Date: Tue, 21 Sep 2004 23:12:12 +0100
From: J Smith <jsmith381@hotmail.com>
Subject: Against the Clock

This is pornography, designed for unhurried private masturbation while you
read, concerning sex acts between consenting males. If that is illegal for
you or not your thing, then turn back now.  If you chose to read on, thanks.
  jsmith381@hotmail.com

*****************

AGAINST THE CLOCK

Always a problem if I don't wank in the mornings: I regret it most of the
day.

I'd been half hard for most of the day, with heavy balls and permanently
wandering eyes as all kinds of guys that I would normally not have looked
twice at suddenly seemed like the kind of stud I could use in deeply
satisfying situations.  All morning at university I'd sat in a lecture
staring at the back of Jimmy Boyd's neck, idly wondering what it would look
like with my cum splashing all over his hair and collar.  At one point I
thought I might actually get to see for real, as I got so hot I was on the
point of spilling my seed without much more handling than the odd stroke
through my jeans.  I forced myself to stare out of the window for a while,
and the hot load in my balls bubbled back down.  Jesus, there was some
serious churning going on my nutsac.

About 3 o'clock I jumped in my car and tore away from campus, almost on fire
with the horn.  Yeah, I know, I really should have had a wank when I woke up
as I usually did.  A luxurious twenty minutes or so spent fingering my body
and pumping my meat and I would have had a good source of protein for
breakfast and a trouble-free day.  But I'd overslept, and as it was I'd
fallen out of bed in a sleepy daze, stuffed my morning glory into a pair of
jeans and bolted for the car without anything to eat or even a shower.

I pulled up in front of the large house I shared with four other students at
the uni, knowing it would be empty at that time, but also not really caring
if it wasn't.  I ran up the stairs to the room I had at the back of the
house, locked the door, shoved a DVD in to play and collapsed into my
wanking chair, a black leather armchair that was comfortable enough to sit
in for hours slowly jacking if I ever got the time for a long session.  I
glanced at my watch - ten past three.  Great: One hour and twenty minutes
free.  Shame it wasn't longer, but still long enough for a good long jerk.
I poked at the remote until a favourite fuck scene appeared on the screen,
then settled back and lit a cigarette.

For the first ten minutes or so I like to just sit and relax without
touching myself, feeling my erection stiffen and throb in my jeans as I
smoke and watch the hung boys deep-throating each other.  Excellent.  My
long fat dick, which had been hard most of the day, was now trying to burst
out of my jeans.  I could feel my shaft fighting for space with my large
ballbag inside, feel the delicious stab of pain when a pube got caught in
the expansion, feel the whole package of my crotch growing hotter as I got
more and more horny.  I stubbed out the cigarette and softly stroked my
length through the fabric of my jeans.  Yum.  It throbbed painfully,
desperate for release.  I mashed it for a few more minutes until a wet patch
was clearly visible in the denim.  The boys on screen had settled into a
long deep fuck.  Oh yeah.  I lifted my ass off the chair and slowly unpopped
the buttons of my fly and slipped my jeans down my thighs, pushing them
softly over my skin, leaving my engorged shaft inside my boxers to spring up
more happily against my stomach.

Oh wow, those boxers.  I'd forgotten all about them.

The morning before, when I had thankfully had the time to deal with my
morning erection in the time-honoured way, I'd heard Stevie, the guy in the
room next door to mine, thrashing his own dick just the other side of the
thin wall.  He'd been pretty loud with his groans of ecstasy, and it had
been easy and horny to wank myself while I listened to him.  Stevie is a hot
guy with a good tight chest who plays footie twice a week, and I've had a
couple of very hot sessions wanking while I've listened to him boning girls
he's brought back to his room.  Nothing hotter than hearing some bitch
crying "oh yeah fuck that big cock deeper in my twat" or something equally
filthy while I lay naked and stroking only feet from their action, imagining
driving my own shaft up Stevie's unbearably cute bum.  I'd never heard him
wank before, but he was sure worked up that morning; maybe he'd missed a few
days or something.  There was no doubt when he reached his goal.  He
practically shouted FUCK YEAH!! as his panting was fast and noisy and I
imagined him spraying all up his chest and face.  Only seconds later I heard
the shower running, and within about three minutes I heard him clattering
down the stairs and out the front door.  I assumed he must have had a
morning football training session, and it was too good an opportunity to
miss.  Still naked, my big erection nodding heavily as I walked, I ventured
into Stevie's room to see if I could find what he'd mopped up with.  It was
absurdly obvious.  A pair of dark blue quality cotton Converse All Star
boxers, with a red trim round the waistband and white buttons were just
sitting on his rumpled bedsheet.  Fantastic.  I picked them up tentatively,
and gently pulled them open.  They were absolutely sopping with his cum.  It
was the most awesome load I'd ever found in all my days as an underwear
thief.  He'd obviously not used them as a mop-up rag, but worn them while he
was jacking and just unloaded his hefty chunks of jizz inside the front
panel of the boxers.  Well it is less messy that way I guess.  I usually
like to splash up my body rather than "living with your load" (what my
brother used to call cumming in your shorts) but I definitely wasn't
complaining about Stevie's technique that morning.  When I looked inside,
the spunk was still sitting in warm gooey puddles on the cotton.  It didn't
take even one second to know what I was going to do.  I lay down on his
unmade bed, naked, my big dick hard as a missile, snuffled the spunky boxers
over my face and hungrily sucked at his cum while my fist went ballistic on
my own large tool. About thirty seconds later I spunked so hard I thought I
would explode.  Stevie's cum tasted magic, still warm and plentiful, and as
the taste of him rolled round my mouth I unleashed a couple of bullets of
juice that landed splat near my nipples and then blissed out as my balls
pumped out a surge of cum that glopped over my stomach, bush and shaved sac.
  Wow.  I licked up what had landed on my hand and chest, then left the rest
where it was as I recovered from the exertion.  My breath back, I stood up
and stepped into Stevie's boxers, letting my load soak in with what was left
of his.  I knew I would not be giving these boxers back: they were bound for
my secret collection, pride of place.

