Date: Tue, 3 Oct 2006 12:00:43 -0400
From: Captain Swing <grubsnort@comcast.net>
Subject: Worth Every Penny 3

This story contains explicit scenes of sexual contact between males
of various ages, including teenagers.  It is intended for the
entertainment of adults who wish to read it and are permitted by law
to do so.  It is wholly fictional;  the narrator's experiences do not
represent those of the author.  The author does not advocate or
condone the actions or the opinions contained herein.


________________________________________________________________________



The high I got from my afternoon with Carlos lasted me for the best
part of a month.  The little thirteen year old Puerto Rican kid had
been everything I had hoped for:  cute, cooperative, likable and
sweetly naive.  I spent every free moment thinking back on my day
with him, his smooth small brown body, his mischievous smile, his
hard, spurting dick.  Yet inevitably, after a few weeks, the
irresistable urge began to grow, deep in my being.  I needed some
cock.  Oddly, however, I wasn't sure I wanted to see Carlos again.  A
second time with him would be anticlimactic:  a major part of the
excitement had been Carlos's inexperience, his almost-innocence.  I
had loved being the first guy to fondle him , to overcome his
nervousness, to undress him, to blow him.  All of that would be
missing the second time. That might not matter-- I'd blown his older
cousin Miguel dozens of times, and enjoyed each one.  But there was
also the matter of the risk involved.  By having sex with a young kid
like Carlos, I was risking catastrophic consequences.  I wasn't sure
I was willing to take that risk for a mere repeat of the previous
encounter.

Using the motel room for a quick anonymous tryst, however, had
brought another idea to the forefront of my mind, one that had been
percolating deep below the surface for months:  I was considering
asking Miguel if he would fuck me.  I hadn't been fucked for years,
since before I was married.  It had never been my favorite activity--
I much preferred oral action--but one of my boyfriends in college had
been a fucking fiend, and I'd taken his six fat inches up the ass
many times.  In recent years, my sex with other guys had mostly
occurred in places like the arcade where I met Miguel, places where
fucking was almost impossible, even if I'd wanted it.  It was a
chance glimpse of a young man at the Exchange who resembled my
college fucker that made me think of him, and of how it had felt to
have him up me.  It didn't become an obsession, merely another
possibility to consider from time to time, but as the exhilaration of
my experience with Carlos began to fade, the idea began to grow.

I had no idea how Miguel would respond to the idea of fucking me. He
was straight, after all, and might consider fucking a guy a much
different proposition than being blown by one,  When I called him,
about a month after my afternoon with Carlos, I didn't mention my
plan, merely asking that he meet me at the arcade the following day.
Miguel agreed, but I thought I detected a certain hesitation in his
response, an almost-reluctance that had never been there before. I
worried that Carlos had told him something that annoyed him, but I
couldn't think what;  I couldn't believe Carlos had told Miguel about
me paying him fifty dollars to kiss me.  Carlos had seemed so
desperate that Miguel never know about that.

Miguel was at the arcade when I got there and we went into a booth as
usual, but my misgivings soon returned.  He let me fondle him, and
open his pants, and play with his cock as always, but he seemed more
withdrawn, less cordial  than he usually did.  I sucked his cock to
the satisfaction of both of us, but the customary amiability was
missing.  When I tried to make conversation, he answered me in
monosyllables.  Finally I had to confront him.  "Miguel, did  I do
something wrong?  Are you mad at me about something?"

"No."

"Did Carlos say something about  me you didn't like?"

"No.  He said he had a good time.  He said you were OK."

"Then what?  There must be something.  You act like you're mad at me
about something, but I don't know what."

"No."  There was a long awkward silence while Miguel looked like he
was struggling to find the right words.  Finally he blurted out "I'm
not going to do this anymore."

I was stunned.  "Do what? You don't want to meet me here anymore?"

"No."

"Why?  What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Then why?  You must have a reason."

He was silent for a few moments, then spoke, his words tumbling out
in a rush.  "I shouldn't be doing this shit.  I'm getting too old for
this.  My girlfriend's gonna have a baby and I shouldn't be letting
some guy suck on my cock like this.  I should be a man."

