Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2001 18:20:50 +0000
From: Java Biscuit <javabiscuit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Babying Reuben, chapter four

This story involves teen/adult, male/male graphic sex and is not
intended for reading by minors. If you are underage, or this type
of material is illegal where you live, please stop now, and go read
something else! This is a completely fantasized story meant only
for the purpose of pleasurable reading. These people don't exist,
this world doesn't exist, outside of this story. It is not in any
way, shape, or form meant to encourage unsafe, unprotected
sex.

Feedback to javabiscuit@hotmail.com


Babying Reuben ~ chapter four


by Biscuit

"Don't call me every hour, you'll upset my uncle,"
Reuben said, blushing. The young painter's face hid
nothing, Jean thought. The feathery eyebrows moved,
the dark lashes fluttered. Reuben's lips were full and
expressive. He pouted, compressed them, bit them.
How old is he now? Jean wondered, trying to
remember if Reuben was sixteen yet. To him, the
boy seemed disconnected to age. Young, very
young seeming, especially when his short straight
nose twitched down like a rabbit as he frowned.
Emotions were rippling through the pretty features;
happiness, embarrassment, there was a flurry of
anxiety. But, in a way, Reuben seemed older than
his years, so full of intensity, of passion, that it
didn't seem possible that he was only fifteen. Maybe,
Jean thought, I've just forgotten how it was to be
that age. But he didn't think he himself had ever
been as sensitive a creature as Reuben was. But then,
he thought, I wasn't an artist.

At the risk of making Reuben jump out of his
skin again, Jean gambled on asking him to stay
and eat with him.

"Would your uncle be upset if you don't come home
for dinner tonight?" He drew him tighter, pressing
his hardening cock into the moist skin of the boy's
stomach. He wanted to fuck him and feed him, and
keep him with him as long as he could. That's what
relaxes you, he thought, seeing Reuben's eyes and
lips respond to being stroked with his cock.

"I could call him and say I'm staying out," Reuben
said, closing his eyes, retreating into the almost
distant state he inhabited when he was aroused.

Jean surprised the boy's eyes open when he picked
him up. He carried him to the bed and put him down
in the mussed covers. He took a fresh towel and
fitted it under him before drawing the linens and
comforter over him. He saw Reuben find his bear
where it had landed off to the side, as he picked up
the basin with the discarded diaper. No need, he
thought, to have it sitting by the bed now that
Reuben was calmed down enough to tolerate being
left alone for a moment. He handed the phone to
Reuben, from the bedside table, and left him in
privacy to call his uncle while he took care
of the other.

In the bathroom, Jean washed his hands and
stomach, and lightly soaped a wash cloth to bring
back to bed with him. He would never tire of
babying Reuben, but he wondered if they could
soon move beyond the game itself. Surely there
were other ways to make the boy feel cared for
and relaxed enough to have sex. (I live to see
you.) Jean felt a shiver of pleasure remembering
the sound of him saying it but a sliver of fear
tinged the happiness. What was it, really, that
Reuben wanted? Him, or the retreat into that
hazy eyed state of being pleasured without
responsibility?

Reuben was off the phone, covers pulled up with
the bear on his chest.

"You can stay?" Jean asked. Reuben nodded,
tenting the covers with his knees to let Jean reach
under and wipe him with the damp wash cloth.
Reuben's semi erection firmed up in his hand
as he stroked him with the cloth. By the time he
patted him with the towel, Reuben's eyes were
closed and his dick fully hardened.

Jean too, was woodenly erect, as he wiped
between the cheeks of Reuben's ass, wanting
back inside him. The boy was still leaking cum
and lubricant and Jean's finger slid into him
easily.

Carefully, his heart beating harder, Jean took
the bear from Reuben's hands, making the
blue gray eyes open. He stroked the furry
thing against Reuben's cheek, but took it away,
setting it safely next to the pillow, his finger
still moving inside him.

