Date: Tue, 22 Dec 2009 00:49:52 EST
From: EddyRiha@aol.com
Subject: games with stefan 31

The usual disclaimers apply.  This is a work of fiction, and those folks
who are prevented from reading such fictional works either by age, by moral
preference, or by law should not read any further.

All of the characters presented here are fictional representations,
including the narrator.  Some of the events and characters are inspired by
actual events and people I encountered in my younger days, but the
presentation here of events and characters in no way is meant to portray
actual, historical persons and events.  It's just a story.

All stunts were performed by professionals.  Do not attempt these at home.

Due to a number of factrors out of my control, there was an unavoidable
delay between the last chapter and this one.  I will be continuing the
camping weekend story arc, but given the season now upon us, I decided to
insert a suitable chapter, based on one of the fantasies I had when I was
this age and "Stefan" was that age.  This chapter is dedicated to a
correspondent who signed himself "avid reader," with apologies for the
delay in adding a new chapter and the delay in my reply to his e-mail.

For the account of a Christmas adventure when the boys were fifteen and
thirteen, respectively, see Chapter 17.

No wooden toolsheds were harmed in the writing or reading of this story.

If anyone is offended by the premise of the story, or by explicit sexual
acts, please do not read any further.  Why, indeed, have you read this far?


Games With Stefan

by eddyriha

Chapter #31-The Toolshed Christmas

The situation was dire.  I was a sixteen-year-old guy who lived across the
street from his fourteen-year-old boy-slave, and I wanted to get off so
badly it was all I could think of, night and day, day and night.  But it
was Christmas break from school, and both of our houses were filled with
family coming and going.  There was no hope that either of us would have an
empty house all to ourselves between now and the day right after New Years'
when we would return to the drudgery of school.  And forget about going off
into the woods for a quickie.  We sometimes did that during the fall and
the spring.  There was an abandoned underground fort, the place where we
had had our first sexual encounters a couple of years earlier, that was
screened enough from the rest of the woods for our purposes.  But during
the past week, the high temperatures hadn't risen up to freezing, and there
was no way that either of us could have stood in one spot long enough for
my cock to have done its much needed business in his ass.  Damn, but I
wanted him so badly!  And I could tell from the glances he gave me on those
rare moments when we'd see each other outside-or in the minutes before
going to bed that each of us sat by our bedroom windows and gazed longingly
at each other-that he wanted to be fucked just as much as I wanted to fuck
him.

But what could we do?  I did have my driver's license, but once the winter
weather set in, my folks were much less inclined to lend me the car.  And
if the evening temperatures were descending through the teens, as they were
each night, there was no way we would have been able to stay warm enough to
fuck on the back seat of the car.  Damn, damn, damn!

On the Friday evening before Christmas, I was stuck cleaning up the area
around my father's workbench in the garage.  I was by myself, since he had
gone and planted his lazy ass in his comfortable armchair by the fire in
the fireplace, probably reading the newspaper, while I froze my ass off in
the unheated garage.  I was muttering a few less than polite phrases that
came to mind in reference to my father at times like that, when I came
across some boxlike thing, wrapped in an electrical cord, that had been
pushed all the way back on one of the shelves beneath the workbench.  I
pulled it out and took a closer look.  There was no question about it: it
was a space heater.  All these winter nights through my childhood and
adolescence, my father had made me work with him on his cars and he had
been too cheap ever to have plugged in the space heater?  Typical.

I unwound the cord, set the heater on the workbench, and plugged in the
cord.  In a moment, the coils inside were glowing, and I could feel
definite warmth rippling out of the thing.

If I were any other teen, I would perhaps have dragged the thing into the
family room and loudly confronted my father with it.  I would have made the
scene of scenes that would have been remembered in family lore for
generations.  (On other occasions, I did that kind of thing, and the
relatives still talk about those legendary episodes.  But that's another
story.)

But I was not just any other teen.  I was the master of a boy-slave, and I
knew that I had found the means by which we could stay warm while I worked
my cock in his ass.  I was already hard, just thinking about the
possibility.

The one problem that remained was the place: a space heater would be
absolutely worthless in the woods, unless we had a really, really, really
long extension cord.  (I'm talking a quarter mile of extension cord here.)
Even then, the heat produced would dissipate too quickly.  I needed to find
an enclosed space that I could heat-any place, just so long as there would
be walls to keep out the worst of the cold.