And I definitely hadn't wanted to shower all the cum away, either.  I wore
those boxers all that day, jacking another load into them about 4pm after
lectures while I sat on a bog up in the second floor gents in the library.
I have in the past used this place to hook up with guys for a quick blowjob
or a longer fuck if time permitted, but on this occasion I was happy to make
do with a quick solo session.  That evening I went out drinking with the
boys, pouring out my usual bullshit about pussy and sport and whatever the
fuck else I have to spout in order to stay in the with the coolest straight
boys on campus.  Stevie was there, and I stayed half hard knowing that I was
drinking beer with him and laughing with him while I was wearing a pair of
his boxers containing two loads of my own jizz and one of his (or rather,
what I hadn't eaten of it.)  That night I wanked twice more into those
sodden boxers, staying up till 3:30am in my wanking chair, smoking and
snorting poppers as I ogled the hardcore on the screen, adding yet more
spunk to the messy shorts.  Staying up so late was not a great idea during
the week though; I had overslept the next day, missed my usual morning
relief and had to spend the day considering the erotic potential of Jimmy
Boyd's neck.

There was a mighty cum-flying climax on screen and then the action changed
to a more gentle kissing and sucking scene between two cutie teens.  I
kicked my jeans off, lifted off my t shirt and sat there, legs spread, in
only my socks, a thin brown leather cord I wear around my neck (with a small
stone on it that my one and only ever proper boyfriend bought me, before we
split up because we both wanted to top all the time: shame, eh?) and
Stevie's navy Converse boxers (now crusty, and now MINE!).  I relaxed more,
lit another cigarette and slid my hand inside the shorts, beginning a slow
and gentle massage.  This scene is one that I like very much, because it is
very close to what happened with me my first time with a guy.  I was 16 and
so horny I thought my dick would snap.  My brother, who I love more than
anyone else in the world, saw what agonies I was in and knew what was going
on in my mind.  He asked a gay friend of his (behind my back, without even
telling me that he knew I was gay) to come over and casually get to know me;
then my brother would disappear while his friend gently seduced me, took me
to my bed and finally relieved me of the virginity that was driving me mad.
Well, that's what my brother thought would happen.  When he disappeared
though, the pace moved far quicker than he had planned.  For about half an
hour or so me and his friend were snogging and licking like the two guys on
the screen.  When we got to my bedroom however, the similarity with the
tender porn scene ended: I fucked him four times in succession, each climax
more fantastic than the last, each time I was more frantic, more happy, more
liberated as I finally got to find out why I had been blessed with a
beautiful large dick.  My brother's friend, Andy, was a total fiend for it.
He encouraged me to fuck him more and more energetically till the fourth
time we both crashed off the bed just before we orgasmed.  I got together
with Andy about ten or twelve times before he went off to university, and
even though it was very easy to come out to my brother the day after that
first time, I doubt whether he has any idea of just how much of a favour he
did me that night.  One day I will tell him.

Still, staring at the screen in that scene always brought back happy
memories of the first half hour or so of that first time with Andy.  These
two cuties were not megahung (which I like to see), they were just totally
into each other (which I like to see even more).  As they approached their
climax in a 69, I knew they would shortly uncouple and spunk over each
other's smooth tight chests.  I took my first hit of poppers, and quivered
in fucking mad out-of-this-world horniness as I watched them kiss deeply
passionately as they both unloaded no-hands at more or less the same time.
I bet they were real-life boyfriends.

Super horny from the poppers, I slipped off the boxers and laid them over my
face again, trying to get one last whiff of Stevie's cream.  It was slightly
irritating because there was so much of mine in there that Stevie's had all
but been smothered, but I thought there might be one crusty bit that still
belonged to him, so I concentrated on tonguing that patch for a couple of
minutes while I slowly jacked my boner in vice-tight strokes.  My cock was
beginning to feel amazingly good so I left to cope on its for a little while
as I moved my hand down to my sac and crack, still head back, snorting under
the boxers.  I just do not know why some guys are not interested in
stimulating themselves down there.  I've had many conversations with my
brother about this, and he says that a girl can do what she likes to his
cock, but balls and asshole are off limits.  I've teased him and said that
this obviously means he's subconsciously scared of the pleasures his anus
might bring him, making him probably a homo in denial.  I've suggested many
times to my brother that we have a wank session together.   This is not
because I have the hots for him in any way (although, in a certain light...)
but because I just know deep down he must make do with some very mediocre
masturbation and I would love to show him a few tricks to spice up the daily
ritual.  According to my brother, having a wank a) takes ten minutes, b)
doesn't always leave him relaxed, and c) is nothing like as a good as having
sex.  This is just criminal in my eyes.  Introducing me to Andy did me a
very great favour, and one day I am going to work out a way I can repay him
by showing him how he can have a bit more (a LOT more) fun on his own,
although he always says no when I suggest a little brotherly grope.  Oh
well.  Unlike my brother, I have long known the erotic potential of my
asshole.  I don't usually choose to take a dick up there, but that doesn't
mean I'm oblivious to the appeal.  I love fingering myself and using a dildo
when I wank, just like the next group of boys on screen.

This scene is undoubtedly one of my favourites of all time.  Four hung young
guys, early 20s, smooth and toned start off with the beers and then get into
watching some straight porn.  Pretty soon it's a jerk-off party.  The guys
never go beyond mutual jacking, which some might argue is a bit of a waste
because all four cocks are completely fabulously suckable, and fucking is
likewise miles off the agenda.  But the way in which they just get more and
more feverish with their wanking, sometimes feeling each other's cocks and
balls, and gently rubbing proud nipples and tender little anuses, it just
does my fucking head in.  This is a major fantasy of mine and I haven't yet
been able to live it, although four times I have tried to have a group wank.
  On one occasion the guys I'd roped in were just too shy, and wanked with
their hands down their shorts.  On another, there was a guy present who
didn't fit the mould, and the other guys, including me, felt self-conscious
in front of him.  And on the other two times, it was too successful, in as
much as after about ten minutes the four of us were in a sucking/fucking
heap on the floor, with the porn irrelevant.  But I still hanker after
having a wank like these four on screen.  Just four completely hot guys,
doing what comes naturally, with no hang ups.  Watching each other wank,
enjoying each other's arcing cumshots, gently massaging your buddy's balls
to give him more of a lift.  It's this kind of scene, an intimate rather
than sexual one I guess, that I hope one day to share with my brother, and
maybe a couple of other guys to make it less weird for him.  And these four
guys on screen are dynamite.  They love wanking, they love watching and
being watched, lending a helping hand, they love porn, they know how good it
is to fiddle with your own asshole, and how great it is to feel the ultimate
release of orgasm in the presence of your mates.  I take the boxers off my
face so I can watch more closely, gently rubbing them over my chest as I
have two finger tips slicking over my ring piece and then gently easing
their way inside.  My cock slaps involuntarily against my stomach, dripping
precum and aching from its rigidity.  OH YEAH!  Masturbation is the best way
a boy can spend time.  I spark up another cigarette and watch the group wank
progress, wishing more than anything that I could be right there with them.

I glance at my watch again - shit, it's nearly 4pm, I've got to crank it up
a gear or I'm not going to be done in time.  This is the one problem with
wanking.  However long you have available, it's never enough.  I could carry
on like this for hours.  I decided that the next scene will have to be the
last one.  This is another blockbuster.  A dark-haired, hot young smoothy,
looking no more than 18 but packing major meat, hooks up with a guy in his
mid-30s, who's got a fabulously defined musculature covered in a thin
coating of blond fuzz.  The kid's dick is definitely the bigger of the pair,
but there's no doubt who's playing which role here.  They grope each other
as the older guy drives them in an open-top jeep out into the wilderness or
somewhere, then they park up and off come the shorts for a long rimming
session.  They both lick hungrily at each other's back doors, then the kid
turns to face the bonnet of the jeep and the muscle guy slips his length up
there in one go, bareback.  He then fucks the kid every which way you could
imagine.  Total, manic masculinity obsessed with complete possession of this
young hole.  All the while the kid stays bone hard, and they finish up with
the guy on his back on the bonnet with the kid riding him, slamming his ring
up and down the guy's shaft.  The kid's hugely impressive erection flaps out
of control between their two stomachs until the guy grabs his young
partner's meat and jacks it hard while he fucks harder.  The young lad loses
it totally and lets the guy milk a monster load from him, which goes over
his fucker's chest and face.  Then, just when you think you're going to pass
out from watching it, the boy lifts his tight little twat off the guy's
cock, which we see spunk no-hands all over the boy's hole and thighs, then
the guy lets the spunk splurge down his straight rod for a couple of
seconds, then buries it, still no hands, right back up where it's spent the
previous 20 minutes.

Phew.  At that point I usually spunk my own load.

But that day I was so hot it deserved taking slightly longer.  As the DVD
progressed to a final scene, I shifted my attention away from the screen to
concentrate on my own body.  I took a hit of poppers, eased a small dildo up
my hole and upped the pace of my wank strokes on my dickshaft.  This small
dildo is better than either of my larger ones because I can sit in a certain
way that angles it straight at my prostate.  Head back in popper-heaven, I
reached for the shorts again, and took a blast of the smell of mine and
Stevie's spunk in the navy fabric.  Oh man.  My ass was clenching hard
around the invader, and loving it, and I knew I would let the orgasm rise
all the way this time.  I went faster, the boxers slipped off my face and I
watched in delicious enjoyment as my sopping purple bellend appeared out of
my elastic foreskin every time my fist pumped.  I imagined Stevie riding on
it, facing me, eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, delirious with the joy of being
shafted by my beautiful big dick.

"Stevie," I moaned.  "Take that big cock up your cute little asshole, you
sexy fucker."

A young man, a mind open to fantasy, a healthy cock, uninterrupted free
time: only one outcome.

In my mind I grasped Stevie's erection, but in reality it was my own.  I let
the speed of my wrist go through the roof as my body tripped into orgasm.
Great wracking spasms of muscular bliss tightened my body to beyond breaking
point and my ejaculation fired up my chest.  I gaped my mouth open wide in
the frantic hope that some of it would hit my tongue.  Wrist pumping, body
trembling, the spunk went everywhere as my voice let out a volley of filthy
release language that I had no control over.

The finest moment of the day.

(Or, one of them, of course.)

After a couple of minutes of utter wonder, my cock stopped oozing juice and
my body stopped shaking.  The porn was still playing, and I lit a final
cigarette.  I eased the dildo from my tight grip on it, and scooped up some
of the spunk all over me for a taste.  I mopped most of the load up with the
same boxers.  I stood, looking at my naked body in the mirror.  Fucking
awesome.  My cock sits nicely over my ballsac when it's soft, and even more
nicely when it's half hard, as it was then.  I stubbed out the cigarette,
stepped back into the boxers and looked at the time again.  4:25pm.
Excellent timing.

Pulling on jeans and t shirt again, I went to the bathroom, stood in front
of the bog and fished out my dick one last time.  Still not really soft, it
glistened with the slickness of the coating of spunk along its length.  As I
let go a torrent of piss, I eased my foreskin back and licked my fingers,
tasting yet more spunk from my bush and shaft.  My cock was definitely not
interested in going totally soft.  It lay in my hand, not really hard or
soft, but still engorged with the feeling of great climax, while piss
streamed through its tubes, washing yet more spunk out of my system.

It's happened before, and I sensed it could happen then as well.  My hand
closed around the length as the piss flow faltered.  My cock hardened once
more, my balls twitched.  I could do it again.  Right here, right now.
Perhaps I hadn't yet got rid of all the frustration of the morning with no
wank, and the image of Jimmy Boyd's neck splattered with my jizz.  Many
times in my life, I have wanked again immediately after climax.  And on two
of those occasions, I shot within about 2 minutes, like a supplementary
orgasm to the first which wasn't quite finished somehow.  I looked at my
watch.  4:27pm.

