Date: Mon, 20 Sep 2004 14:37:07 +0100
From: vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com
Subject: "Rent - part 2"

Rent - part 2
(M/M, Oral)
Copyright C.J. Davies

Standard disclaimer - don't read if you're under 18, easily upset
or have problems (serious or minor) with gay-themed erotic stories.
If your country/area of residence says this is naughty and illegal,
well, I'm afraid I don't have a "get out of jail free" card you
could use.  Please, use your common sense.  Whilst the characters
in my story may or may not practice safe-sex, you really should.
Not that you're foolish enough to eschew condoms merely because
fictional characters don't use them, are you.

This story, or any part of it, may not be copied, re-edited, sold,
or molested in any way without my saying it's okay.  I still have
specially trained winged-monkeys that are right now watching you,
and they're authorised to attack should they see you disobeying this.
They have sharp teeth, those monkeys.  Re-posting is okay, as long
as you leave this preamble in place and full credit is given where
it's due.  Any comments, criticisms or offers of gifts and/or sexual
favours may be made to vindacatrix@ntlworld.com  My thanks to
everyone who has written to me; your comments and, dare I say it,
praise is both surprising and appreciated.

If you fancy reading some more of what I've written (it's slightly
less porny, I ought to warn you), you're welcome to check out my
site www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk

Chris



-----------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-a-g-a-i-n-)--------------



It's a curious battle when your head is bellowing one thing at you,
whilst your body happily goes about some entirely different
business.  All my ears could hear were the shocked, naive
bleatings of my internal voice, squealing disbelief at the tawdry
turn the evening had taken.  All my body could feel, however, was
the warmth of an interested boy's hand clutched tightly in my
own.  A feeling it - I - had no desire to give up.  My skin felt hot
and prickly, itchy in the night's humidity, and for a moment I felt
lost and alien in my clothes.  My hurriedly-negotiated 'business
associate' hustled me down the street, away from the thinning
pub crowd - once so threatening to me, but now imbued with a
dizzying sense of safety-in-numbers - into a ramshackle tangle of
residential flats.  I hazarded a silent guess that they might be
some level of solitary student accommodation.

Somewhat unnecessarily, I mumbled "so we're going back to your
place, then...?" and saw him turn and grin at me, face bathed in
the sodium orange of the security floodlighting.
"Yeah, we are."
"...okay..."
His obvious comfort, his familiarity with the situation left me with
no doubt that he was a professional, by which I imply that the
prospect of escorting a perfect stranger to your apartment - for
me a traumatic and chilling thought - was for him no different to a
grocer opening up shop.  I felt the overwhelming desire to feel a
little less like a grubby punter.
"Can I ask your name, please?"
He grinned, again, this time baring even teeth.
"You can."
I sighed when he obviously had no intention of going any further,
and asked
"Okay, well... what's your name?"  He stopped short.
"I'm Adam" and shook the hand he was holding.
I felt obliged, by my own curiosity, to reply "Hi Adam, I'm Tom."
We smiled at each other, he wolfish, me demure.
"Good to meet you, Tom... I hear you'd like to come home with
me?"  My demureness evolved rapidly to blushing
embarrassment.
"Erm... yeah... yeah... I mean... yes, I would."
For an instant his smile snapped broader, before he shot back
"Great!" and immediately continued leading me past numerous
identical doors, each branded with a dull metallic intercom panel.

"This is us."  We were stood outside of another black door, Adam
fumbling a heavy bunch of chained-up keys from one of the
pockets in his combats.  I slipped my weight from foot to foot as
he sifted through the ring and, finding what he sought, unlocked
the door.  I tried not to think about how difficult it could be to
achieve any degree of genital rigidity when one also had the
overwhelming impetus to piss one's pants.  Eventually I had to
give up the quandary, for fear of my addled, screaming brain
melting and dripping in porridge-like lumps from my nose.
Instead, I followed Adam into the hallway.

Half a dozen coats bulged precariously from three hooks on the
wall, encroaching on the walk-space which, by design, was
already tight.  Past them, two closed doors and an archway into a
small, tidy kitchen.  Unopened mail, something frightfully
important from the Readers' Digest, had been kicked into the
skirting board, and shared space there with battered running
shoes.  I realised, suddenly, that Adam was staring at me as I
nosily examined his flat.  With the pinch of being caught came the
stomach-churning realisation of why I was there.  I did what I
seemed to have spent half the evening doing, and blushed hotly.
He chuckled.
"You want a drink, or you want to..."  He finished his question
with the kind of dirty-smile-tilted-head-towards-the-door that left
me in no doubt that his bedroom was on offer.  I'm pretty sure my
eyes span 360 in their sockets.
I replied, "erm... I mean... it's a... maybe...", demonstrating how
much I deserved an A-Level in English, and his smile broadened
as he turned and led me into the kitchen.  I had never been so
relieved to see a jar of instant coffee before in my life.