"The baby's baby will be safe over here, for
now," he said. Reuben gave him a barely
perceptible nod, his cheeks coloring up. His
freed hands moved under the blankets,
grasping his own knees to pull them wider
and higher. Jean withdrew his hand to shrug
off his robe, and watched Reuben's eyes dart
over him, centering on his crotch. Good,
he thought, his dick swelling harder with the
boy's eyes on it. For a moment, before he was
in the bed, on top of him, Jean had a vision
of Reuben's smooth naked body, spread wide
and waiting for him and it sent such a shot
of lust through him that his cock jerked and
his balls tightened. Oh God, Reuben. Maybe
I'm the one who needs protection of that
fucking bear!


--------------------


He thinks he loves me, but he couldn't feel
like I feel, Reuben thought. He groaned un-
controllably with each thrust he took into
him, without the bear to smother the sounds.
He couldn't feel his legs any more, pinned up
to his shoulders by Jean's arms, just the
stretch of muscle and the wet hard slide of
something huge and hot, and so good, in his
ass. He strained to move with Jean but had no
control. He just took it; over and over, each
time feeling like it would be the last he could
stand before exploding.

I'm such a whore, he swore at himself,
his fingers clutching at Jean's neck, his
shoulders, feeling so greedy to come. It was
hard to kiss him, like this, but Jean would
moan and assault him with his open mouth
here and there, and the sudden attacks left
Reuben breathless.

Then it happened. The key clicked home
that unlocked the dam in his balls, powered
open by jack hammering fucking; Jean's
needy thrusts that signaled he was going
to unload inside him any second. Reuben
heard his own guttural sounds as he lifted
into it, the clutching spasm riding through
his ass and shooting off hot jerking bliss
through his dick. Fuck!

He was stuck, shuddering; splayed and
crushed under Jean's heaving weight.
Dead weight, but not dead; Jean was
breathing so hard Reuben felt the deep
breaths expand his chest; and he was still
hard inside him. Reuben felt him moving
his dick slowly, like he was milking the
last drops of cum into him. Part of him
was begging to be set free and unfolded,
but most of him wished that Jean would
stay where he was forever, covering and
filling him with heat.


---------------------


The meal was so simple; cold chicken,
warmed up on bread with oil and some
slices of red pepper. Glasses of wine.

Jean fed him after bathing. Reuben was
wrapped up in the warmest of Jean's
bathrobes, his bare feet tucked under a
fleecy throw on the couch. His plate
was balanced on his stomach, and between
careful bites, he was studying the room
around them. He looked ... fucked, very
beautifully fucked. Plumped out and
sleek, his pale skin marked here and
there -- mostly around his throat, with
blooms from Jean's teeth and sucking
kisses.

Jean sipped his wine, enamored by the
sight, wondering, now that he'd gotten him
here, if he could keep him for the night.

Slow down, he cautioned himself.

"You don't mind coming upstairs?" he
asked him. The look of disbelief Reuben
gave him almost made him laugh.

"Are you crazy?" he asked. "I, well, I
wanted to see it." Then he blushed, and
Jean cursed himself for making him
self-conscious again. But Reuben took
a breath, looking down at his plate, and
then back up again. "I like it, being in
your house. It's great. Like downstairs,"
he said. He was trying to hide his smile,
"But a lot messier. In a good way," he
hastened to add. "I never thought you
would have a messy place, Jean. You're
so, you know, you dress so nicely, and
the studio is so neat."

"It gets away from me. The studio's
just one room, easier to keep up with.
That's why I met you there, instead of
up here. I'm glad you like it, glad you're
not offended by ... the mess."

Jean looked around, it was a jumble of
furniture left by his mother, pieces he'd
bought for the shop that had accumulated.
Some weren't nice enough to sell, others,
too nice to give up. A riot of styles, the
walls hung haphazardly with things he'd
taken a fancy to without much regard for
more than where there was an empty hook.
There was more of the same stockpiled on
the third floor. He thought of the rooms
overhead; the one that was heated, and
pictured Reuben in there, painting. He'd
never seen any of Reuben's stuff, but
couldn't imagine, given the boy's early
placement at the art school, that he wasn't
talented.

Slow down, he admonished himself
again.