I had time.

Just this train of thought got my dick back up to full working size.  My
hand quickly shafted along the spunky skin.  Four long strokes, then four
more, then a pause then a dozen or so quicker, really hard strokes.  The
scent of spunk, unshowered crotch and funky boxers rose to my nose, and I
felt something stir in my balls.

Jesus.  I was going to cum, again.  I fisted faster, just standing over the
bowl, still unflushed since my monster post-wank piss.  Something was
rising.  It wouldn't be a big load, or be a bone-crunching climax, but it
would still be worth having.

Oh yeah!  Here it comes!  Incredibly my balls were preparing for another
orgasm, five minutes or so after my last.  I threw my eyes left to the bath,
and imagined Stevie bent over the edge as I shafted his delicious hole.

Just then the doorbell buzzed loudly throughout the house.

I tried to look at my watch while still pulling hard.  4:28pm.  The fucker
was early.  My balls were churning, and I didn't know what to do.  Thirty
more seconds would see me home.  But I couldn't afford for my guest to go
away thinking I wasn't around.

Bugger.  I stuffed my erection back inside the shorts, buttoned the jeans
and flushed the bog.  Fucking bloody bugger.

As I tore down the stairs, I could feel my meaty erect shaft rolling around
inside the boxers, while my low-hanging ballbag rubbed beautifully against
my thigh.  Oh well.  My body was crying out for attention, furious at being
abandoned right on the edge.  I would just have another session when he was
gone.  He was only booked for an hour, after all.

University is expensive.  My parents and brother had warned me that I might
have to work, but I still wasn't really prepared for how much money I was
having to borrow to stay on top of rent, beer and other vital expenses.  I
had tried a number of ways to earn money, but frankly they were all shit.  I
had a couple of sessions a week serving at the union bar, which paid next to
nothing but stopped me buying beer two nights a week.  More lucratively
there was Mr McCloud, a guy in his late thirties who lived a couple of
streets away whose garden I tended once a week, which also paid peanuts
until I caught sight of the inside of his house, made a few deductions and a
calculated risk, and offered him the chance to suck my cock once a week for
a significant increase in pay.  He accepted the offer without any shame, and
now I look forward to Saturday mornings.  But overall it was the money I
received from that afternoon's guest, Mark, that made a great difference on
a day to day level.  Mark's mother, our neighbour from three houses down the
street, had advertised at the beginning of term for a university student to
coach her son in some school work he'd fallen behind at, and since our first
meeting the arrangement was beneficial to both.  Mark's mother paid me quite
handsomely for an hour or two of my time, and the boy was picking up at
school.  That day I knew Mark's workload would include History and English,
neither of which was a strong point for me, so it was with a slight air of
resignation that I opened the front door.

Mark looked less than his usual enthusiastic self.  Today his longish hair
was scraped back under a backwards baseball cap and his gangly, sixteen-year
old legs swished in baggy denim as he nonchalantly drifted past me into the
sitting room.

"Alrigh," he grunted in greeting.

"Yeah, you?" I responded.

"Tut tut," he said, mockingly, as he saw the ashtray full of joint tabs on
the small table in the sitting room.  "Been smoking a little bit of the
wonderstuff?"

"None of your business, Einstein.  What have you brought me?"

"English," he groaned, rummaging in his messenger bag for books and
whatever, "and History."

"Gruesome," I pitied.

Generally our mood was easy-going and bullshit-free.  Mark often used these
sessions as much for venting his spleen as brushing up his Latin vocab, and
that meant that the conversation was usually open and unguarded.  But even
within our usual boundaries, his next comment fazed me a little, as I sat
down on the sofa a little along from him.

"You've got an erection," he said, matter-of-factly.

"No, I haven't, nosey.  In fact it's just a semi, and frankly I wouldn't
have even half a one if you hadn't been two minutes early, so keep your
personal comments to yourself."

He seemed to like this turn to our chat, and laughed.  I realised at that
point that I hadn't heard him laugh before.

"Just on the point of no return, were you?"

"Insistent, aren't you?  And nosey.  Do you hear me asking you stuff like
that?"

"Were you flying solo or have you got a babe hidden upstairs?"

"Marky, shut it.  I was just fumbling when you rang at the door.  Now what's
this bloody English?"

"It's a bugger that, isn't it," he said, glumly.  "Happened to me yesterday.
  There I was, legs spread wide up on the edge of my bed with me flat on my
back on the floor, wrist going at top speed, and bloody mum calls up the
stairs for supper.  Just the sound of her voice put a damper on things, and
I had to pull on some clothes and get down there."

There didn't seem to be much I could say to that.  He'd never been this
candid before.

"Mind you," he added, "at least it was a quick meal, so I got back upstairs
soon after to finish off."

"Marky, what the bugger are you telling me this for?"

He grinned.  "As an apology, of course, for ringing at the door two minutes
early.  It's such a pisser if you have to stop just short."

I smiled.  "Apology accepted.  And anyway, as you said, you're only here an
hour today.  I can get back upstairs to the babe when you've gone."

He laughed aloud.  "I knew there was a babe!!  An inflatable one, of course,
in your case."

"Don't be so cheeky.  You've no idea who or what's upstairs."

"Hmmm," said Mark vaguely, appearing to have lost interest in the
conversation.

"So," I said, bringing the real business to order, "English and History.
Where do you want to start?"

"Errr," he mused, absently, as if he was suddenly on a different planet.
"How about... HERE?" he said, placing his hand calmly on my crotch.

My dick gave an involuntary throb in response to this unexpected compliment.
  Right up until that precise second, I hadn't given a single moment's
thought to Mark's sexuality.  He was just a young lad whose mother paid me a
lot of money per hour.  He was a bit mischievous sometimes, but nothing
untoward.  His English was poor, and his Chemistry dreadful, and they had
more or less been my only thoughts on the matter right up until the moment
he put his hand on my cock.

But now I saw that his gangly legs actually made him a touch over six foot
tall, and his straggly hair gave him a just-been-shagged look, his lips were
full and his skin clear, and his eyes had a vulnerable, hungry glint.
Suddenly I suspected that all that baggy denim was concealing a smooth,
lean, taut musculature.  My dick pulsed again, fuller, harder.  Mark felt
it.

I looked at him, not really knowing what to say.

"As I said," he continued, "I owe you an apology.  Getting here early, and
all.  You must have been well pissed off."

As he spoke I realised he was far from confident.  He was gambling, and he
had no idea whether it would pay off or not.  I really felt for him then,
and remembered what it was like before my brother thoughtfully made me a
present of his friend Andy, what it was like to be sixteen again: desperate,
unsure and undeniably homosexual.

"Say something," he whispered, his eyes wide with worry that I might still
chase him from the house, his hand still warming the shaft of my hardening
penis.  "Only please don't say the predictable stuff," he added, gaining
more confidence again.  "Don't say it's not ethical, or we're supposed to be
doing English, or it's not right for a teacher and a pupil, or what would
your mother think, or anything like that.  Just say, yeah Marky that's cool,
or no Marky that's out of line.  Because that's what I need to know: whether
it's OK, or whether it's not."

I think I melted a bit at that little line, and suddenly I realised I didn't
care even if it had been thought out in advance.

I gulped slightly as I swallowed my scruples and my conscience.

"Marky.  It's cool, if it's really what you want."

There was a brief shadow of relief that visibly passed over him, but he
didn't relax, and instantly I knew why: his nerves weren't about whether I
would say NO; they were about what would happen after I said YES.  He bloody
well knew I was going to say yes, all that time.  I smiled, despite the
tension.

"How did you know?" I whispered.

"Just sorta... sensed," he said quietly.  "And I hoped.  And frankly I
thought it would have been a fucking appalling waste if you'd been
straight."  He looked away.  My cock was bone hard and at full size.  It
bulged in expectation as I listened to Marky's strangely moving words.  "For
weeks I've been imagining what you'd look like, how you'd feel, smell,
taste..."

"Go on, then," I said softly.  "If it's what you want, take it out."

"What I want...?," answered Marky, slowly, carefully, disbelievingly, his
face a suddenly screwed up with desperate, painful lust  "What I want?  That
doesn't even cover one percent of it.  I've thought, dreamed, prayed,
fantasised about this; I've spent whole nights wanking myself frantically
imagining you slipping out of your clothes, I've followed you with my eyes
for hours while you explained tedious schoolwork shit, and here you now, and
you just say, if it's what I want, I can help myself?  Just like that?  As
easy as that?"

Again, I was moved by this, but also amused.  He was rather overstating his
case, I thought.  With the realisation over, I didn't need convincing on
this point: if he wanted to have sex with me, I was going to say yes, and
fuck the consequences.

I nodded.  "Sure.  Dig it out.  Getting pretty short on space in there just
now, anyway."  I tried to appear nonchalant, hoping it would make him more
comfortable.  But already my thoughts were way down the line: would he give
up his ass, right then, right there, on the sofa perhaps?  Or should I not
aim beyond nakedness and blowjobs?  We had under an hour.  How long does it
take to relieve a boy of his virginity?  Mine had taken all night, but then
it had been allowed to go on for that long.  The thought of a completely
perfect, untouched teenage bottom made my cock throb wildly.

"Steady on, tiger," smiled Marky.  He was still gently caressing the bulge
in my jeans, trying to trace the outline of my shaft through the thick
denim.  I thought we possibly ought to speed this up slightly or we could
find ourselves rushing a bit later on.  I placed my hand gently on his arm
to reassure him I wasn't going to run away, then stood up in front of him,
unbuckled my belt, popped open the jeans fly and pushed them down to my
knees.  My large erection was barely concealed within Stevie's blue boxers,
now absolutely gummed up with my spunk.  Watching Marky's face closely, I
hooked my thumbs in the waistband and then began to lower them slowly.  His
eyes stood out on stalks.

My hard cock sprang out when the boxers were down by my thighs, and I pushed
them down further and lifted my t shirt off.  The look on Marky's face was
indescribable.  My long fat dick stood up hard against my stomach, a string
of precum detaching just at that moment.  It throbbed again and I hefted the
balls.  My whole package was right in front of Marky's face.

"Go on," I said, teasing.  "As I said... help yourself."

"Oh my fucking God," he whispered, staring at my naked torso.  "Sweet Jesus
look at your fucking gorgeous body..."

He was unsure of everything except that he wanted it.  His hands delicately
brushed my thighs and settled on my hips, and then with his left hand he
very gingerly ran the back of a knuckle along part of the length of my
shaft.  I shivered.

"Hold it," I said.

Extremely slowly his hand closed around the fat length.  He sighed, as did
I.  His hand was warm, and secure.  He gripped well, and began a stroke,
just a short, gentle one, and then another.  I smiled.

"Feels good?"

"It's... you're..." he trailed off, lost in some private world.

"What do you want to do?"

"Just... feel... touch... see..." he murmured, gripping slightly harder,
staring at my cock.

"And... suck?" I suggested gently, knowing all along that he was dying to
wrap his lips round my bellend.

Marky didn't really suck me, not that first time.  His moved inwards and I
could tell he was savouring an important moment, but after that he just sort
of kissed and licked and tasted my rod, sighing and whimpering continuously,
without really getting seriously into it.  Well of course nobody ever said
expert oral skills were innate.  But he had a long way to go.  Again, my
mind was selfishly much further down the line.  I had to have his ass.  But
first I would show him a blowjob, just so he knew what to do next time.

I placed my hands gently either side of his head and lifted his mouth off my
dick.  I pulled him onto his feet so he was standing in front of me.  He was
a touch taller.

"Let's see what you look like under all those layers," I whispered.

He was like jelly as I took off his cap and lifted the two t shirts he was
wearing over his head. He lifted his arms like a child being undressed by
his mother.  He shivered slightly as his flat lean chest was exposed to the
air.  It was gloriously smooth with small pointed brown nipples.  I ran my
hands gently down his arms and then even more gently over his chest, before
stroking his stomach.  Marky quivered, his lip trembling, overcome with so
many new feelings.  Surreptitiously I checked my watch.  45 minutes till our
session was up.  Did I have time?

Quickly I began to kiss his neck, chest and nipples while I unbuckled his
belt.  Marky whimpered again, but I didn't want to slow down.  His baggy
jeans fell at once to his ankles, but I didn't look down yet, as my mouth
was moving towards his left armpit.  I lifted his arm again, and licked and
snuffled at the wispy boy hair under there.  Marky moaned, out of control.
His small nipples pointed harder, and it was obvious he was very close
already.  I left his armpit and moved my mouth to his face while gently
beginning to feel for his cock.  My lips touched his at the same time my
hand cupped his bone-hard shaft through some soft baggy underwear.

"Oh Jesus, oh FUCK...!" Marky moaned, nearly crying.  "Omigod... I'm
gonna... oh shit!!"

I kissed him harder, and his tongue probed back madly.  Then I looked down,
and saw he was wearing loose red check boxers, and inside, his teen cock was
spewing a vast load of juice, the pumps of jizz soaking the fabric in dark
wet pools.  I pulled back and looked at him, smiling.

"Oh shit I am so sorry," he began to stutter, "that was just so exciting...
I never thought..."

I covered his mouth again to stop his flow of apology.  I kept my hand on
his still hard, sopping dick, the cotton of the boxers sticking to his shaft
with all the spunk in there, and kissed him hard again.  He nearly
collapsed.

"That for me?" I grinned at him, indicating the spunky mess down below.

"Err...?" Marky exhaled, embarrassed and totally unsure of what to say.

"Thanks." I smiled at him again.  "Yum yum yum."

Without giving him time to adjust to what I was about to do, I dropped to my
knees and buried my face in the front of his spunky boxers shorts.  I sucked
hungrily at the warm wet cotton, and traced the outline of his erection with
my tongue.  There was no sign of his boner going soft.  It throbbed and
bobbed as my mouth and tongue caressed it inside its loose spunky prison.
Marky released a flow of utterly obscene language, a vent to his
uncontrollable emotion, a way of letting off steam as his body and mind
tried to deal with the overpowering newness of intimacy.

"Jesus fucking hell shit fuck suck my fat spunky dick nuts full for you you
fucking sexy horsecock cumrag spunksucking gay bastard cunt..."

Something in me moved up a gear as heard proof of the overwhelming,
all-consuming desire inside this young man, the thirst that one quick climax
had done nothing to quench.  I reached for his waistband with both hands and
yanked his sopping boxers down in one movement.  His dripping wood smacked
back - thwack - into my chin.  A lovely teen boner; seven or so inches;
uncut with his foreskin loose and still leaking juice; painfully,
outrageously hard; the thin hair on his unshaved nutsac and his thick dark
bush glistening with big globs of boyjizz; his shaft slick with yet more
watery white stuff, running slowly southwards.  Without a second thought I
began to gorge myself on this treat.  First sucking up all the warm sperm,
then taking his balls in my mouth, then fluttering my tongue around his
cockhead, then, while his knees were trembling and his mouth still issuing
its filthy commentary, I swept my mouth fully down over his length until my
lips were in his bush and his shaft was throbbing in my throat.

Marky's legs gave way.  He yelled something as he fell backwards onto the
sofa.  Lolling back, panting, legs spread, jeans and boxers at his ankles,
he looked at me in incredulous, animal lust as his bone jumped around on its
own, sticking up proudly from his lap.  I didn't let him relax.  I went back
down on him immediately and sucked and licked and teased for a couple of
minutes until I knew he was very close again.  Then I deep throated him once
more for about thirty seconds as his hands ran wild in my hair, his breath
noisy, ragged and alive, his hips bucking upwards in youthful, disbelieving
thrusts.  I pulled off him, and looked up into his face.  I had stopped just
in time.  The orgasm flushed nearly to the surface, then subsided deep into
his groin as his breathing calmed marginally.

"Jesus..." he whispered.  "I never had any idea... is it always like that...
I've never been this hard, never felt so horny..."

I ignored him, not because I wanted to: I would have loved to have chatted
with him about sex and what was possible and how much he was going to love
his life having sex with other guys.  But I had only 32 minutes left, and
there wasn't time for chit-chat.  I had to move on, further south.

"Try not to touch your cock," I said simply, as I quickly slipped off his
old running shoes and lifted his white-socked feet out of the pile of jeans
and boxers.

I pulled his body further towards me, hooked my hands under his knees and
lifted his legs high.  His ballsac hung fat and full between his legs,
dangling just over my ultimate goal, and his dick lay achingly hard against
his flat stomach, spewing precum.  I moved in on his nuts, and began gently
tonguing and then sucking on his fat teen plums.  He moaned and writhed in
ecstasy.  With both nuts in my mouth, I snorted hot breath from my nose into
the base of his cock, rubbing my chin against the sensitive skin under his
sac.  He went wild.  I know how much I love having my nuts licked, how
wonderful it is to jack off while a lover tongues your balls; but, again,
this was not our final destination.  My chin burrowed deeper into his ass
crack, and I released his sac so it hung over my face, red, bloated, full.
In one quick movement I moved my nose beneath his ballbag, pulled his torso
further still towards me, so his back was flat on the sofa, his neck cricked
up looking down his chest, and pushed his legs higher and wider so his ass
crack lay open and exposed.  A tiny amount of light brown hair lay in his
trench, circling his neat pink pucker, pinched tightly closed.  I ran my
tongue the length of his crack, swirling gently over his little rose bud.