I perched on the edge of a stool whilst he busied himself with the
coffee, moving efficiently around the tiny space in such a way that
seemed to invite my eyes to the somehow-baggy, somehow-tight
seat of his combats.  His ass jutted roundly outwards, small but
solid, and the perfect counterpoint to his narrow waist.  Inevitably
he turned, and I was left staring at the partially-disguised bulge of
his crotch; I gulped, my eyes flicking nervously up to his face and
his apparently permanent grin.
"I'm... sorry" I mumbled, but Adam cut me off.
"Look all you want," his hand brushing down his flat stomach until
the fingers traced the shape of his groin, "you don't need to
apologise."
He took a step towards me, ostensibly holding out my coffee, but
all I could see, could think about was how his slenderness fit so
enticingly, so properly between my splayed thighs.  Reaching
behind me, he set the cup on a window-ledge, placing his hands
gently on my shoulders and lightly, rhythmically squeezing.  I
could feel the heat from the coffee radiating from his hand, smell
the faint trace of his aftershave albeit bruised with the pub's fug of
beer and smoke.  It felt the most natural, most automatic thing to
do, to thread my arms around his waist and pull him closer in to
me.  The warmth from his body pressed, unevenly, against mine
both dizzied me and roused me; I tilted my head back, so that I
was looking up into his slender, almost-elfin face, to find him
looking beneficently, lustfully down at me, before he dipped down
and our lips met.

That first, unexpected kiss was magical, a cliché‚ I know, but
enough to kick my senses into autopilot.  I stood, his arms pooling
around my shoulders, mine still gripping hungrily at his waist, and
as our faces came level we kissed again, more frantic this time,
tongues squirming and teeth nipping.  I opened my eyes
momentarily, to find that his were already half-open and watching
my reaction; lips still joined I pushed him back, hard, into the
counter-top behind him, my fingers gripping at the formica as his
eyes blazed wide and then feverishly.  He pulled my face against
his, and I could taste the acid of the orange juice he'd been
drinking, the vague fuzz of mint from the gum he'd chewed.  I
could feel myself hard in my pants, pressed haphazardly into his
own, firm groin, and as he corkscrewed his hips against mine I
moaned into his mouth.  Just as I thought I might spill right there,
right then... just as his hands grabbed, fast, at my ass... just as
he chewed at my bottom lip with his perfect teeth and pulled it,
teased it out... he let go, drew away.

I stood, breathing heavily, confused and suddenly shamefully
aware of my erection driving slanted against the fabric of my
jeans.   But any question I had was brushed aside as he brought
his hand up to my face, brushed the pad of his thumb across my
spit-wet lips, before hooking his fingers around the nape of my
neck and drawing me, gently but insistently, out of the kitchen
and towards his bedroom.  The door swung open as he backed
up against it, and we were in.

If I had expected rack upon rack of sex toys, whips, handcuffs
and dildos, R18 porn on constant loop and industrial-sized barrels
of lubricant, I was disappointed.  His room was clean, tidy, almost
anodyne and sterile in fact.  It smelt lightly of air spray, with a mild
chemical undertone, and a bed - a big bed, definitely a queen if
not a king - dominated.  I cautiously glanced up, but found no
mirrored ceiling.  Any further examination was halted by the
sudden feel of his hands at my fly, and the warm purr of my
zipper being expertly lowered.  Looking down, then meeting his
eyes, I saw his grin - professionally cool - was back, before all
thoughts spurted from my head as his hand, slim and sly, darted
into my jeans and cupped my balls, the tips of the dextrous
fingers resting deep in the tight warmth between my legs.  I felt
his thumb stroke lines along the length of my hardness, confined
almost horizontal against my abdomen by the tightness of my
pants, circling from the root right up to the head, before tracing
the flared, delicate edge of the crown.  My knees began to buckle
at his touch, and I only half noticed how his other hand had, first
rubbing languidly across my nipple, come under my armpit to grip
my shoulder blade and pull me closer in to him.  Again, our lips
met, and I was lost in the dual-sensations of his thick pout against
my own and his teasing fingers unbuttoning and pulling and
generally de-dressing.  When I stepped back, my jeans were at
my ankles and my t-shirt almost off my head; I sat down on the
edge of the bed and kicked off my socks, left only in my
underwear.

Adam's smile was hypnotic... almost, as my eyes were driven to
play frantically over the fullness of his body.  I forgot all sense of
embarrassment over my physique, my skinniness and lack of
definition, the paleness and the light dusting of hair on my chest
that so singularly failed to look like the latest Calvin Klein model.
His shirt succumbed quickly and fell to the floor, quickly followed
by him skinning his tight, black tee and revealing a supple,
swimmer's build torso with the faint undulations of a six-pack.
The sight of his underwear waistband peeping, just a little, over
the top of his combats made my crotch ache in its stiffness, and
as he un-popped the fastenings the weight of so many pockets
dragged them down around his legs, from which he easily
stepped out of them.