I was quite literally speechless.  My mouth opened and closed like a
goldfish as I tried to formulate a response.  Finally I came up with
"Miguel, doing this doesn't mean you're not a man.  I know you're
just doing it for the money.  It doesn't  mean anything.  It doesn't
mean you're a queer or anything."

"I know that.  I'm just not going to do it, that's all."  He stared
straight ahead at the film that was soundlessly playing on the small
screen, though I don't think he was really watching it.  I instantly
knew that there was no point in arguing with him, that his mind was
made up. Accommodating as he always was, there was never any way to
make Miguel do something he didn't want to do. I tried anyway.

"But Miguel, I give you good money for, like, twenty minutes work.
It's like a job.  Even with the time it takes you to get here and go
home, you're still probably making a lot more than you make at your
real job."

"I don't care,"

I was floundering. "What if I met you in the Bronx?  We could go to
that motel."

"No!  Christ!"  He sounded disgusted.

I was getting desperate.  "What if I paid you more?  What if I gave
you, like, three hundred?"

Miguel was angry, for the first time since I met him.  "Look. I'm not
going to do it.  I'm not going to do it for three hundred, I'm not
going to do it for three thousand.  You think you got so much money
you can just get whatever you want.  Well maybe you can, but I'm not
gonna do this no more no matter how much money you got,"

I sat silent.  In the entire scope of my life, this was actually a
pretty small event.  It was like finding out that my favorite brand
of beer wasn't going to be made anymore.  That wouldn't mean there
wasn't going to be any more beer at all.  I could find another
brand.  And I could find another dick.  It was the suddenness of it
that was such a shock.  I'd come to count on Miguel being available
whenever I wanted him.  And I actually kind of liked him.  It would
be easy to find another cock, but not so easy to find a moneyboy I
felt so comfortable with.  Suddenly I thought of Carlos, and without
thinking I spoke aloud.  "What about Carlos?"

"What about him?"

"Can I still see him?"  I had, for the moment, forgotten that I
hadn't planned to see Carlos again anyway.

Miguel hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't think
so.  He shouldn't be doing this shit either.  He'll get to thinking
it's an easy way to make money, and he'll turn into a little whore.
Fuck that."

I didn't know what else to say.  I figured there was nothing to say
except goodbye.  I started to reach for my wallet when Miguel, still
not looking at me, spoke.  "I could maybe find you some other kids if
you want."

I was as stunned as I'd been by his previous bombshell.  "What?
Other kids?"

"Yeah.  There's a bunch of other kids around that would probably let
you suck their dicks if you paid them. You like young kids.  I could
set it up.  If you want."


Just like that, Miguel turned from the perfect hustler into the
perfect pimp.  Three weeks later I was back in the Bronx.  I still
had that small knot of fear in my belly, knowing that I was risking
disaster by dicking around with young kids, but I had to smile when I
saw the next young victim Miguel had rounded up for me. It occurred
to me that there was probably an inexhaustible supply of young
teenage Latino boys in New York--literally inexhaustible: by the time
I'd blown them all, more would have sprouted up to take their place.
Today's catch seemed promising enough.  He was Miguel's height,
shorter than Carlos, but pudgy.  I had told Miguel that it didn't
really matter what the kid looked like;  average looks were fine, so
long as the kid wasn't grotesquely fat or gruesomely ugly.  Most
important was that he be willing and able:  willing to have me molest
him and able to pump out loads of sperm.  Jorge looked like he fit
the requirements.  He had a round, childish face with full, almost
kewpie-doll lips and a smooth complexion, lighter in tone than Miguel
or Carlos.  He almost looked more Italian than Hispanic, not that
that mattered.  A mop of black curls completed the picture.  His baby
face and his baby fat made him look somehow less sexy than Carlos,
more child-like than adolescent, more like you'd want to pinch his
cheek than suck his dick. I wouldn't hold that against him, so long
as he had the requisite goods tucked inside his pants.  His pants
were blue jeans, of course, but tight where Carlos's had been baggy.
The curves of Jorge's full butt were so inviting I had to stop myself
from carressing it right there on the street.  I didn't expect to
fuck the kid, but the idea of running my fingers over that lush ass
while I blew him was irresistable.

