Date: Fri, 26 Aug 2016 07:06:56 +0100 (BST)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Quickerjacks 5

QUICKERJACKS 5
By Zachyboy
M/b, t, b, masturbation, anal

The following stories are utter, semen-rich works of fiction. If semen is
illegal where you live, or if the people of various ages who make it and
enjoy it offend you, this probably isn't the right website for your overall
comfort level. We have other reading material for you out in the
lobby. There's a lovely stack of magazines on the coffee table. Just ask
Sue at the front desk. She'll help you out.

In Quickerjacks, we try to get you off in our individual vignettes of 1,500
words or less. If you can't do it here before the clock runs out, no harm
done, consider us your friendly warm-up for your culmination elsewhere.

Guest author Sextron joins me this time for a sexy little QJ of his own,
and I thank him mightily for giving us first crack at a rare unpublished
piece of his, because...you know, that way I only had to write half as
much.

Please donate to the Nifty Archive Alliance. They've been getting you off
daily since 1992. I'm still a relative newcomer in the grand
scheme. Nifty's got the BIG balls. Kick in a twenty and keep them shiny.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Tonight's topic: some of the lovely ways we make our semen come out when
everyone else is fast asleep.

On with the show.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #

10. JAZZ FROM THE TOP

Jazz and Janji started sleeping over at my house when Jazz was 12 and Janji
was 6.

Their mom was my friend from high school, and whatever trust she had in me,
misguided of course, easily translated to regular Saturday night sleepovers
for her two tickle bugs, who loved my house for its ease of access (a block
away from theirs), my unending supply of frozen pizzas, too much Kool-Aid,
and kid-friendly movies and games.

"Are you sure it's okay, Damien? They're not too much bother?"

"Aww, Kimmy. They're great. I'm 42. I'm divorced. Believe me, I need the
disruption. They're no trouble at all."

And so it began. Sleepovers weekly. I lived for my Saturdays.

"You've got a Kool-Aid mustache, Jazz," I smiled at him, touching it. "It
looks good on you, handsome."

He made kissy-lips at me, because Jazz was like that.

"Gonna kiss you with it, Daymee. Gonna make you the girl."

Janji giggled. "Kiss him on the buttercups!"

He farted, proving he owned some, then giggled again from his sleeping bag
on the floor, eyes closed and nearly asleep.

That's how we slept. Downstairs, the three of us, in the glare of the flat
screen. Me and Jazz on the pull-out couch bed. Janji on the floor at our
feet, sleeping bag and four big pillows. He was welcome on the couch bed, I
told him, but he preferred the floor.

"Feels like I'm camping, ding dong!" he howled and wiggled. "Camper MAN!"
he shouted as I tickled him.

"He kicks like hell," Jazz shrugged, disgusted. "Trust me, you don't want
him up here."

So, all things considered, it was fine with everybody.

Jazz made the first move by putting my hand around his dick. He always
slept that way anyway, cupping his little cocklet and balls like he was
guarding a treasure.

"Keeping it safe for your girlfriend, Jazz?"

"I don't have a girlfriend, Daymee. I just like to hold it like a teddy
bear."

And he did hold it, until our ninth sleepover, when he finally took my
drowsy arm, stretched it around his t-shirted, skinny hip, down the front
of his boxers, and pressed the cup of my palm into his little bare penis.

I gasped out loud at the reality of it. So long wanted and so easily given.

"You hold it tonight," he whispered, "please, Daymee?" He was being quiet
because his brother was sleeping. "You keep it safe tonight, please?"

I cupped it, and he was fully erect. He ground it against my palm as I
pressed back against it. He did this for many minutes. Then he tensed and
gasped and shuddered and froze. A silent little boygasm so he wouldn't wake
his brother. A dry cum. A shiver. I smelled my hand when I took it away and
slept dreamily in his cockscent.

By the next sleepover, I was willing to take the lead. I reached into his
boxers, took his slender three-inches between my thumb and my forefinger,
and slowly moved his foreskin up and down until his breathing got ragged
and he shuddered again in the spoon of my arms.

