Date: Tue, 9 May 2017 14:42:02 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Lake Desolation 9

Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/lake-desolation/)
for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against
your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like,
but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty
**TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.

*****

"You're young, Logan, you'll recharge in no time. And we have
hours. Actually, Logan... we have years." I pull his heaving body back into
my arms and nuzzle into his neck as he pants. I smile as I take in his musk
and the scent of his spent load as it soaks through the material of his
pants. I find that I am happier in this moment that I've been in decades.

*****

Lake Desolation 9: The Nearest Horizon

By Bear Pup

*****

When he settles, finally, and begins to rub my erection, I pull his hand
back and kiss it. He looks at me, confused. "We could do that, Logan, but
I'd rather kiss you again." His eyes widen and he melts into me, the kiss
growing slowly like a deep-ocean swell that builds and builds, becoming a
force of nature but never breaking.

I scoop him up and drag him to the hearth-rug, laying him down and putting
a hand on his chest to signal him to lay back. I feed the fire, first the
one in the hearth with a couple more logs and then the one in my heart as I
carefully unwrap the most wondrous present I'd ever seen.

I pull the sweatshirt up and off. Logan just watches me. I curl my hands
through the riotous thicket of hair beneath his arms and he giggles. When
my hands make their way to his meaty nipples in their wide aureoles, he
closes his eyes and his back arches, pressing his chest more firmly into my
palms. He whines a little as I move on. He shivers as my hands traces the
thin muscles of his sides and his breath catches and eyes widen and my
fingers outline the edge of his Apollo's Belt, approaching the wait of his
pants.

Logan squawks as I pull the waistband out, taking some crotch-hair with it
where his early orgasm had glued some into the fabric. Eyes not leaving my
face, he lifts his hips and I slide my hands behind and caress his ass as I
shimmy down the sweatpants. Logan lets out sort of a reverse sigh, breath
catching repeatedly in the inhalation.

His big cock THWACKS up and he blushes, turning away. I run my hands down
his beautiful, thin legs as I strip off the garment, then come back to face
the part of him that enthrals and scares me most. I can feel his eyes on me
as I take my time in my first up-close view of any hard cock in my life. At
15 in a tent or behind a bush, 'looking' was not really the objective.

Logan is big, considerably larger than me. The most obvious difference is
the foreskin. I'd taken ribbing in school for lacking that little piece of
skin as most boys my age were uncut back then. By the time Joseph came
along, it was simply assumed that every young man, Jewish or not, would be
circumcised for mysterious 'health reasons'. Now the pendulum (to stretch a
pun) was swinging in the other direction. I've never really looked at a
foreskin. I'd cleaned under Logan's but it was more a hygiene activity than
an exploration. I set about to remedy that.

I peel the skin back as Logan hisses and writhes until the head is
completely exposed. Just for fun, I blow across the exposed flange and both
Logan and I gasp, him from sensation and me from the explosion of delicious
aromas that puff or air stirs up. I watch as the skin slowly rolls back in
place, mesmerised as the outer surface folds inward to protect the
sensitive glans. I keep moving until the entire head is covered and the
skin pouts into a kiss above the tip, then relax my grip and watch the head
peek out shyly, a turtle checking if the coast is clear.

Other than a single, long vein that snakes down the upper side, Logan's
cock is smooth and slightly bent upwards. So much of Logan is beautiful,
but I can't use that label for this part of his body. It is rugged,
masculine, throbbing with vitality and the original meaning of
virility. And the smell is... overwhelming.

Part of that smell has an obvious source, the load I caressed from him a
few days/hours/moments earlier. As if in a dream, I find my tongue slowly
extruding and Logan whimpers at the sight and the anticipation. His entire
body shudders as I swipe my tongue through the mess of cum and pubes,
coating my tongue in that creamy syrup.

I lock eyes with Logan, his wide and awestruck as I slowly roll my tongue
around my mouth, coating every surface, every taste bud, intent to
deciphering the mysterious scent and taste. Salt and savoury, musk and
sweetness, a tang of almost chlorine bitterness nearly hidden in the
explosion of animal male that rockets through my brain. As if this were the
finest, rarest wine, I allow the finest stream of air to suck in across my
palate and more esters explode into being.

Logan has, apparently, had quite enough. With the impetuous impatience of
youth, he whips forward and strips my own shirt, undershirt and all, over
my head. I smile as I hear a button PING across the room. He presses me
firmly onto my back into the thick fur of the mountain-goat rug, the soft,
warm bristles sleek and probing against my back.

I holler as Logan's face dives into my right armpit, nibbling and wallowing
in the thick, unclean scent. I blush at the smell, then realise just how
intoxicating his own musk had been to me and begin to relish the feel of
his face there, so intimate and somehow dirty and wonderful at once. Not
for the first time I wonder, 'What's happening to me?'

When he switches to my left armpit, the sensation explodes through me. I
grab the back of his head and force him deeper, revelling in his excited,
high-pitched moan. I become more aggressive, grinding his face to position
his tongue at spots that send quivers through me. I let out another holler
and fall back, panting as if I'd just come, realising it is not far from
the truth. I don't know that my body ever been this hard, this desperate,
this demanding.