Unlike Carlos, Jorge was excited and eager right from the start.
Most likely he knew Carlos, and my previous little sperm-factory had
given a good account of his escapade with me, probably editing out
the embarrassing part about kissing me.  Jorge  couldn't wait to get
in the car and be on his way to the motel.  I quickly settled with
Miguel, and off we went.  With no nervousness to overcome, I
immediately reached over to fondle between Jorge's sturdy legs.  He
giggled happily.  I saw no need to waste time on ice-breaking.

"You got a big dick, Jorge,?" I asked.

He giggled again.  "I guess.  Kinda."

"Let me see."

Without a moments hesitation he reached down and unzipped, reaching
inside to fish out his prong.  I felt it, a rubbery, surprisingly
thick, specimen, more than satisfactory.  I played with him as I
drove, and felt him thicken and harden.  By the time we reached the
motel I was cheerfully masturbating him, and hard myself.  I had a
moment of panic when the door of the room next to ours opened just as
Jorge and I were going in.  A black woman, whom I instantly pegged as
a hooker, came out with, presumably, her customer.  They glanced our
way but continued to their car without comment. Once in the room, I
was a bit startled to discover that Jorge had stuffed his dick back
in his pants but hadn't bothered to zip up.  I hoped the hooker and
her John hadn't noticed, or didn't care.

Without undressing him, I reached into Jorge's fly and pulled his
cock out again.  I toyed with him until he was hard again--he'd
softened a bit between the car and the room-- and stepped back to
admire the effect.  I got a kick out of it:  a short, little-boy-
looking kid, fully dressed in the  young-kid uniform of bluejeans,
teeshirt, sneakers and windbreaker, with five or six inches of hard
cock sticking straight out in front of him.  Jorge saw what i was
doing and turned slightly to admire himself in the mirror;  he seemed
to get a kick out of it too.  He laughed.  "I oughta walk down the
street like this."

"You should."  I knelt down in front of Jorge and went right to work
blowing him. He sighed in contentment. It was a shame to waste the
bed, but it would have been more of a shame to miss the chance to rub
his soft young melons as I sucked.  I soon decided that they'd feel
even better bare, so I helped Jorge off with his clothes.  It was a
bit of a struggle to work his hard-on back through the fly of his
jockeys, and slip them off, but we managed.  I had him leave his
teeshirt on, but he was otherwise naked.  I knelt down again,
reinserted him in my mouth, and continued to caress his well-
upholstered  asscheeks.  Just to see if he was as skittish as Carlos,
I slipped my fingers into his crack a few times, even once or twice
brushing across his hole.  He didn't say a word, but maybe because he
was too busy enjoying the attention I was paying to his knob.

Jorge's dick was definitely bigger than Carlos's, and  thicker even
than Miguel's, though probably no longer.  Unlike those two, he was
uncut, but his loose foreskin rolled back easily, allowing me full
access to his pretty pink head.  I had had plenty of experience
sucking cock on my knees, though not much recently, and I did a fine
job on Jorge, if I do say so myself.  He showed his appreciation soon
enough by filling my mouth with a nice creamy load, thicker and more
copious than Carlos could produce, which I happily guzzled down.

As near as I could figure out, Jorge was only slightly older than
Carlos--they were in the same class at school--but puberty had
evidently kicked in earlier.  Not only was his cock considerably
bigger, the curly bush that topped it was thicker and more
extensive.  I noticed that he had a nickel-sized smudge of hair under
each arm too, when I had him strip off his shirt to stand fully nude
in front of me.

I don't know if Rubens ever painted adolescent boys, but Jorge's body
had the healthy, lush, abundance of the Cupids and goddesses in
Renaissance paintings.  I suppose technically he could be considered
overweight, but he didn't strike me as fat.  His fleshiness, coupled
with the rosy olive glow of his skin, made him look good enough to
eat.  I intended to feast on the best parts all afternoon.  I told
Jorge to turn around, and he complied without question.  His butt was
a definite work of art and I rubbed the perfect globes with both
hands, marveling at their glossy roundness.  Gently I pulled them
apart, and studied the little pink rosette hidden there.  It was
clean and hairless, but seemed a bit bigger and more prominent than
Carlos's had been.  Without thinking, I asked the question that
popped to mind.  "You ever been fucked, Jorge?"

Once more he giggled.  "Not really."

What the hell kind of answer was that?  It seemed like pretty much a
yes-or-no question to me.  "What does that mean?"

Giggle, giggle.  "My cousin, like, tried, but he was too little."

Hmmm.  Interesting.  "How old's your cousin?"

"I don't know.  Like nine or so."

Hmmm again.  "Did you fuck him?"

"Yeah.  Lots of times."  Giggle, giggle giggle.

It occurred to me frrom Jorge's way of responding, the look on his
face, and his constant giggling that he wasn't particularly bright.
In fact, he verged on being simple-minded, perhaps even borderline
"mentally-challenged," or whatever the current euphemism is. That
raised  a certain issue.  Granted, having sex with any young kid
involved exploiting his immaturity, but taking advantage of a boy who
was "not all there" was a bit much, even for me.  Jorge seemed
willing, and to be enjoying himself, and he wasn't inexperienced, but
still...  My misgivings were suddenly overwhelmed by Jorge's abrupt
question.

"Can I fuck you?"

I was staggered.  It was such an unexpected direction for the
encounter to take.   I couldn't imagine a boy as young as Jorge
suggesting something like that to an adult, even considering my
obvious taste for perversion.  But the suggestion was irresistable.
I had largely put aside my thoughts of being fucked after Miguel's
"retirement,"  never even thinking of having a kid do it. The sudden
image of the stocky little cherub in front of me ramming his big-boy
cock up my ass was mind-blowing.  My cock twitched in my pants,
joining every nerve in my body in signaling its excitement at the
idea.  A bizarre notion that I had never considered even ten seconds
earlier suddenly became my sole goal in life.  I'm sure my voice was
shaky as I answered Jorge.

"You really want to fuck me, Jorge?"

"Yeah.  Can I?"

"I'm not sure yet.  Have you fucked anybody else, besides your cousin?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

Jorge thought a moment.  It was an obvious effort for him.  "I forget
his name."

"But who was he?  Where'd you meet him?"

"At church."

"At church!  What was he, the priest?"

"Yeah."

"You fucked your priest?"  It wasn't exactly earth-shattering news,
but it still came as a bit of a shock.

"Yeah.  Not the regular priest.  Some other priest.  He was, like,
visiting him or something."

"Did your regular priest know about it?"

"Yeah."  This was fascinating.  If only it weren't so hard pulling
the story out of Jorge's dim mind.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"He was there."

"He was there?  What, did he watch?"

"Yeah."  Jorge acted like his story was the most ordinary thing in
the world.  Maybe where he came from it was.  He sat on the edge of
the bed next to me and I gently toyed with his hardening cock, hoping
to keep him interested enough to continue his tale.

"But your regular priest didn't fuck you?"

"No."

"Why not?"  Even as I asked it I realized what a bizarre question it
was:  how often do you have occasion to ask "Why didn't your priest
fuck you?"

Jorge shrugged.  "I don't know."

"Does he do other stuff with you?"

"Oh yeah."

"Like what?"  This was maddening, but riveting.

"Like you did."

"What do you mean?  He sucks your dick?"

"Yeah.  Lots of times."

"Do you suck his?"

Jorge looked uncomfortable at the question.  "I don't know.  I'm
tired.  Can I fuck you now?"

"In a minute Jorge."  I wouldn't pry into subjects that bothered him,
but I wanted more, if he'd tell me.  My cock was straining at my
pants already, so I unzipped and let it out.  Jorge looked at it with
mild interest.

"Has anybody else besides your priest sucked your cock, Jorge?"

"Yeah."

"Who."

"You."  Poor kid.  I felt sorry for his  stupidity, even as I wanted
to strangle him.  I managed to control my impatience.

