at his lips. Grinning, Jackson savors the piggish noises emanating from the copulating trio. The slurping noise as the Wild Boy gobbles Sean's cock. The grunts when Todd buries his shaft just a bit too deep. Two husbands and a bitch-boy.
Jackson fishes a bottle of Rush Ultra from the cooler and brings it to Todd.
With the first blast Todd churns into overdrive. His face turns flinty hard as he fucks madly at the Wild Boy's tight butthole Jackson removes the bottle from Todd's grasp, granting the Wild Boy a sniff, and then Sean. Caressing the cock throbbing in his jeans he watches the trio put on a porn show for him.
Hips churn. Sweat flies.
"Fuck!" Sean roars, yanking his cock free of the Wild Boy's throat. "Fuckin' gonna make me cum!" His cock jerks, slinging precum everywhere.
"That's the idea,' grunts the Wild Boy, a demented look in his eyes. "I want loads, man! Raw goddamned loads!"
Sean stalks back and forth, eyes flashing fire, staring at the bent-over Wild Boy and the longhaired man fucking away at him.
Then it's Todd's turn to rip free. His cock pulses in the Wild Boy's buttcrack. He seizes the Wild Boy in a full nelson. "Get on your back, bitch. Get on your goddamned back on the motherfucking concrete!" He shoves the Wild Boy away. Sweat streams from his armpits.
So the Wild Boy tumbles onto the floor, lying in the puddle of piss, hauling his legs up to expose his hungry cunt. "Come on, man, make a baby in there!"
Todd flings himself aboard, stabs in, churns away.
"Shit, man," grunts the Wild Boy. "Fuck my ass!" He puts his hand behind his head, exposing his armpits. Todd faceplants into one, then the other. The Wild Boy's cock throbs against Todd's belly, drooling precum. The jockpouch is fully yellow, soaked with piss.
"Gonna fuck you so goddamned hard," murmurs Sean. He jerks himself. Unable to be out of action, he stalks round the fornicating pair and squats on the Wild Boy's face. "Eat me! Get some goddamned tongue up there!"
The Wild Boy munches away on those globes. The furrow is hairy, and the hole hard to find. Sean squirms as his butt is explored by the sleazy athlete's tongue.
"Nice," murmurs Jackson. He kneels behind Todd, staring down at the young man hammering away. Todd and Sean exchange kisses, tweaking one another's nipples, as Jackson unzips his jeans. The black man's cock plunges through the fly, stupendous, fat and at least ten inches long. The foreskin is retreated, revealing a head thick with smegma.
"Shit, man," Jackson breathes. "My turn!"
He aims at the back of Todd's head with a trembling hand and cuts loose. The golden flow splatters like rancid rain, plastering the long hair to sweaty skin. Piss cascades down Todd's spine, soaking his jeans. A pool of urine under the Wild Boy widens as he heaves and bucks on the floor.
Grinning, Jackson tosses Sean the poppers. "Give your brother a blast." He pinches off his stream, not wanting to empty himself. Not just yet.
Soaked with pee, enraged by the poppers, hornier than shit, Todd pummels the Wild Boy's hungry butt. Flesh smacks brutally. Snarling, Todd grabs the Wild Boy's balls, yanking them like a lanyard.
"Fuck!" roars the Wild Boy, his butthole clenching on Todd's cock...
"I'm nuttin'! Motherfucker, I'm nuttin' in your butt!! Take it you fuckin' cunt!" Todd, no crooner, pours his nuts into the Wild Boy's guts, growling like a bear.
Puffing, Todd slows to a halt.
"Yeah," murmurs Sean, standing. He grabs Todd by the hips, rips the longhaired man free.
The Wild Boy's butt farts a long streamer of jism, which floats on the slowly draining piss like a question mark.
As cold as a snake, Sean spits into his palm, polishes his cock, lines up and plunges in. Todd's baby-making spunk boils around Sean's cock as it sinks inside.
"Shit! Fuckin hot!" Todd storms over to the table. He snorts a line then pulls out a beer from the cooler. He extends the dripping bottle in toast towards Jackson. "You gotta get some of that!"
"Yeah, son, you're right." Jackson peels off his jeans. He kneels behind Sean, digging his fingers into the man's crack. He stuffs them into the tight hole, feeling a swollen prostate the size of an orange.
Sean grunts, grinding away at the Wild Boy. He murmurs, "You're not gonna fuck me with that, dad?"
"Dad fucks who he wants." Jackson grunts. "Alright boy, climb off him."
When Sean doesn't obey, huffing and puffing and fucking away at the hot hole with his raw shaft, Jackson hooks his fingers and hauls Sean up. He flings the bearded man onto the floor, then grabs the Wild Boy by the arm and hauls him up.
"Ride my cowboy!" Jackson orders.
"Sure, man." The Wild Boy scrambles to his feet. He squats over Sean's cock and thrusts his butt down, grimacing. "Poppers, man?" As his butt rides the meat Todd's sperm slicks the shaft.
Poppers are granted. Soon the Wild Boy bucks like a bronco, impaled by cock.
Jackson straddles Sean's face. His long cock steams beneath the Wild Boy's nose. The Wild Boy, expecting a gusher of piss, waits expectantly, mouth gaping like a fish after a hook.
This doesn't please Jackson. He slams the Wild Boy's head with his fist. "Suck it."
The Wild Boy lunges forward. He struggles to get the length of Jackson's shaft down his throat. Spit bubbles and several times it seems like he's about to throw up. Jackson, having enough of this shit, grabs him by the head and rams his cock in there where it belongs. Spluttering, the Wild Boy gags on the giant shaft.
Guzzling beer Todd rejoins them. His cock hangs like an elephant's trunk. He aims it at the black shaft thrusting in and out of the Wild Boy's throat. He sighs. Pee dribbles, and then solidifies into a proud stream, splattering on Jackson's plunging cock.
The Wild Boy struggles to guzzle the precious flow but, his mouth stuffed full and his lips stretched tight, most of Todd's piss pours onto Sean, either drizzling directly onto the bearded man's face or else coursing down the Wild Boy's body to drench yet again his jock.
"Fucking hell!" Sean bellows. "I'm cummin'"
His balls burst. Streamers of cum gush into the Wild Boy's sloppy butthole, mingling with the slime already injected there by Todd. Sean's a stud, filling the Wild Boy's colon with hot baby-making sauce. The Wild Boy, who really really really likes cock up his butt, continues to ride Sean's slackening cock until the spent shaft slips out of his butthole with a long wet fart.
"Wet one, huh?" Todd grunts.
"Fucker drained my nuts good!" says Sean. "Shit, been saving that one!"
Jackson hauls the Wild Boy up by the armpits again, staring down into those blue eyes with a dangerous intensity. "My turn now, kid," he growls. "And I'm not gonna be nice."
The Wild Boy grins. "Wouldn't want you to be, dad!"
Jackson slaps the Wild Boy hard across the face. "Call me Mr. Jackson!"
Stunned, the Wild Boy nods, wiping away hot tears. Cum gushes from his abused butthole, sliding down his thigh.
Jackson points at the concrete. "Down! On your belly!"
The Wild Boy leaps into position, landing as commanded. Wet jockpouch grinds into the grit and the dust floating in the urine. He spreads his legs and lifts his butt, exposing his butt to the black man's burning gaze. A teardrop of semen hangs from his hole and two strands tremble like white worms clinging to his nuts. "Poppers?" he begs. "I mean, please, Mr. Jackson, you got a huge cock!"
Jackson squats on the Wild Boy's thighs. "Fuck that." He spits on his cock. "Butt like yours gotta be looser than a cunt after she's whelped a fifteen pound baby!" He lines up and stabs deep.
"Son of a bitch!" The Wild Boy's back arches. He convulses with pain. He writhes and tries to buck off Jackson brutal, hulking form. Young and strong, almost terrified by what Jackson's done to him, he threatens to succeed.
"Hold this bitch down!" Jackson orders, snapping his hips forward, burying himself balls-deep in the Wild Boy's agonized butthole.
Sean and Todd leap forward, grabbing the Wild Boy by the shoulders and forcing him back down.
"Shit! Goddam! Take it out! Fucking take it out!" Futilely the Wild Boy pounds the cement. Piss splatters.
No one cares.
"Good," snarls Jackson. "Nice cunt. Hot. Wet." He spits on the back of the Wild Boy's head. He withdraws maybe half of his cock. Sperm streaks it. He stabs back inside and begins fucking, his palms resting between the Wild Boy's shoulder blades. Fucking? Wrong word. This is rape.
"Son of a bitch!" the Wild Boy screams. "You're killing me!"
"Gonna molest me some white butt," Jackson grunts, lost in his own private fantasy. "Yeah. Some tight white jock butt. Rider it hard, put it away wet!" Fat black nuts slam hard against sweaty sperm-streaked balls. "Take it, boy! Take this cock!"
"Motherfucker I'll kill you!" snarls the Wild Boy. His voice is a leopard's scream. Maybe those kids, frolicking in that yard a few houses down, might hear it. His heart hammers with excitement, imagining that chaotic scene.
"Shut him up," Jackson orders.