When his lips seal around my tit and his hands pet and stroke through the
bristly fur of my middle-chest, I cry out; when his hands begin to fumble
at my belt and his teeth lightly nip at my nipple, I scream in wordless
joy. He redoubles his efforts as he senses how enflamed I really am. My
hands rove his neck, hair, back sides, shoulders, pulling and pushing and
grinding, bodily demanding MORE!

I don't really feel it happen, lost as I am in my nipples, but I shiver as
cold air envelopes my balls and ass. I'm naked now, and Logan's tongue
licks down my belly, my breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as he
nears the centre of my personal universe. I groan in need as he bypasses my
rampant cock and instead dives into the most-sensitive place I know, that
tender fold of skin where my balls meet my leg.

The musk there must be as thick as butter and Logan dives again and again
into it, licking, teasing even nibbling gently. It is now my turn to
beg. "Logan! God! No, Logan. Not yet!" He switches to the other side, the
same exquisitely-exciting crease of sexual nerves. Like a wild thing, he
consumes that part of me. Simultaneously, one hand grips my tight,
nearly-unwrinkled sac and heavy balls while the other engulfs my
prick. "No! No! NO! NO-NO-NO-NO! YESSSSSSSS!"

My screams echo through the room as I explode, covering everything from my
forehead to my belly in slime. I taste my seed as several ropes cross my
open, screaming, whimpering, crying, exulting mouth. I feel Logan's
featherweight body drape over mine and his mouth finds my own, dragging me
into a soul-penetrating kiss and we pant and writhe together. As my last
tremors wrack my body, Logan screams a high and fulfilled keening into my
mouth and I feel him hunch over and over, adding his own seed to mine.

I am dimly aware that he has flipped the other half of the goatskin over in
an impromptu blanket without breaking our heaving, desperate, life-filled
kiss that inevitably, with an abruptness of a switch thrown, plunges into
the deepest sleep imaginable.

I drift slowly awake to the sound of embers popping. I mentioned that I
write porn under a pseudonym and thus frequently have a couple waken,
cuddled in the afterglow, he and she both coated in his ejaculate. They
inevitably snuggle and nudge each other awake, frequently to tease out a
round two. More than once, it is on a rug just like this one in front of a
fire.

Somehow, I managed to miss certain critical details when I wrote those
pieces. First, being wrapped in a woolly rug in front of a fire is hot as
fuck, and sweaty musk is far more attractive before climax than
after. Second, I had completely ignored the fact that cum goes from
sexy-spunk to vile-glue in about the same amount of time as a post-coital
nap takes. Also, I realise that cum tastes wonderful in the moment, but
does terrible things for one's breath over the course of a snooze.

Logan starts to giggle as I move and let out a gasp. I peel him away from
me and we both howl in pain, hair pulled in unexpected and unfair
direction. We both begin to howl, this time with laughter, at our
predicament. We lay back, rolling with mirth. I turned my head, looking at
my foundling, my... lover. The word brings me up short in a knee-jerk
reaction until I hear a whisper, Maria's voice, 'Don't make come back
there!' I smile.

"Well, one thing young man. You now have an assignment." Logan looks at me
quizzically. I grab a hank of the rug's fur and give it an exaggerated
sniff. "After we get cleaned up, you get to go out on the web and figure
out how to get cum out of mountain-goat fur!" He dissolves again into
giggles and I pull him upright.

For the first time, I abjure the massive claw-foot tub and tug Logan into
the shower enclosure. This is something Maria and I had loved as well, and
I am stunned to realise that I feel no stab of guilt or pain at the
thought. I hold the boy out of the range of the spray until it comes to
temp using the simple expedient of another soul-probing kiss. When the
droplets on my legs turn warm, I back us into the cascade of warm water
from the rain-head.

Logan stands still and passive as he has every time I've washed him. I use
my hands equally to guide the stream and caress his body. His heavy-lidded
eyes are half closed and he smiles and sighs in bliss. When he is
thoroughly drenched, I elbow the control that blows a fine mist of hot
water directly against the tiled shower wall, welling up in a thick gout of
steam.

I use the same body wash Maria loved on me, redolent of sandalwood and
amber, something she'd found long ago in a tiny shop tucked into St Pancras
station in London. I recall because I got pickpocketed quite expertly as
she paid for the purchase. She has ordered it from there ever since,
through the good offices of my British publisher (they don't ship outside
the UK). She called it Pickpocket Gel.

The clear, slightly-golden liquid explodes into sudsy foam when it touches
wet skin, releasing its scent. Logan breathes deep and moans his approval,
either of the aroma or my massaging, caressing, teasing hands is unclear.

Almost in a trance, I resolve to make the most of this. I use the
slipperiness of the gel to deeply massage his shoulders and work my way
down his broad back. I take forever to cleanse his hands and arms, turning
it into a slow and loving exploration of the ropey muscles, thin bones,
delicate fingers. I pull him back into me and he moans deep and lustily as
my chest hair brillos his back and my gel-filled hands stroke up and down
his chest and belly. He squeaks when I focus exclusively on his nipples and
throws his head back into my shoulder, exaggerating our differences in
height.