"Yeah, I know I did, Jorge. Anybody else?"

He thought.  "Yeah,"

(Through gritted teeth)  "Who, Jorge?"

"The priest that I fucked.  He sucked my cock too."

"Anybody else?"

"My cousin. And some friend of his.  And some guy in the park.  I
think two guys in the park.  And Ramon."

Jesus, this kid got around.  "Who's Ramon?"

"He's this guy that lives on my block.  He sucks everybody's dick."
His giggles were back.  This Ramon sounded like my kind of guy.

"Wow, Jorge, you're a real little stud.  Did you fuck any of these
guys too?  Or just your cousin and the priest?"  I wanted to add "and
if so, which ones,"  to forestall the answer 'yeah,'  but I didn't.

"No.  Just them.  Can we do it now?"

I had been masturbating Jorge the whole time he was answering my
questions, and he was obviously ready for some more action:  small
globs of moisture dripped down on my hand as I covered and uncovered
his glans.  My own cock was doing a bit of leaking too.  I felt a
surge of excitement as I stood to undress, and only a tad more
degenerate than usual.  Letting a thirteen year old kid fuck me would
no doubt send me to an even deeper level of Hell, but maybe a step or
two higher than if I were to fuck him.  Luckily, I don't believe in
Hell.

A bit of a gleam came to Jorge's dull eyes, and a grin to his lips,
as he contemplated what was ahead of him.  Undoubtedly, the kid loved
to fuck.  I retrieved a tube of lubricant and a condom from my
jacket.  I hadn't expected to need them, but I didn't get where I am
today by being unprepared.  I hesitated about using the condom.  I
preferred not to, and probably wouldn't have if it had been Carlos
who was about to fuck me, but Jorge had been a little too generous
with his cock for me to take a chance. He seemed familiar with the
operation when I handed him the packet and began to lube him up, so
maybe his priestly conquest had used one too.  I greased up my ass
and lay down on my back pulling my legs up and back  Jorge giggled as
he got into position above me.

"You know what to do, right, Jorge?"

"Uh-huh."  He moved closer.

"I haven't done this for a long time.  Don't go too fast at first, OK?"

"I know."

It had been a very long time, and I didn't expect much restraint on
Jorge's part.  When I felt the blunt tip of his pole touch my hole, I
steeled myself for his assault.  To my surprise, he didn't ram
himself home with one thrust.  He pushed ahead with firm resolve, but
paused once he'd managed to force his dickhead through my tight
aperture.  The pain was bearable, but strong enough to remind me why
I'd never been a big fan of being fucked in the first place.  Jorge
waited.  His timing was uncanny:  just as I had gotten used to the
intruder in my chute and begun to actually welcome its presence, he
began to push deeper, the discomfort of the incursion being balanced
by the pleasurable sense of fullness.  Even so early in the process,
I loved the idea--the concept--of having Jorge inside me, occupying
me, taking me---fucking me.  When his chubby young dick rubbed
against my button, the pleasurable part of the act totally
overwhelmed the painful. The concept became irrelevant.  The sweaty,
primal, physical act was all that mattered.  Jorge fucked superbly,
at least as well as the best fucker I'd ever had in college.  He
quickly adopted a smooth, deep rhythm that filled me completely on
the in-stroke and teased me into desperate longing on the withdrawal,
usually managing to tweak my prostate in both directions.  And he had
the instinct--or the training-- to know when to break the rhythm, to
torment me with short sharp jabs or  soothe me with long slow glides.

I was very glad I'd already blown Jorge.  By taking the edge off his
ardor I had enabled him to prolong the magic act he was performing in
my ass.  I looked up at his chubby face:  the childlike look of joy
he wore totally belied the completely grown-up performance he was
giving down below.  Streaks of sweat covered his rosy cheeks and his
lips were parted in a blissful smile.  He caught my eye, smiled even
more broadly, and to my surprise he spoke.  "I fuck good, don't I,"

"Christ yeah."  I nearly added "Where did you learn to fuck like
that," but I didn't want to know.  Besides, unless his cousin was
incredibly precocious, I knew the answer.  I was pretty sure I could
thank the Holy Roman Catholic Church for the blessings I was receiving.