And then I thought of it: the toolshed.  It stood under the back porch,
separated from the back wall of the house by narrow space through which we
kids had run when we played hide and seek.  The shed was normally full of
tools, but for the purposes of this experiment, I could shuffle off some of
them, especially the wheelbarrow and lawnmowers, into the semi-enclosed
space beside the shed.  My father never bothered with the shed at this time
of the year, so I could set it up to my heart's content.  And so I did.

On Saturday morning, as soon as I saw that Stefan had opened his curtains,
I signaled him to call me.  (It was easier for him to call me than for me
to try to call him.  It's complicated-and it doesn't work itself too much
into this story.)  So when the phone rang in another minute, I grabbed the
kitchen receiver and shouted, "I got it!"

"Yeah, what do you want?" Stefan mumbled.  It was clear he'd just awakened
a minute or two before.

"Out back, the usual place, ten minutes."

"I gotta eat, man."

If I had my way, he'd be eating something else entirely.  But I just said,
"Then half an hour.  And don't be late."

He paused a moment.  "But it's cold outside."

"I got that taken care of."

"For real?"

"Yeah."

Another pause.  "I think I can be there."

"Don't think.  Just be there."  And I hung up.

I threw on my winter coat and boots, said, "I'm going out for awhile," and
slipped out through the garage.  I quietly opened the toolshed and plugged
the space heater and a leadlight (the kind that my father used when he
worked on his cars) into an extension cord I had run to the toolshed the
night before.  By the time I brought Stefan back here, the place was bound
to be warm enough.  At least, I sure hoped so!

I arrived at the abandoned underground fort on time.  And waited.  And
waited.  My feet were slowly going numb as I stamped around, trying to keep
from freezing.

Stefan showed up maybe ten, fifteen minutes late.  Though I was pissed at
having to wait, my cock twitched to life the minute I saw him.

"Sorry I'm late," he mumbled.  He was wearing his winter coat, but he was
wearing blue sweatpants with yellow stripes down the sides-my favorite
thing he wore.  There were so many days during the summers when he showed
up at my house wearing those sweats, though he rarely wore them for very
long.  I was guessing that he had on thermal underwear underneath the
sweats.  It was way too cold just to be wearing sweatpants.

"My cock is hungry," I replied.  "And it wants your ass for lunch."

He looked around.  "It's damn cold out here."

"Well, we won't be staying here any longer than we have to."  I moved
closer to him, slipped my hands out of my gloves, and slid them under his
coat, under his sweatshirt, under his shirt.  Just feeling the warmth of
his skin caused my cock to begin to harden.

"Come on," I said.  I made him walk in front of me, keeping my hands under
his coat, on his back.  As we walked, I slipped my left hand under the
elastic of his sweatpants.  Sure enough, he had longjohns on.  But no other
underwear.  I slid my hand further, reaching along his left asscheek,
cupping the warm globe of his flesh with my palm, feeling the movement of
muscle as he walked slowly back toward our neighborhood.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The toolshed."

"Isn't it cold?"

"You'll see."  My hand slid around to the crack between his asscheeks.  I
ran my forefinger down the crack, around his tight pucker.  Here the skin
was wet, slippery.  Damn!  This boy is good! I thought.  He lubed himself,
in hopes that his master's cock soon would be there.

I guided Stefan around the perimeter of the garden, where we would approach
the back of the house behind some cedars and spruces.  By taking this
circuitous route, we could approach the toolshed under the back porch
without being observed from any window in the house.  As we approached, I
could hear my mother and my younger brother, plus my grandma, singing along
to Christmas carols blasting on the stereo in the dining room.  I could
smell the cookies they were baking.  As hungry as I was for some
fresh-from-the-oven gingersnaps and sugar cookies, I was even hungrier for
my slave-boy's ass.

We reached the toolshed, and a blast of heat washed over us as I opened the
door.

"That feels damn good!" Stefan whispered.  I didn't have to tell him that
quiet was the order of the day.

I switched on the leadlight and closed the door behind us.  The toolshed
had a number of hooks protruding from the 2X4 that framed the structure and
held up the plywood walls.  Most had tools hanging from them, but one on
the back wall I had cleared of tools.  To this spot, I steered Stefan.

"Strip," I commanded quietly.  He was standing on a couple of layers of old
Army surplus wool blankets that I had placed on the floor the night before.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

He nodded.  He shed his winter coat, his hat and gloves.  Standing there in
his blue sweatsuit, he looked as desirable as he did every summer morning
when he walked into my bedroom to be fucked.

He lowered his sweatpants, revealing the white thermal bottoms, which clung
tightly to his ass and thighs.  Then he took off his sweatshirt, revealing
a longsleeved thermal undershirt that perfectly matched the bottoms.