Marky yelled in intense, unbelieving ecstasy.  His hands reached to my head
to pull me away from giving him such unbearable pleasure, but I kept at it.
I licked his crack deeply and fully, snorting and snuffling in that most
private of places.  He smelt both fresh and stale, both clean and dirty,
both soapy and sweaty.  Gradually, very very gradually, he got used to the
rimming - that feeling that gay boys just can't imagine until it happens to
them - and began imperceptibly to relax.  And when I thought the danger of
another explosion had passed, I moved in on my target.   Leaving the big
sweeping licks of his crack, I gently began to French kiss his ring.

The soft moans and whimpers told me I might have timed it correctly.  He was
definitely giving in to the pleasure.  He farted a couple of times, tiny
little puffs of cleanish warm air, and he was instantly embarrassed, but I
wasn't, because it told me his ring was giving up its inflexibility.  I
pulled back and looked at his flushed, angrily red face and his rock hard
dripping meat.  I smiled.

"Sorry," he said, "I'm really sorry, it's just--"

"Don't be sorry," I said instantly.  "Any more?"

He nodded, again unsure what to do.

"Let it out."

He looked terrified.  I nodded and smiled warmly to encourage him.  "Go on,
don't be coy.  Let it out.  You'll enjoy it even more if you're not trying
to hold it back."

He stared me in the eye, and took a deep breath.  Maintaining unblinking eye
contact with me, his groin twitched and he allowed a long hiss of wind to
escape his pucker.  It smelt only very slightly.  I grinned again, and he
smiled back, embarrassed, but also with the satisfaction of someone who has
just shared an extraordinarily intimate moment.

I didn't want to break the spell, so instead of returning my mouth to his
crack I carried on smiling at him as I slowly licked one my fingers and then
began to swirl it over his much-more relaxed ring muscle.  He was melting.

"Do you like to play with your hole, when you jack off?" I asked softly.

He nodded, shyly, as if he was sharing a massive secret with me.

I smiled again.  "So do I.  It's fine.  Lots and lots of gay guys finger
themselves, and loads more straight guys than you would think.  You get
wonderfully strong orgasms if you include your ring in your wank routine."

We had reached the moment.  I carried on talking to him softly, our lust
temporarily sidelined.  "Learn to love your hole.  It's the most special
part of every guy." I continued wittering, only half-concentrating on what I
was saying, because as I was speaking, I was working my finger more and more
firmly around and across his slick ring.  He was definitely relaxing now.

"Have you ever looked round the house for something to slip inside?" I
asked, almost breathlessly quiet.

As he nodded again, my finger gently eased past his outer defence up to the
second knuckle.  Marky's head dropped back against the sofa cushions, his
eyes closed and his sighed deeply.  I knew at that moment I could have his
ass.

"What have you used?" I asked again, beginning a slow and shallow,
non-threatening frigging action.

He answered slowly and quietly, his head still flopped back, his cock still
achingly hard, his groin beginning to work itself around my finger.

"All sorts of stuff," he said softly.  "Fingers mainly.  The handle of my
toothbrush, and sometimes the handle of my hairbrush.  Once a small
cucumber.  A candle.  Carrots too.  A funny little thing my mum uses for
needlework; it's got a stubby rounded handle.  I love it.  Especially
fingers."

"Fingers?  How many?"  I slipped another finger comfortably inside his hot
passage.  He groaned in delight.

"Two, sometimes three if I can reach..."

"Have you ever thought about taking something more, something bigger?"

He looked at me and nodded again.  "I think about it all the time."

"Good.  It's hot isn't it, to think about taking something really big,
really masculine up there."  I licked the fingers of my other hand and
transferred the saliva to a third finger, which I eased inside.

He moaned again very loudly, and nodded again, his hole was itching,
twitching, trying to pull my fingers in further.  I flexed them apart
slightly and pushed in deeper.  He could probably handle my thickness, I
thought.  As for my length, time would tell.  I began to fingerfuck him more
regularly, more strongly.  His body pushed back against my invasion, and his
cock throbbed in synch.  He reached for his dick to wank along with the
rhythm.

"Try to leave it alone," I said again.  He looked at me imploringly.  He was
more than ready: he was gagging.  I spat a big gob of spit into the palm of
my left hand and slicked it along the length of my aching bone.  He stared
at my cock, his eyes giving away an immense, primal desire.  My little
finger joined its three brothers inside his hole.

"Oh Jesus fucking hell fuck yeah!" he cried.

"You want it?" I said soberly.

"Fuck yeah!"

"You're sure...?  It's big..."

"I don't care," he panted, as I worked his boyhole harder.  "I fucking want
it.  I fucking need it!  I've thought about it for months!  Every night I've
fingered my ring, imagining what it would be like if you could
ever-JESUS!!!"

He yelled again as while he was speaking, I leaned over him in a flash,
withdrew my fingers and replaced them with the fat bell-end and the first
two inches of my shaft.  His ring popped open, then immediately clamped hard
shut.  He was staring me in the face.  His erection started to wilt, and his
eyes begged me to remove my rod.  But he said nothing.

"You're gonna be a real man now, yeah?" I encouraged.  "Take it like a hot
tough gay guy?  Find out how much you're going to enjoy getting fucked by a
real cock?"

His eyes were still massively unsure, but deep down the desire burned
stronger than the pain.  I gently reached for his dick and began to massage
it.  Within moments the blood began to flood back.  I pulled my cock out
about one inch, and then slowly pushed it back in again: a tiny,
unthreatening baby fuck-stroke.  His cock twitched back to full hardness and
I repeated the slow mini stroke.  He groaned again, "oh yeah..."

I let go of his hard teen bone and lifted his legs high again.  The seat of
the sofa was really too high off the carpet for me to kneel and pump
effectively so without removing the tip of my dick I reached for a cushion
next to Marky and slid it under my knees.  Still not high enough.  Marky
sensed this, and passed me another.  That was perfect.  I pulled out till
only my helmet was inside, then slowly pushed about four inches in.

He loved it.  He smiled and nodded in secret lustful agreement.  I spat
again on my palm, pulled most of my dick out, and smeared the spit on my
shaft.  I pushed in again, still slowly - still about four inches, under
half what I had to give him.