Even the greatest fuck can't last forever,  My own cock was throbbing
wildly as Jorge's did its yeoman's work in my guts.  I shifted
position a bit so that Jorge's belly would rub against my dick,
pressing it between his body and mine.  I was getting close when one
particularly artistic thrust of Jorge's cock sent such an electric
jolt through my system, radiating out from my prostate, that I
immediately began to spew my pent-up load, sending thick dollops of
cream into the gap between Jorge and me.  His continued thrusting
began to produce a wet squishing noise as he whipped my warm cum into
a messy froth.  Maybe my coming sent him over the edge, because
almost instantly he made three or four savage final thrusts, let out
a few deep groans, and unloaded,as deep inside me as he could go. He
breathed heavily for a moment and then slumped his tired, sloppy body
down onto mine, resting.  I slowly stroked his damp back and his
exquisite buns, breathing deeply myself as I recovered from Jorge's
assault.  I marveled at his skill, and had to wonder if ever in his
life he'd develop a talent for anything else as impressive as his
prowess at fucking.

We both recovered within a few minutes, and a shower was next on the
agenda: we were both slimy with sweat and spunk.  Jorge showed no
surprise at my intention to shower together, and while I enjoyed
rubbing my hands all over his sleek slippery body, his passivity
somehow made it a less erotic experience than my shower with Carlos.
After we dried off, I asked Jorge if he was hungry:  he was, of
course.  I started to dress, planning to bring food back, when I
realized I wouldn't be comfortable leaving Jorge in the room alone.
I didn't think he'd like it either.  I glanced out the window:  there
wasn't any noticeable activity in the lot.  I'd have to risk taking
Jorge with me.  We got to the car without anyone seeing us, as far as
I could tell.

Jorge was excited about going to McDonalds.  Once we'd left the
motel, I had no worries about being seen.  The chance of encountering
anyone I knew was virtually zero.  I doubted that anyone in my my
office had ever been to the Bronx, except maybe, like me, to Yankee
Stadium.  Even the lowliest interns and new recruits, who couldn't
afford Manhattan rents, lived in Brooklyn or New Jersey.  It was
possible that some of the cleaning people came from the Bronx, but in
the highly unlikely event that one of them saw me, I doubted they'd
recognize me, so far out of context  As I ushered Jorge into the
restaurant, I was suddenly struck by something else. I felt a surge
of excitement as I realized that I was getting away with it, that I
was virtually flaunting my criminal accomplishment. In their wildest
dreams, no one in the restaurant would possibly imagine that the
nice  white gentleman treating the cute little Hispanic boy to a
burger and fries had not twenty minutes earlier been having that very
same little boy's fat Hispanic cock rammed up his ass. I could barely
keep from laughing out loud as the feeling of giddy elation filled me.

I had realized even before that moment that there was an element of
my relationship with Carlos and Jorge, with Miguel even, that had
nothing to do with sex.  Oh, the sex was the biggest part of it, but
the boys filled a deeper psychological need too.  My life, enviable
as it was, every now and then felt like the world's most comfortable
prison.  My every move, every action had to fit within a very narrow
rut.  Most of the time I liked it--I enjoyed my job, loved my family--
but I hadn't completely killed the need to break free once in a
while, to rebel.  It's not that, even deep down, I wanted to get
caught--far from it.   But having sex with thirteen year old kids was
the most outrageous, most dangerous, most rebellious thing I could
possibly do.  And having one of those little kids fuck me, and then
blithely take him out in public--to McDonalds!-- was the ultimate
step.  I couldn't get any further out of my rut than that.  Even if I
was the only one who knew, that was enough.  I was, for a while at
least, a real outlaw.