As he was about to remove them, I stayed his hand.  "Take off your boots
and socks," I told him.  "Leave the longjohns on for a moment."

As soon as his feet were bare, I pulled him close and embraced him, feeling
his thermal-covered back and ass.  There was a slight whiff of his father's
cigarettes, but mostly I smelled Stefan, his warm skin, that subtle musk
that his fourteen-year-old body gave off, especially when wrapped in layers
of warm clothing.  I nuzzled my face into his shoulder, bending somewhat to
do so, since I was half a head taller than him.  He rubbed his cheek
against my neck, his thick dark hair brushing my cheek.  We stood there for
a couple of minutes, arms wrapped around each other, my hands roaming
gently over his back, his ass, his upper thighs, the back of his neck.  I
imagine we could have stayed there for hours if the background sounds of
the Christmas music from upstairs hadn't reminded me that our time together
would unfortunately be limited.  All my planning would go to waste if I
didn't get to fuck that ass.

So I slipped my hands under the elastic of the thermal underpants and ran
my palms across the warm, soft skin.  I paused a moment with my palms
resting in the dimples of his ass.  Stefan's ass back then had the most
pronounced, most noticeable dimples of any ass I've ever seen, and every
time his clenched his ass muscles together and showed those dimples, I
thought my cock would explode with delight.

I slid the underpants off his ass, and slowly down his thighs.  It took a
moment for the front of the underwear to follow, since it caught on his
erection, which was pressed against me, seeking its own relief.  I tugged
on the thermals until they dropped past his knees, and he kicked them to
one side.

I ran my hands over his bare ass, absorbing the warmth of his skin.  Though
his skin was paler this time of the year than it was when he ran around
outside all summer, there was still enough of a hint of a summer tan in the
tone of his legs.  With my left hand, I encircled his short, hard cock, and
I gave it a playful squeeze before I began stroking it.

"Ohhhhhhh, master!" he gasped.  "That feels awesome!"  He closed his eyes
and leaned into me, but his right hand still found my own hard cock, which
had precum dripping down the underside of the shaft.  I felt his fingers
grasp my boner, and it almost sent me into an orgasm to feel his firm, yet
gentle grip.  He slowly slid his hand up and down my cock, his way made
easier by the precum.  In a moment, he paused in his stroking to life his
palm to his mouth.  He licked the precum off his hand, then returned to my
cock, which continued to drip precum.

Before he brought me to orgasm, I pulled his hand off my cock and began
lifting his thermal shirt off.  He raised his arms so I could slide the
shirt up past his wrists.  In a moment, my fourteen-year-old slaveboy was
standing totally naked in front of me, his cock standing at respectful
attention, his eyes lowered to watch my cock, his tongue moistening his
lips with eager anticipation.

But I had other plans for my slave.  If we had more time, I would have been
willing to shoot a load into his mouth and later one into his ass.  But I
have time only for one cum, and I had been waiting weeks to dump it into
his ass.

So I spun him around until he faced the back wall of the toolshed.  I
lifted his arms up and quickly bound his wrists together.  Then I rested
the bound wrists on the hook stuck into the back wall of the shed; it was
just high enough to hold Stefan in place, without forcing him up on his
tiptoes or causing him to bend in an awkward position.  I suppose I could
have bent him over and fucked him hard that way, but I wanted this fuck to
be special.  I wanted to hold my boy in my arms as I plowed his ass with my
cock.  I wanted to nuzzle the back of his neck, nibble at his ears, breathe
in the musky scent of his skin, his hair.  Just thinking about it caused me
to leak even more precum, and I began to worry that I would shoot my load
as soon as I began to insert my cock in his ass.

By this point, I had fully stripped myself of all my clothes, though I
didn't bother removing my boots, so my jeans stayed around my ankles, since
I couldn't easily slip them over the boots.

To divert my mind and my cock from its imminent pleasure, I knelt down on
the wool blanket and took his cock into my mouth.  My nose nestled in the
small patch of dark hair I'd allowed the boy to grow again above his cock,
as he would have been mercilessly teased by the other boys in gym class if
they saw him entirely hairless as he stood in the shower at the end of
class.  His ass was free of hair, as were his legs and armpits.  But he
knew that the moment school let out for the summer, the patch of pubic hair
would be gone.  Or I would remove it for him.