He came, shaking, and clenching and silently seizing. He never got soft.

"I wish I made juices," he sighed. "Riker makes juices."

"Who's Riker?" I asked him, but he didn't answer. Too tired.

"Thanks, Daymee," he whispered sleepily. "That was the best."

I kissed the back of his head.

"Don't tell my mom," he yawned, and then he was sleep.

I held him close and melted into the drowsy-soft warmth of him.

By the next sleepover, he took his boxers off. He slipped them off after
Janji was asleep and let them wad at his ankles under the covers. He
pressed his butt back against me while I masturbated him.

"Yours is hard, Daymee. I feel it on my buttercups."

I smiled behind him. Buttercups. His brother's word.

"Shhh," I whispered. "Don't wake Janji."

I stroked him gently and rubbed my cock on his butt crack. I still had my
sleep sweats on. He ground back against my cloth-covered hardness, and
shuddered out his dry cum, sucking in a pleasure gasp, and pressing his
bare hole to my cloth-tip.

He fell asleep and so did I, pre-cum leaking rivulets in my sleep pants.

I woke up two hours later with a raging erection and his naked bottom
pressed back against me. I slowly slid my sweats down. Then my underwear.

I slid them down, I pulled them off with a foot, then I spoon-hugged Jazz
deeply in my arms. He sighed in my embrace and went on sleeping. We loved
each other, which made this okay. We were naked-to-naked and skin-to-skin.

I took my hard dick in my hand and I slid it slowly up and down the outside
of his butt crack, dry. He was so hot and I needed to get in. I lifted up
the blanket up so I could see. The blue TV glow outlined the length of my
cock as it painted up and down his impossibly small butt crack.

I put two fingers to my mouth and wet my cockhead with thick night spit,
boylube. Now slippery, I slid up and down the inside of his crack with no
resistance at all. I added more spit. I painted his crack like the slow
strokes of Rembrandt.

I felt the heat radiating from his center core, his boy hole, and with a
third round of spit, I pushed slowly forward at his gate. He didn't stir,
so I pushed a little further. My tip started to slide into him, and still,
he didn't wake.

I pulled it out, added more spit, and lined it up again. This time, the
entire tip slipped into him, almost effortlessly like it was meant to be
there. His anal ring quickly snapped around it.

I pushed forward just a tiny bit. No movement from Jazz. Still sleeping.

I removed it again. Added even more spit. Thick wads. I put it back
in. This time, I pushed steadily forward. My cock stopped at his second
sphincter and waited for permission. I pushed forward slightly.

"Ow," I heard him say. "Daymee. Ow."

"Shhh, Jazz," I whispered. "Don't wake Janji. I'm putting my love in you. I
need to love you, okay?"

He was silent for a second and then said, "Okay. But go slow."

I took it out. Added more spit. Put it in him again. This time, with
patience, it slid just a little way past his second ring. I was in him
about three inches deep. I slowly started moving it in and out.

"No," he said. His voice sounded nervous. "Stop now, Daymee."

I stopped immediately. "Am I hurting you, Jazz?"

"No," he said. "You're doing it nice."

He paused. I waited.

"I just don't want to be the girl," he said in a small, silent voice.

There was silence in the room and I heard the clock tick.

"Oh, Jazz," I told him, kissing his head. "You're not the girl. You're my
man, my boy. You're not the girl at all."

I felt his shoulders relax.

"Okay," he said simply. "Just promise."

"Promise."

I pushed in and out of him five more times and I was ready to cum. He was
gritty inside. But good gritty. Slippery gritty.

"Do you really love me, Daymee?" he asked me softly as I grunted in him,
ready to sperm in his grit. "For real love me?"

"I love you so much, Jazz, I don't know where else to put it."

I clenched him to me, my hips seized up and with a jerk too far that made
him wince, I wet his little treasure cave with a burbling mess of heaven
and fulfillment.

"Oh God," I cried with shaky breath, still trembling and dripping in
him. "It feels so good and hot in you."

"Don't tell my Mom," he whispered quietly, "Please don't tell Janji."

"I promise."

I pulled it out of him and my wad burbled out.

"It's drippy," he whispered. "And gooey. And wet."

I wiped him with my finger and I smeared it on the sheet behind me. He
sighed and nestled up to me.

"I'm not the girl," he said sleepily.

"I love you, baby. You're not the girl."

He sighed and fell asleep in my arms. And later that night when I woke up
dreamily, I felt him reach behind his back for me. He rubbed my cock in the
wetness of his hole. When he had me hard, he lined it up with his anus.

He pressed his butt back against me, and in a quiet voice so we wouldn't
wake Janji, he whispered softly, "Do it, Daymee. Do it in me again."

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

11. JAZZ FROM THE BOTTOM

It only ever hurts for the second part.

When it goes inside my second gate.

The first one is easy when the tip goes in, but the second one, the inside
one, makes my eyes scrunch.

It hurts a little and I bite my teeth hard inside my mouth, but then the
hurt part stops and it gets all good again.

Then it just goes in and out and it's smooth and it's easy and we try not
to wake Janji when Daymee puts it in and out of me.

And each time he does it in me, he puts it in me deeper.

Sometimes it feels so far up inside me I think I can feel it in my throat.

It fills me up inside myself and makes my heart feel songs inside.

Daymee makes his juices in me.

I can tell when his juices are coming, because he grabs me real tight on my
hips and goes really fast in and out and then he gets a big shake and then
he stops and freezes and it all squirts inside me.

My friend Riker says he's fucking me.

I'm not the girl. But he's fucking me.

I like it when he fucks me.

We do it quiet so we don't wake Janji.

It makes me feel like he loves me when he fucks me.

It makes me love him and I want to cry.

Not hurt cry. Just right cry.

I feel safe when he does it.

I feel safe when he fucks me.

I feel a warmth and wetness from his juices in my hole.

When I go to sleep, I feel them running all out.

But he holds me and he kisses me, and I'm safe with good dreams.

I am safe feeling love things.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

12. NIGHTLY RITUAL By Sextron

You wait under the covers, heart pounding. The room is dark and silent,
with only a faint glow emanating from beneath the door and the red light of
your clock. At almost eleven o'clock on the dot, the light from beneath
your door vanishes and you let out a sigh of relief.

Finally.

You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pajama bottoms, then lift
your hips and slide them off along with your boxers. Your stiff cock
twitches when the cool air hits it. You leave your pants on the bed, hidden
beneath the covers, just in case you need to put them back on quickly.

You want to take off your shirt and lay naked on the bed, but you're too
afraid of being caught. With your shirt on and the covers pulled up, if
someone comes in unexpectedly, it'll just look like you're lying in bed. No
one will be any the wiser.

With a contented sigh, you lay your head back, close your eyes, and wrap
your right hand around the shaft of your cock. A shiver goes through your
body at that first contact. The head of your cock just barely extends above
your fist, but you prefer to hold it this way. Like the older boys do, even
though just months before your hand fully covered the length.

You grin to yourself as you think about just how much you've grown. From
two and a half inches and pencil-thin to just over four inches and as thick
around as a quarter. The growth had followed quickly behind the appearance
of the wispy brown hairs just about the shaft. Justin, your best friend, is
four and a half inches, and though you'd never admit it to his face, you
were slightly jealous of him.

Not as jealous as you were of Logan, his older brother, though. The two of
you had spied on Logan just last week, hiding in his closet with the door
cracked just enough to see through. Even now, you could clearly see Logan
in your mind, sprawled out completely naked on his bed. His right hand was
wrapped around his massive cock while his left hand held his phone, playing
a porno you could hear in the closet.

Your heart pounds as your hand starts to move up and down your shaft. You
picture Logan in your mind again, imagining how he looked, his entire body
on display. He'd have flipped out if he'd known you and Justin were in the
closet watching him, but neither of you had cared. It was worth the risk to
see the sixteen-year-old.