When everything from pits to waist was coated in the foamy suds, I slide my
body down slowly downwards to a one-knee stance, dragging my hands down his
sides as well. Logan purrs his approval. I take my time with his left foot
as he giggles and lurches, holding himself steady against the shower walls
as he tries to fight off the tickling sensations. I relent and work up his
legs; he goes rigid as I approach his sexual core and almost screams in
frustration when I stop just short and work down the right leg, repeating
the tickle-torture cleaning of his exquisitely-sensitive foot.

He gasps deep and holds his breath as I move to his stunning ass. It's like
soaping a Renaissance nude. His flanks are thinned from poor diet, but are
more than merely ample. His held breath explodes in a groan as I penetrate
his crack and tease and probe inward, finding his tight pucker. He rewards
me with a squeal of delight as I swirl my fingers round and round, using
the gel's hyper-slick coating to drive luxuriant and exotic sensation
through him. When he is panting, in drag one hand tightly up his entire
crack, pushing and probing as he pushes back against me, eliciting a growl
of need from the young man's chest.

I move slightly and find he is as hard as I have ever impinged, his large
and low-hanging nuts churning in their sac. I spend a lot of time on the
seam of flesh between my prior target and those orbs until I hear him start
to squeak in rhythm to my strokes. He whines loudly when I pull back, then
nearly screams as I lave the area under his foreskin. Just as I can tell
the sensation move from sensuous to torturous, I attack the matted cum in
his thick bush, only occasionally flicking a hand or forearm across the
head of his throbbing, leaking dick.

I can tell he is reaching his limit and I reach up and trigger the release
that switches from the hiss of steam-producing mist to six jets from
several directions intended to rinse and probe the body. The yelp at the
change morphs into a long, sustained moan as the hot, powerful streams of
water and the gel-suds work their separate kinds of magic. I stand and he
latches into me, an arm around my neck and a hand behind my head, pulling
me down to him in a near-brutal kiss.

"Where the fuck is the steam button?" he growls into my ear. Breathless, I
trigger it with my elbow.

My exploration of his young, near-emaciated body was slow and sensual. His,
of mine, is driven and utterly-sexual. His youthful need and fierce
attention nearly undo me as his hands are everywhere, teasing and soaping
everything, unexpectedly finding every pleasure spot. I throw my head back
and groan continually as his hands cleanse and stroke, enflaming me.

Where mine had been a slow tease, Logan's washing is a study in erotic
bliss. His hands are never long away from my balls and my cock and my
nipples and... shocking me to the core, the most erotic touch I'd ever felt
on my most-secret place. His fingers on and around my hole nearly make me
cum, just an hour or so from my last explosion. Every time he backs off
just as my breath shortens and my balls clench, leaving me crying with
need.

When I am completely awash in the slippery suds and mind-ensnaring lust,
one hand closes around my tight sac. My balls never hang loose like
others. They are large, but are held tight and firm in a nearly-smooth and
unwrinkled sac, like a boy with overgrown testes that have never
dropped. His hands massaging and tugging and petting them are driving me
frankly out of my mind, but nothing compares to when his other hand finds
and teases my ass. The eruption of sound from my chest startles me and just
makes Logan chuckle.

His gel-slick forearm works back and forth across my aching cock as that
hand probes and kneads my nuts in a way no one ever has. I am nearing a
point of no return when I yell out. Logan's thin finger has actually
speared my asshole, driving within me! I holler in anticipation of the wave
of pain but am met with a wave of something quite different.

That sudden thrust drives a wordless scream from me as my cock again
explodes, rope after rope after searing rope erupting from me. I feel my
sphincter clamp down on that knuckle as I buck and thrash, impaled on one
side and gripped on the other.  Logan is literally holding my writhing body
upright with a hand on -- IN -- my ass and the other cupping my spasming
nuts.

I have never felt such release. Years of frustration, pain, love, relief,
hunger, loss, grief, need and pleasure surge out of my nuts in a creamy
crescendo, up through my urethra, ripped from my cockhead to launch volley
after splashing volley into the tiles.

In a complete, nearly-insensate daze, I sense Logan rinse me, dry himself
and my own shattered body and ease us both into the warms of the
bedclothes. He positions himself in front of me this time, locking my arms
tight around his body. His face is turned over this shoulder and his soft
voice mutters unheard words, lulling me to sleep. One last shred of me
succumbs when a ghost whisper tickles the back of my neck, Maria's tender
murmur, 'Sleep, my darling Jacob. Let go., my baby, finally let yourself
go...'

<eof>

If you want to get mail notifying you of new postings, e-mail me at
orson.cadell@gmail.com

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 23 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Off the Magic Carpet: 10 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/
Lake Desolation: 9 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/
Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/
Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/
Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/

Special collaboration with Brad Borris: In God's Love .../incest/in-gods-love/