I began sucking his cock, and as I did, I slid a forefinger, then two
fingers, into his ass, finding his prostrate and massaging it gently.  His
cock began bucking and jumping in my mouth, though I did my best to trap it
between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.  He was gasping and moaning
quietly, doing his best to be quiet, but it was so difficult to keep from
crying out loud when his cock was being pleasured so thoroughly.

Finally, as he neared orgasm, I stopped and pulled my mouth off his cock
and my fingers out of his ass.  My own cock had eased up and was no longer
fully engorged.  By this point, I'd already learned that if you bring your
cock close to discharge several times, but back off each time, when it
finally shoots cum the pleasure is beyond ecstasy.  And I knew I was
nearing that moment already.

"Please!" Stefan begged in a whisper.  "Please!"

I stood up and moved behind him.  "Please what?"

"Please!" he gasped.  "I want to finish!"  He couldn't exactly say he
wanted to cum, because try as he would, he couldn't yet shoot his load.
But he could experience all the feeling of orgasm, even though it was a dry
one.

"Master first," I said.  At that, I steadied his ass with my right hand,
while my left guided my cock toward the boy's already lubed hole.  Without
much hesitation, my cock slid easily into its familiar destination.  For a
moment, I stayed in place, enjoying the tight fit I'd been dreaming about
for weeks.  That's one thing I was just beginning to realize at the time:
my cock fit perfectly into Stefan's ass.  Never with anyone else did I ever
have that sense of a perfect fit.  And no matter how many times I fucked
him, his hole always felt warm and tight and comfortable.

Gripping him just below the armpits, which were exposed because his arms
were lifted up by the hook, I steadied myself before I began the slow,
rhythmic fucking I had long been dreaming about.  My balls slapped against
his asscheek each time I rammed into him, and I withdrew my cock on each
back thrust almost to the head, but not quite.  As I built up a rhythm, as
I rubbed my cheek against Stefan's hair, as I tightened my grip on his
torso, he began purring, a soft, low rumble of contentment.  He knew this
was what he was made for, this is what he most wanted in the world.  This
wasn't just my Christmas present to myself; it was my Christmas present to
him, too.  I kissed his neck, I ran my fingers along the underside of his
stretched arms, I whispered over and over again, "I love you, Stefan.  I
love fucking your ass."  And he whispered back, "Please fuck me more,
please fuck me harder."  And I did.  My thrusts each time nearly lifted the
boy off his feet, but I was carefully not to push him against the wall,
because that would make enough noise that my mom would hear it even over
the stereo blasting Christmas carols.

As I neared the end, I pulled Stefan closer to me, his warm back against my
chest.  I wrapped my arms around his chest and held him tight as I kept
pumping my cock into his ass, until finally I shot my load, streams and
streams of cum (or so it seemed) into him.  He was breathing hard, his skin
even moist to the touch.  And he was smiling, a bright content smile, even
as his eyes remained closed.  I had made him as happy as he had made me.
And my cock.

I pulled slowly out of him, feeling as I did that I was beginning to harden
again already.  But I knew I wouldn't have time to fuck him a second time.
Before long, I would have to make an appearance and participate in the
cooking and carol singing, because otherwise Mom would wonder what was
wrong with me, since I loved doing that every Christmas season.  And how
was I to tell her that, as wonderful as singing Christmas carols are and as
much fun as it is to spend an afternoon baking all kinds of goodies, it is
even more fun to spend a quick half hour fucking your best buddy's ass and
giving him the best present of all.

I lifted Stefan wrists off the hook, and he immediately turned around and
kissed me passionately, his tongue making its way greedily into my mouth.
Then he knelt down and took my semihard cock into his mouth.  He sucked any
remaining drops of cum out of it, as well as licking off any traces of his
ass from my shaft.  Even as he knelt, I bent down and scooped up the
dribble of cum that was leaking out of his ass and held it to his face.
Once he finished cleaning my cock, he eagerly licked up the cum on my hand,
and when he finished, I patted the top of his head, saying, "Good doggie,
good doggie."  He looked up and smiled, small traces on my cum at the
corners of his mouth, traces that were removed a moment later when we
kissed.

He tightened his sphincter to make sure no more of my cum escaped, he told
me as he dressed (with my permission, of course).  Later, he told me he had
been able to keep the cum in his ass all that evening and into the next
day.  And that he was glad to have some part of me to keep with him all
night long.

And that was how we finally figured out a way to meet every so often all
winter, when it was nearly impossible to get our parents out of the house
long enough for us to play our games.  And that was how each of us gave the
other the best Christmas present that year.  A present that we dreamed
about even as Santa Claus was descending the chimney and leaving toys and
other presents under the tree. . . .