His groin seemed to arrange itself around my meat.  He adjusted his ass on
the sofa, and looked at me again.  Using this top part of my dick, I began
to fuck him slowly.  The delay was doing my fucking head in, and I felt like
I could shoot at any moment, but I had to control it: Marky was young, hot,
horny, sexy; his ass was prepared and ready, and he really, really, really
wanted it.  I might never get an opportunity like this again.  I went
faster, and soon we had a rhythm going.  We kept eye contact all the time.

"More," he whispered.  I obliged.  Another couple of inches; and a slightly
faster rate.  He ass was loving it.  Penetration now over, his ring was
relaxing again and his chute was opening up.  But still I thought we could
do with more lube.  I wanted this to be easy for him, in no way painful or
uncomfortable.

"Spit in my hand," I said, holding my palm under his chin.  He summoned a
massive wad of saliva and spat it cleanly onto the centre of my hand.  I
pulled my rod out totally.

"NO!" he cried.  "Put it back in!"

I grinned.  Boy was he up for it.  I smeared his spitwad along my dick again
and lined up my knob at his twitching hole.  This time penetration was
easier.  The crown popped through, and Marky grunted and lurched.  Six
inches of my slick shaft slid easily in behind the head.

"Oh man!!!  Yeah, do it!!!" cried Marky.

I needed no more encouragement.  We had 11 minutes till our hour was up; 11
minutes till Marky would be expected home; 11 minutes till Stevie and the
boys might be back from footie practice.  I drove my dick more firmly
inside.  My ass started to pump and I wanted to thrust in all the way, but I
held back, my eyes roaming the body of this incredible fuckpup, legs wide on
my sofa, ass clenched around my big dick, slowly fisting his own painfully
hard meat.  Our heart rates rose, our urgency began to take over.

"Deeper!" groaned Marky, working his ass, loving the invasion.  I pulled
out.

"Spin round so your head is at the end of the sofa," I commanded.  He did so
in under one second, now lying lengthways along the seat, pulling his own
legs so up so close that his knees practically touched his shoulders and his
ass crack was high and wide, his pucker twitching, begging me to refill it.
I slicked fingers again, slid some spit across my bone and the rest smeared
into his hole.  I got up next to him on the sofa, knelt in front of his
glorious ass, and lined up again.  This time penetration was effortless.  My
dick slid home, and Marky's legs locked round my back.  Our tongues and lips
met, and I began a hard and fast fuck.  After half a dozen strokes I was all
in.  My pubes ground into his ring, and my balls were slapping his butt.
Marky began to tremble in my arms.  His incredibly hard bone was crushed
between our stomachs.  I went faster, then altered the angle of thrust, then
swirled in wide hip-circles for half a minute as I pushed my cockhead into
the hot spongy sides of his passage, then drove in as hard as I could,
relentlessly, very deeply into his gut.  The kissing became frenzied, wet,
sexy mouth-slobbering as our crotches ground together.  Marky was on the
ride of his life, and I knew neither of us could hold back much longer.  He
dug his heels into my ass cheeks, and an electric shock went off in my
groin.  My massive length pounded harder, and Marky took it all.  He loved
it.  He was utterly alive.  He was sweating and crying and laughing and
groaning.  His hair straggled in his eyes and stuck to his neck.  His arms
and legs wrapped round my body like he was hanging on for life, and his bone
dug into my stomach like a hot hard rock.  I started to slam my groin into
his.  His thin taut body was on fire, and his fabulous tight boycunt was
hungrily, greedily clenching and gripping my huge dick as I drove onwards.
That fantastic feeling in my thighs and balls told me I was going to cum.
Fuck knows how Marky had held on so long.

I reached between us to fist Marky's knob, and he sensed what was happening.
  He took control of his own dick, and left me to pummel him inexorably
along the home straight.  My spunk was rising, and I shoved harder,
desperate for the release, ecstatic at the grip of his hole, punching the
full length of my rod nuts-deep into his gut.  Somehow between our stomachs
Marky's wrist was flying; his head fell backwards, breaking our mouth-lock,
his face was contorted in sex-lust, his eyes screwed shut and his teen dick
started spurting hot, scalding hot floods of jizz in between our sweaty hard
bodies; he was crying with joy, totally overcome with release.  As his
climax hit so his ass muscles clamped involuntarily in short, iron-hard
stabs of grip around my meat, and it finished me off.  Desperate to join him
in the zone, I forced my dick harder through his clenching twat, and finally
the damn burst and I rode home on a fantastic, delirious wave of orgasm,
shouting god knows what filth about my favourite fuckstud Marky, as my balls
contracted time and time again and my fucking continued at full speed firing
massive chunks of mancream into his guts, each blissfully relieving
fuck-stroke driving my spunk deeper into Marky's body, until the energy at
last began to subside, and we were left, my dick thrusting inside Marky
slower and shallower each time, in a haze of bliss and spunk and sweat.

Marky opened his eyes, and a new man looked out at me.  My fuck slowed to
nothing, and my dick slipped painlessly from Marky's grip.  Marky lifted his
hand to the back of me head and pulled me into a kiss.  That kiss was
flavoured with his sweat and his spunk, and I licked more spunk from his
face, unplastering his hair from his forehead, then sharing the spunk with
him in another kiss.  We lay for another couple of minutes not saying
anything.

I lifted off him, and sat next to him on the sofa, a little shivery after
all that exertion.  There was spunk absolutely everywhere.  I reached for my
jeans and found my cigarettes in the pocket.  I sparked up, and offered the
pack to Marky, who grinned and took one, sitting up next to me, on the edge
of the seat, his legs still wide, his soft spunky dick hanging down.

"Our hour is up," I smiled, looking at my watch.

"We have another one tomorrow," grinned Marky.

*******************

Thanks for reading.  If you enjoyed this and would like a list of my other
stuff archived at Nifty, please feel free to email me at
jsmith381@hotmail.com