As I watched Jorge happily wolf down his food, I smiled at the
thought that I was laying a pretty heavy symbolic significance on one
chubby little Latino dimwit.  And the symbolic significance rapidly
began to fade, as the physical reality of him came back into focus. I
looked at his cute innocent face and pictured the young but sexy body
I'd so recently enjoyed.  Fuck the symbolism---I wanted his dick
again.  When he'd eaten his fill, I hurried him back to the motel. I
received an unpleasant jolt when we encountered the same black whore
in the parking lot, with a different customer.  Her glance at us was
a little longer this time, but she walked on without saying anything
to me.  I hoped the dirty laugh I heard behind me wasn't directed at
us, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I'd already started fondling Jorge in the car, and I kept it up as
soon as we were back in the room.  Predictably, the quick response
was a giggle and a hard-on.  I wasted no time in stripping Jorge
naked, and practically threw him on the bed, ripping off my own
clothes and diving down between his legs.  Grabbing his thick cock, I
kept it occupied with one hand while I concentrated on his balls with
my lips and my tongue.  His sack was bigger and fuller than Carlos's,
and not so baby-soft.  It was hairless, though, and I kissed and
licked and slurped on it in a frenzy.  Apparently Jorge was not so
ticklish, and he didn't complain when I took the whole pouch, with
its two medium-sized nuts, into my mouth and practically chewed on
it.  Moving on, I lavished some wet tongue on the inner area of his
plump thighs, then moved back behind his balls.  I didn't lick his
asshole--I didn't want to, OK?--but I got close.  Both of us were
huffing and snorting as I worked him over, and suddenly both of us
couldn't wait any more.  I was just starting to move upward when I
felt Jorge's hands reaching down for me, with the same purpose.  I
swallowed his dripping cock in one gulp, pushing the loose hood down
off the glowing helmet, and swabbing up the tasteless juice he was
producing with my tongue.  I bobbed and sucked and lapped at his
throbbing shaft as he flexed his hips, try to drive deeper into my
throat.  Possessed by an urge even more perverse than usual, I stuck
a finger in my mouth to wet it, then reached down to circle around
his rosy hole.  Jorge missed the one brief instant he might have had
to protest, so I stuck the fingertip in.  Hearing no squeals, only a
muffled grunt, I shoved in to the second knuckle..  I finger-fucked
Jorge in rhythm with my efforts on his dick and, soon, with his
shallow moans.  The moans grew louder.  Desperately, I probed Jorge's
tunnel, searching for his prostate.  Finally I found the little
button and jabbed at it vigorously.  Jorge gave an almost inhuman
cry, and helplessly filled my mouth with five or six strong jets of
his youthful sperm.

Once I'd swallowed all of Jorge's load, I quickly moved up on the
bed, embracing him tightly and rolling onto my back, taking pleasure
in the weight of his chunky little body pressing down on me.  I had
Jorge press his legs tightly together and stuck my rock-hard shaft up
between them.  Thrusting upwards with sharp jabs, I desperately
fucked Jorge between his legs, his fleshy thighs nowhere near
approximating a butthole, but serving their purpose very well.  Jorge
somehow realized what I was trying to do, and did his best to
cooperate, holding his legs tight and trying to match my movements.
My six thick shots of cream must have jetted three feet in the air
before splashing down, mostly on Jorge's back and rump.  I slowly
rubbed the mess over Jorge's smooth skin as we lay tangled together,
breathing deeply, not speaking.

When I was sufficiently recovered, I knew it was time to call it a
day, and led Jorge into the bathroom for another quick shower.  To my
surprise, Jorge rapidly boned up again as I squished soapsuds between
his legs.  Almost before I realized what I was doing, I was leaning
on the bathroom sink while Jorge enthusiastically fucked me again.
It wasn't until he was happily filling my ass with cum that I
remembered we hadn't used a condom.  It gave me a sudden sick feeling
of concern, but it was too late to worry about it.  We got ourselves
together, dried off, and got dressed.  I had thought to bring
twenties instead of fifties, and Jorge's dim eyes shone a little
brighter as he happily shuffled the bills in his hand,  I was vaguely
aware of some activity in the parking lot as we left, but nobody
seemed to be paying any attention to us as we drove away.  I dropped
Jorge off near his house and went back home to my family, my head
whirling.


                    To be continued.......

Comments welcome:
grubsnort@comcast.net                   ( Captain Swing)