He stood before me, and it was all I could do to prevent the drool
from gushing out of my mouth like a spun tap.  Discrete, no;
honest, yes.  His chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and his
sinewy arms hung casually and easeful at his sides.  The
whiteness of his boxer-briefs stood in delicious counterpoint to his
seemingly-natural tan, many moons away from the day-glow
orange of some of the patrons from the pub we met in earlier,
with the impossible-to-ignore distension of his fine erection
tenting them out, upwards and to the left.  I could see the shape
of the glans, moist against the stretchy cotton, and make out thick
veins trailing down to the clenched heft of his balls.  Fuck, I
wanted this boy.

At that moment, I forgot I was with a hooker.  I forgot that Adam's
attentions were paid for rather than earned with wining, dining
and flowers.  I forgot, even, my naivety in the bedroom, and that I
was with a man who had most likely been with many, many more
people than I could imagine.  All that was in my mind was
reaching out and holding his cock through his underwear, feeling
the spongy-hardness, and that's just what my hand did.  He
sighed as I touched him, moved forward so that my other hand
could reach around and cup the proud curve of his buttock.  His
hands played absentmindedly with my hair, outlining my ears and
tugging gently at the top of my neck, as my head dipped in to lick
eagerly at his belly button.  Spit matted down the fine hairs
leading down into the warm depths of his underwear, as I rubbed,
stroked and generally molested the thickness of his prick from
base to drooling tip.  The heady scent of pre-come and maleness
rose up past my nostrils, my head spinning even more, as I
clawed my way down until it was my tongue dallying around his
throbbing cock, turning the fabric translucent and sucking
impatiently at the juices seeping through.

Lost in my heat, I reached both hands to his waistband and,
fingers hooked about it, pulled down his sticky Calvins.  His
erection slapped hotly in my face, red and swollen, and I let the
pants pool forlornly around his ankles with my hands now busy,
one at the shaft and one back behind, pulling his crotch further
into my face.  Lapping hungrily on the underside, I slid my hand
up and over the flushed crown, slicking pre-come across my palm
and feeling him start at the overwhelming sensitivity.  The tip of
my tongue jabbed purposefully at the tautness of his fraenulum,
squirming up and across and around the sensitive ridge, tasting
him for all his warmth and salty-sweetness, whilst my gooey hand
gripped boldly at his balls, circling as much of their root as
possible and tugging gently down.  Now his hands laced
meaningfully through my hair, taking dominant grip on either side
of my head and guiding my pouting mouth further down the shaft
of his cock.  I thrilled to the feeling of his hardness inside of me,
letting my tongue press the tip of it against the ridges on the roof
of my mouth, silently thanking his restraint in not thrusting it deep
down my innocent throat and at the same time part-wishing he
had.

His hips began a thrusting, slightly-swivelling motion in and out of
my mouth, and for a while I was content to be the sucking,
swilling wetness he pumped into.  My hands alternated between
playing roughly with his heavy balls and stroking across the
smoothness of his stomach.  And then I couldn't help but get
more demanding, ramping up the suction in my mouth until he
had to fill it else suffer the exquisite vacuum on his glans, digging
my fingers, my nails, into the cleft of his buttocks and squeezing
until I could hear him gasp above me.  His hands clutched harder
and harder at my hair, until tears pricked my eyes and then ran in
thin streams down my cheeks; I growled around his cock and felt
the vibrations down its length and through to the flinching pucker
of his ass.  With effort he pulled my head back, grinning, satisfied
at the mewling I made as his cock slipped finally from my wet lips.
"Back up" he instructed and I did, sliding from my seat on the
edge of the bed until I was prone on my back with him standing
over me.  I could see the vast quantities of drool from my prick
that had swamped my hipsters, the stickiness plainly saturating
the hugging fabric and making it obscenely shiny.  He squeezed
the broad head between his thumb and forefinger, before
returning the digits to his mouth and noisily sucking off the syrup.
I giggled, just a little, and he reached for my pants, yanking them
down my thighs and finally off, to land in a sticky heap on the
bedroom floor.  I lay there, spread, the tiny voice in my head
demanding to know why I suddenly had no shame.  But he was
drowned out by Adam, as he crawled up from the foot of the bed
to kneel above me, weight supported on his outstretched arms,
then bend to my ear:
"You're gonna get your money's worth tonight..."



End of part 2 - part 3 is written and is to follow.

Like it?  Hate it?  Want a winged-monkey?  Mail me at
vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com

Oh, and please, check out my site, www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk