Date: Fri, 6 Feb 2009 16:24:25 -0800 (PST)
From: Master Terra D <masterterradil@yahoo.com>
Subject: Adult Youth: Home for Teenagers part 4

March Madness.
	It's not an understatement. Small towns become consumed by the
madness of basketball, especially if their school is winning, and ours was.
	I rarely saw the boys. I saw them in the morning, and that was
pretty much it. Marcus and Joe were busy with the team. Oscar was busy with
his band and other things, too. Some times they'd get in after I went to
bed.
	They were out when the bell rang Saturday night. I was upstairs in
my bedroom, watching TV, preparing for bed. I picked up my remote.
	"Yes?"
	"It's Paul, Wilson." There was no pause as people who are using the
system for the first time, trying to figure out the intercom. This was
someone who'd been here, and I knew who it was.
	Paul was about 10 years my senior. He was tall, dark and handsome,
less muscular version of Joe.
	I'd met Paul about five years ago, online. He was married,
adorable, and unhappy with his marriage, but equally committed to it.
	When I'd asked why he'd married, he said, "because it was what we
did."
	It made me appreciate not growing up in earlier eras.
	"Come on in, Paul," I bade. "I'm in my room."
	Since he was married, Paul didn't have a picture online, and when I
did find him, I was frustrated with being stuck in rural America with no
men even close.
	When we discovered we both had similar interests, he practically
begged to visit. When meeting men online, I have two rules: face picture
and talk on the telephone.
	Paul said he was good looking and I wouldn't be disappointed.
	I wasn't. He was handsome, dark hair, hairy body, although not
overly so, and had a mustache. And he was a bottom, a bad boy bottom.
	He liked his body used, and his nipples were a direct conduit to
his cock.
	His ass was his best feature. Muscled, hairy like I like it, and
ready to warm a hand. Paul and I had been working to get my hand deeper and
deeper into his hole. We were still about 5-6 inches from the elbow, which
was our goal.
	I heard him climb the stairs, and pause outside my door, starting
to shed his clothes.
	Since I'd started taking in the boys, his visits had become much
less frequent; it'd been more than a month since his last visit.
	He stepped into the bedroom, his clothes folded and in his
hands. He set them on the chair, then kneeled.
	"Hi, boy," I said, coming to stand in front of him, my crotch level
with his head.
	"Hi, sir," he responded, looking at my feet. The house still had a
winter chill, and I wore a bathrobe, drawn shut. He bent forward, down, and
kissed each foot, first the left, then the right. "I come to serve."
	I put my right hand under his chin and raised his eyes to mine.
	"Stand, Paul. This is an unexpected and unannounced visit. You're
not some to serve. What's on your mind?" I asked.
	He hesitated. This was not unusual. We seldom talked about personal
lives, although we were certainly aware of each other's circumstances. When
I came out a few months earlier, we'd had a long talk. And now he was here
without a phone call.
	"My wife found out."
	"What? How?"
	"I thought she'd left for her job, and I was online, looking at
fisting sites. I didn't hear her drive up, as it turns out because she had
a flat tire and walked home to get me to change it, and she walked silently
in and right up behind me."
	He was a mess. He fell into me, onto his knees and was crying.
	"I don't know how long she was there, but she started screaming and
hitting, hysterical. She told me to get out, but I reminded her it was my
family's farm," he sobbed. "She's threatening an ugly divorce. I tried to
tell her I was just curious, but it turns out she'd been checking the
computer. She'd thought it was one of the boys."
	Paul had three sons from a previous marriage. He's divorced and
remarried because "that's what we did."
	I held him and let it sob out. About every six months, I'd tell
Paul if he ever left his wife, I'd be interested. I wasn't sure what he was
doing here, though, since his family did own that house. It was a family
property, not his.
	"Paul, you're welcome to stay here, but why is she in the house?"
	"She's not. She called my sister, thinking she'd side with
her. Instead, my sister was happy we were split, but then gave me to the
boot until things calmed down," Paul said, starting to calm down. "I said
I'd get a hotel room, but I decided I needed some privacy, some place
everyone couldn't find me."
	I shoved his face down into my crotch. His lips wrapped around my
semi-hardon. I was sitting on the side of the bed, and he knelt, sucking my
cock as I petted the back of his head, comforting him.
	"Here's what we'll do, boy. You'll stay here. I'll introduce you to
the boys in the morning."
	Paul started to lift his head off my cock. I held him down.
	"It's time you met them, boy. No arguments. The gay's out of the
closet for you now.
	"You'll stay the night, and tomorrow, you'll start dealing with
your wife, and your family. But right now, we both need to let off some
stress."
	I leaned back and lifted my legs, letting his tongue find my nuts
for a few minutes, then my ass.
	Paul hates eating ass, but I love the feel of his mustache around
my hole, and I just love having my ass eaten. Paul knows if he eats it,
I'll reward him. Precum was dripping into his hair.
	He came up for air. As he did, I grabbed his nipples with my
toes. Yeah, it can be done, and since he's a tit boy, it was hot. He
started moaning, and his dick was hard.
	I pulled his chest down and directed his face toward one of my
nipples. That left my toes free to start massaging his ass. I worked my
left foot between his hairy cheeks and zeroed in on his pucker.
	I lifted my right arm and shoved his face into the pit.
	"Yeah, boy, lick that arm pit. You know what to do, Paul."
	His ass was just the way he liked it. Ready. I massaged around the
ass lips for a while, stimulating each nerve, then starting working my way
into his pucker with my big toe. He ass pushed back on my toe as he
slathered saliva into my armpits. He was in pig boy heaven. I pulled his
mouth to my other armpit as the toe popped inside his warm, hairy hole.
	I loved using Paul. No one would ever guess he was an ass slut. It
was part of his appeal.
	I soon had Paul on all fours, barking like a dog. The collar was a
nice touch, as was the wagging of his hot tail. It heated it up more by
sliding my cock inside.
	As Paul and I fucked, the boys came home. My bedroom door was
closed, so they knew not to bother me. I knew they'd be curious; the doors
were seldom closed. I usually hosted guests in the basement, and the boys
didn't know when they'd had guests below.
	Paul was covered in sweat and two loads of cum when I finally let
him cum. As usual, he came into my hand, then obediently lapped it up. When
done, he reached up to remove the dog collar.
	"No, boy. Leave that on. You'll need to learn your place in the
house," I said, petting his ass pucker.
	"I can't wear this in front of your boys," he objected.
	"Boy. You won't. But they're not in here. Leave the collar on like
a good dog. You'll sleep in the bed tonight, with my hand up your ass."
	This was my dream, to sleep with my hand up Paul's hot, hairy
shitter. He'd said he always wanted to, but he'd never had the courage to
spend an evening at my place, just a few hours. Tonight, my pleasures would
be fully realized.
	"Go clean up in the bathroom. You may remove the collar to
shower...ah, hell, I'll join you."
	We showered, and crawled into bed. He lubed my fingers with his
spit, sucking on them. I slowly massaged the pucker, working in one finger,
then two, then three. I added spit and plunged in the rest of the
hand. Pauls' dick was rock hard.
	"Time for bed, boy. I'll finish that ass off in the morning," I
said. Paul put his head between my legs and started sucking my cock again,
and I feel asleep with a warm hand and a warm cock.

	I woke to orgasm, cumming down Paul's throat. He loves cum. He
lapped up every bit. I started slowly working my fist in his ass, being
sure to target his prostate. This would be a special treat for
him. Usually, we didn't have time for it, but we did this morning. I worked
that prostate for at least 30 minutes, and then I felt his sphincter
tighten up on my arm as he orgasmed, his seed spraying onto my stomach.
	He didn't shoot far, but he gave up a sizeable load.
	I popped my hand out of his ass, and he licked my stomach clean.
	"Go shower, boy. You can take the collar off. Then dress and come
down to the kitchen to meet the boys."
	I followed him into the bathroom and washed up, then headed
downstairs. It was Joe's turn to learn to cook breakfast. He wanted to
learn to cook some breakfast casserole. I told him to pull the recipe off
line and follow it. I was learning to make larger portions.
	"It's in the oven," Joe proclaimed as I walked into the
kitchen. "How was your guest last night?"
	"He's fine, thanks for asking," I replied, grinning widely. "He's
also a temporary guest."
	"You adding an addition?"
	"No, I have room for him in my bedroom. It is twice the size of
your bedroom."
	"True, but I think the bed's are the same size," he jibed, but he
looked a little odd.
	"What's wrong?"
	"Nothing."
	"I can see you have something on your mind, Joe. I know you keep
things to yourself, but you really should open up," I encouraged.
	"I have Angela for that."
	"Angela? Who's she?"
	"My fag hag, `dad'."
	"You can have her over, you know. The house is open to any of your
guests, Joe."
	"I know. I just.. I don't have that many friends."
	"Joe, I don't want to pry, but you do have a reputation."
	Now, Joe grinned.
	"Yeah, I do. And it's all a lie," he chuckled.
	"What?"
	"Let me guess: I'm into 3-ways, but instead of doing the girl, I
take the guy while he's getting busy with her. Right?"
	"That is what I've been told."
	"My idea. It keeps the chicks away and the guys, well, the only
guys that hit on me are kind of girly," Joe crowed. He leaned in and
dramatically whispered, "I'm actually a virgin, Wilson."
 	I could have sworn he licked my ear.
	"That's quite the story..."
	"Angela spreads it around, and since she's always on me...no one
knows she's my hag." Joe was puffing out his chest.
	"But none of the guys you're actually interested in are interested
in you." I tried not to sound to pointed.
	"That was an unexpected result. I'm not into the girly guys `cause
they're the ones wanting fucked." He stopped short, realizing he'd revealed
a bit too much.
	"Wilson, which way is the kitchen?" Paul shouted from the stairs.
	"Follow your nose to the kitchen, Paul," I shouted back. Paul was
more than aware of the house's floor plan. He'd been done in every room at
least twice, and the basement...well, he knew that place blindfolded,
literally.
	To Joe I said, "You're secret's safe with me, Joe." Paul entered
the kitchen. "Joe, this is Paul; Paul, Joe."
	The pair exchanged a handshake, and eye contact.
	"Morning," Joe said, holding Paul's hand, and lowering his already
low voice even more.
	"Morning, Joe. Are you my coffee?" Paul winked at the young man,
oblivious to his effect on the towering teenager.
	Paul and Joe were both tall, but Joe probably had an extra two
inches on Paul. Joe was more muscular, a hunk of a man, while Paul was lean
muscle with a mature stance.
	"Don't let that casserole burn, Joe," I said, breaking up the
moment.
	Joe bent over and checking the oven. I checked his ass, barely
contained by his sweatpants. I liked his sweatpants. Worn, threadbare,
holey. Tuffs of hair peeking through.
	Stop drooling, Wilson. He's just a boy," Paul whispered in my ear.
	I grabbed his crotch and squeezed hard enough to make my point.
	"He likes you. I'll bet he'd love a blowjob, `boy'," I said in a
whispering sneer.
	Joe was setting the casserole on the counter, and was going to cut
into it.
	"Let it rest, Joe. Give it at least minute to properly cool, to
stop cooking," I explained, releasing my grip on Paul's privates. "Paul,
why don't you give Joe a massage? You're very good at them."
	"Really?" Joe had a puppy dog look going. The boy was hot for
Paul. Most guys were.
	"Yeah, I'm good with my hands, Joe. But a massage..." I hated it
when Paul tried to back out. He was shy, to a fucking fault, and had to be
controlled into anything.
	"Paul, you have plenty of time of a proper massage. Joe, shed your
sweats. A proper massage is done nude."
	I turned off the oven, and set the casserole in the microwave to
keep it warm. "The massage table is this way."
	Paul knew where it was, and actually lead the way, while Joe peeled
off his sweat shirt and threw it on a chair back. This was the first time
I'd seen Joe without a shirt. He was always covered.
	I motioned for Paul to go into the bedroom. I'd set up the massage
table a few nights earlier for another guest, and had left it up in
there. A good thing, too, as I didn't want Joe to become skittish walking
into a dungeon.
	The basement guest bedroom was set up for more intimate play space
than to be an actual guest bedroom, but at the same time, pass as a guest
suite.
	It was spartan. The bed was pushed up against the wall and the
massage table took center stage.
	Joe peeled his sweats off his muscled legs, covered in dark hair.
	Joe stood before us, a stunning specimen of mountainous muscles,
covered in fur. His pecs were firm, covered in hair, tapering down his
torso into a bee line about four inches above his horse cock. He was hung,
and drool was literally dropping from Paul's mouth.
	I pushed his jaw up, and motioned Joe to the table. "Lie on your
back, Joe."
	Paul shred his shirt, too, but left on his pants. The table had a
small cabinet under it with massage oils, and Paul knew where they
were. He'd given me many.
	He oiled his hands and rubbed them together, generating some heat,
then started with Joe's feet. He deftly worked each foot, then ankle and
started up Joe's hairy timbers. Joe would moan with relaxation, but it was
very evident he was enjoying the touch as well. He lay still, eyes closed,
cock growing. Luckily, the saliva dripping from Paul's mouth became natural
massage oil.
	As Paul started massaging Joe's thighs, Joe spread his legs,
offering more access. Paul was watching Joe's cock while I scoped out the
hole hiding in the hirsuteness. Paul was being careful not to nudge Joe's
nuts, but he kept straying closer and closer.
	"Joe, Paul has some wonderful hands free techniques. Can he show
you some?" I asked.
	"Sure, Wilson. This is great," Joe purred like a big kitten.
	Paul took my cue and slid his lips around the head of the Joe's
cock, swirling his tongue around the entire head, then slipped the massive
member down his throat. Paul was a deep throat master.
	Joe jarred up at the waist, then adjusted to the sensations Paul
gave, and relaxed again, laying prone.
	Paul's oral ministrations are amazing. Most men last only a few
minutes. A few last more than five. I can last forever, which frustrates
Paul who wants a quick taste of seed, then maybe earn that second tasting.
	Joe barely lasted two minutes, and suddenly I could tell Paul was
gulping down the load Joe was moaning out. Paul let Joe savor the
sensations, not pushing him immediately, but letting him catch his
breath. I stood above Joe's head, kneading his shoulders, helping him
relax.
	Paul gently darted his tongue above the creamy jizz slit, suckling
out the remains of the orgasm as Joe's breathing returned to normal. I let
them be, enjoying the feel of Joe's strong shoulders, the sounds of Paul
feeding from Joe's cock, and the soft purring of Joe's relaxation.
	"Sorry to break this up, boys, but breakfast needs to be served,
and Oscar and Marcus are probably wondering where we are," I said after
about five minutes.
	"They're probably already eating," Joe quipped.
	He was right. They'd liberated the casserole from the microwave,
and had put a hole in it, chowing down around the eat-in part of the
kitchen. It was a chrome dinette set I'd always wanted and had found at a
thrift store a few years earlier.
	"Where've you been?" Marcus asked, shoveling a fork-full of
casserole in his mouth.
	"Checking out the basement," I said. "Marcus, Oscar, this is a
friend of mine, Paul. He'll be spending some time with us for a while."
	"Ah, you're in the basement," Marcus offered.
	"No, he'll be sharing my room," I said, "but if he needs his own
space, then he'll be downstairs."
	"Cool," Oscar said. "That leaves room for Gavin."


To be continued

Men and boys, thanks for your comments. If you send something, remember to
put something sensible in the subject line (do not leave it blank), or I'll
think it is spam and delete it.

Master Terra D
masterterradil@yahoo.com