Sean stumbles round. The pain graven on the Wild Boy's face makes him feel alive in a way he hasn't since his goddamned marriage. He aims his cock at the Wild Boy's mouth, gaping open in anger, and cuts loose. The stream surprises the Wild Boy, who splutters, spraying it back onto Sean's dripping torso. But then the fresh hot piss seems to mollify the Wild Boy. He begins gulping the stream, settling down, as Jackson's strokes grow longer and more violent.
"Yeah, man" Todd grunts, standing up and sucking on beer. "Fuck him. Turns you on, don't he, dad?"
"Goddamn this bitch is gonna have my baby!" snarls Jackson.
Jackson pounds the Wild Boy until he's quiescent. a limp piece of muscle doomed to take cock Then, pulling out, he flips the college boy over onto his back. Seizing the Wild Boy by the calves, he orders Todd to aim his shaft where it needs to go. When it sinks in, balls-deep, black man and Wild Boy moan, each contented with the other's flesh.
As the stroking continues you can tell these two want to savor each other. But it can't last too long. Jackson's got to nut. The Wild Boy makes him hot. Makes him want to breed. He's not interested in romance. He's got a woman for that shit. His hips piston faster and faster. Lewd squelching blusters from the Wild Boy's butthole as the giant black cock plows that tight furrow.
"Give the bitch some poppers," Jackson grunts. His eyes blaze like phosphorus.
Just as soon as Sean administers a blast to the Wild Boy, Jackson takes a whiff of his own.
The explosions come almost simultaneously.
The Wild Boy blasts first, a long streamer of jizz streaking Jackson's sweaty chest. Shards of it plop in the pool of piss he lays in. His writhing butt drives Jackson over the edge. With a furious roar the man nuts in the youngster, his flood utterly overwhelming the two loads already deposited in that raw socket of bareback delight.
Chest heaving, Jackson stares down at the Wild Boy. "Shit, man. Fuckin' hot!" He laughs, shaking his head. "Fuckin' bred you good!"
The Wild Boy grins up at him. "You fuckers are pigs!"
"Dan right!" says Sean, rising to fetch a towel. "Don't tell our wives!"
"We gotta do this again," says the Wild Boy.
"Depends on the wives," shrugs Todd. "But when we do, it's gonna be all goddamned afternoon!"
"Fuck 'em!" The Wild Boy tweaks Jackson's nipple. "You gonna let me up?"
"Shut up a damn second." The man's eyes flutter and he sighs.
The emptying of his golden reservoir begins unnoticed by the Wild Boy. But the flood Jackson unleashes in his guts is immense, a dam burst, a storm surge of forty days and forty nights of hot piss, and soon the Wild Boy suspects what's happening inside of him. He shifts on his back, feeling the pressure grow, as warmth fills his colon.
"Motherfucker," he says, "are you pissing in me?"
"Yeah," says Jackson, his face a mask of rapturous delight. The man withdraws his cock with the flow still gushing, rocking back and drenching the Wild Boy's torso with is pee. The Wild Boy's anus struggles to contain the pressure.
The piss dribbles away and Jackson's cock lays quiescent against his thigh. He grins down at the Wild Boy. "Full, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"You need to shit? I pissed a lot up there."
Grinning, the Wild Boy says, "I'll take my chances."
Jackson fetches his jeans and stuffs his body back into them. Both Todd and Sean pluck fresh clothing from a high shelf above the workbench. Jackson flings the Wild Boy his backpack to him. "Get dressed. Hurry up! Wife'll be back soon."
The Wild Boy pulls out clean shorts and shirt. He tugs his soaked jockstrap back into place over his cock. It is still moist with semen and piss and smells like sin. He slips on shorts and shirt. The fabric of the shorts dampens but not much more than what you might expect a young man work up on a hot and sweaty day. His other clothing he retrieves from the tires and stuffs them into his backpack.
When ready the Wild Boy tugs his backpack on over his shoulder.
"Hang on," says Todd, coming over and wiping something off the Wild Boy's face. "You got jizz."
"Thanks, man." The Wild Boy grins. He turns on the way out the door, "Hit me up next time you see me online ... and the wives ain't around!"
"Wives," Sean corrects, mopping up the piss with a towel. "Shit. Hate 'em!"
The Wild Boy reemerges into suburban normality, only the aroma of piss and semen signaling his sleazy adventure to anyone who might be around.
At the corner where the Wild Boy finished his joint the old lady in the purple Cadillac passes him. She is returning from whatever errand she ran. Once again she waves, and he returns it. All is normal and safe in America. The piss gurgles ominously in his guts.
If you liked this story, check out
"Temple of the Leather Messiah,"
new fiction from Araddion,
now available on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HYK9O88/