It was definitely worth it now, as your hand became a blur beneath the
blanket. Your toes curl and legs stretch out, a low moan slipping from your
lips. Every time you think of Logan, a tingle goes through your
body. Seeing him in person makes you blush as the front of your pants grew
tight.

You'd always looked up to him. He was older, wiser, cooler. But this was
different. You don't just want to play basketball or video games with
Logan, though you still want to do that, too. You want to see Logan naked
again, watch him touch and pleasure himself, learn more about how the older
boy did it.

But more than that, you want him to watch you. You want to feel those
piercing blue eyes locked on your modest four inches. You want to see the
look on his face as your cock throbs and spews its teaspoon-load of cum
onto your hand.

Just like you did to him.

The thought of Logan watching you, the thought of him sitting naked on your
bed with you as you jerked off brought a hitch to your breath. Your heart
rate doubled, your hand moving fast and faster. Your eyes squeeze closed as
you fight back the fire bubbling up inside you.

You'd jerked off with friends before. Hell, Justin had been the one to
teach you how to do it after seeing Logan. That had been fun, thrilling and
naughty, but doing it with Logan would be so different, so much naughtier
and more thrilling.

As your cock throbs and the fire reaches its peak, a single word slips from
your lips. "Logan..."  Your left hand lifts the blanket up away from your
body as the next throb sends a small load of hot cum dribbling onto your
hand. You gasp for air as your cock continues to throb, working in vain to
pump more seed from your still-maturing balls.

The cool air sends a chill through you as you try to catch your breath. But
even despite that, the smile on your face feels permanent. Now you think
back to when you watched Logan come, the ropes and ropes of cum shooting
out of his cock, splattering against his stomach. You had tried and failed
to contain the gasp that slipped from your lips, though it was thankfully
covered by the sound of Logan moaning.

When you'd glanced over at Justin, you'd seen him staring open-mouthed as
he raptly watched his brother come for what looked like the first
time. You'd immediately turned your eyes back to Logan and watched as he
laid breathless on the bed for a moment before reaching beneath his pillow
and pulling out an old t-shirt to wipe up his cum.

Now, you scoop up the little cum you made and bring it before your eyes. In
the dark, you can't make out much. The scent hits your nose immediately. It
is one you are familiar enough with. You have been smelling it since the
first time you shot cum, six months and twelve days ago. It was the same
scent that permeated Logan's room after he'd jerked off.

You bring your hand to your nose and inhale deeply. The scent is
intoxicating and heightens your memories of Logan's bedroom. Now, with your
eyes closed, you're back in that room, watching Logan's cock twitch as it
softens, the cum still all over his body.

You wish you'd been closer, able to see each and every drop of cum.

With the cum right beneath your nose, you can't fight back the urge to
stick your tongue out, gently touching it to your fingers. It's salty and a
bit sweet and not at all disgusting like you'd expected. Instead, you find
yourself licking up more of it, savoring the taste.

With a sigh, you smile up at the ceiling and wonder what Logan's tastes
like.

It takes all of your effort to put your pants and boxers back on before you
succumb to Logan-filled sleep, the grin still on your face.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Author's Note:

Thanks to one of my favorite guest authors in the universe, Sextron, for
sharing that sexy little moonlit masturbation piece above. It's salty and
sweet and it's simply sublime. Sextron is a master of erotica and we see
him on Nifty far too infrequently. You can reach him at
sextron@tutanota.com and beg him to come back here and ejaculate for us
more often. He will always have a home in this series, that's for sure.

And thanks to Nifty author Harry McMahon for inspiring my dreamlike melding
with Jazz. The incredibly sexy line "I feel a warmth and wetness from his
juices in my hole" was lifted verbatim from Harry's story "My Buddy Doug"
in Nifty Gay Adult Friends, February 2014. Sometimes a line is just so
special I have to slip it in my pocket when nobody's looking and take it
home and make it my own. Thank you, Harry, for letting me shoplift at your
store.

Zach
xxx

# # # # # # # # # # # # # #