Date: Tue, 26 Oct 2004 10:08:26 +0100
From: vindacatrix@ntlworld.com
Subject: "Rent - part 5"

Rent - part 5
(M/M, Anal)
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've been
teaching winged monkeys Tai-Kwon-Do, and if you've ever seen a
simian do a flying kick then you'll know it's a frightening thing.
Don't make me use them on you!  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

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

As always, many thanks to the people who have written to me with
feedback and praise for 'Rent' - it means a huge amount to me that
you've taken the time to get in touch.  I apologise for the delay
in part five; it was almost complete, and then the computer ate it.
The moral of this story?  Write directly onto stone tablets, maybe.
Anyway, this is the final part of the story; I hope it lives up
to expectations.

Chris


---------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-f-i-n-a-l-l-y-)-----------



Rent (part five)




The soft scrape of his briefs against my hip distracts me
from tonguing the musky slaver around his mouth; the
narrow material easefully gives way and crumples down
his legs at the slightest insistence.  Now his club of a
cock heaves potently between us, oiled with his juice
and the smearing of our combined sweat.  Gingerly I
edge him back towards the bed, until he slumps back,
seated, his arms flung behind to support himself;
smirking, he watches as I crawl astride him, my thighs
straddling his own.  To an audience of his relaxed
immobility I reach beneath myself to grasp his waving
hardness, marvelling again at its girth, letting my fingers
linger through its wetness, lining the flared head against
my sodden pucker before allowing my own weight to
force its penetration.  Each ridge of it makes itself
known as I gawkily impale myself; he exhales strongly,
lust-filled, and his shoulders tense beneath my
supporting hands.  Slowly the bruising thickness plows
its way inside, and again I feel the dramatic sense of
internals being re-juggled, only this time the sensation
gurgles through me with the memory of our first time
together.  I can feel his hips flex up to meet me in
miserly graduations, sense his struggle to keep this my
own doing, not to let the hardwired urge to rut against
me take control.  Again, I play my fingers around the
yielding pout of my ass, marvelling at the feel of this
intruder half inside.  I'm distracted by his lips on mine, a
passionate kiss, and, as he chews half-serious on the
fullness of my bottom lip, I drop down to sit fully in his
lap.  I am achingly, deliriously full.  We gasp together, I
with some obscure sense of achievement, Adam at the
sensation of his cock lodged in the crenulations of my
tail.  My legs tense almost of their own accord, raising
me away from the thick muscles of his thighs and
drawing him out of me, before - just as I begin to craze
at the emptiness - I force myself back down, driving his
cock back through the squealing, clinging confines of
my ring.  He grunts and wraps his arms around my
meagre waist, pressing us closer, and I feel the rise of
his hips against me, ramming as much of himself into
me as possible.

The hair at the nape of his neck is baby-soft and warm,
damp with sweat, and I trail fingers through its sparse
burr and then up to grip possessively at the ball of his
skull.  Between us my prick jerks back to juddering
hardness, red and angry and still so terribly sensitive as
it skates against the ripples of his flinching stomach.  I
chuckle into his mouth, both at the squirming of his
fingers around my hips and at the dizzying sweep of his
erection across my prostate; I tongue his smile, our
bliss-filled eyes sparkling at each other, smell the reek
of sex in the room and the spunk in his mouth.
Together we stink of hot boy, layered addictively with
cologne.

In my mind, I'm full of crazed conversation; words too
tangled and complex for the gibbering, slobbering wreck
that is my mouth to pronounce.  I want to tell him that I
need him - a physical need, yes, this overwhelming
passion as he plugs me so gloriously, but a mental need
too, for him to occupy the companionable space he has
shouldered into existence just as his cock insisted a
place into my bowels.  I want to tell him I love him, even
though I know this love is a vague, two-dimensional
thing, sewn from scarce familiarity and laced with lust
and shared discovery.  Maybe most pressingly, I want to
tell him to keep pounding into me with the staccato
rhythm that's driving the entirety of my loins wild; a
prostate-bruising, butt-wall-stretching, sphincter-
spreading balls-deep ass-fucking that's beating the
precome out of me.

His hands, gripping possessively at the flare of my
pelvis, have gently, insistently guided me in my rise and
fall in his lap; now, he scoops the dripping smear of
juices that glaze our stomachs and brings them, first to
my mouth, then to his, until our lips are salted and
sopping.  As we kiss, our faces mashing in the slippery
mess, I reach up and squeeze roughly at the hard stubs
of his nipples.  His low growl serves only to fuel my
intent, and I graduate from playing to pinching, nails
digging evilly into the delicate flesh and raking down his
scrumptiously curved pectorals, fingers tracing the
contours of his ribs and scribing along them.
"You little bastard..."
He rears up, takes a handful of my hair and yanks my
head back, my throat tensing taut and curved and open
to the teasing ministrations of his lips and tongue.  I can
feel him marking me, sucking greedily at my skin until
the blood rushes as if boiling beneath the surface.  It's
my first ever love-bite.

Still yanking, still sucking, he rolls me to the side and
underneath him; my legs find themselves crossing,
possessively, in the space beneath his butt as it
corkscrews and jabs into me, pulling us together and
driving him deeper into the aching confines of my
warmth.  Eventually I squeal, not at the angry, rhythmic
pounding he's delivering to my tail, but from the stinging
at my neck; I push him off, hands cradling his head and
eyes drinking in his full lips, occasionally lapped at by
his tongue, the sharp creases of his cheekbones and
the clearness of his skin.  In return, he takes firm hold of
my face, a thumb resting across each of the hollows of
my cheeks, fingers gripping tightly as he pins me down.
Now his hips rise and fall more slowly as if this better,
more secure grasp allows him to truly take his time; like
that first, exquisite fuck I'd swear each vein and crease
of his wet, swollen shaft made their presence known on
my ass's inner walls.  I realise my breath is coming in
irregular judders, lips drawing back to show my teeth: I
must look furious, animal in his possessive embrace.
Like a cat, he bends to me - my arms little resistance,
shot through as they are with submissive weakness -
runs his tongue across their enamelled whiteness, and
then around, lathing my lips and then, occasionally
brushing his own digits, across my eyelids.

As he pulls back from me, I peer down the valley
between our chests, marvelling at the contrast between
his delicately muscled, deliciously toned torso, and my
own fragile clatter of ribs and close-to-concave stomach.
Staring back, sandwiched within our hot clench and
grazed awesomely by the unyielding friction, my cock
looks ready to explode.  With each long plunge into me,
the head of Adam's prick grinds against the most
delicate and sensitive parts I never knew could give me
so much frothing, bleating pleasure; a glossy hiccup of
precome spools out of me.  The scent of it is thick,
syrupy... overlaid and mingling with the fruited tang of
our sweat and boyish hormones.  It fills my nostrils and
coats my fingers, as I let a solitary hand trail down our
bodies and feel for the thickness that conjoins us, that
hard ram of flesh skewering me so scrumptiously.
Beneath my fingers the stretched lips of my ass cling
sleazily to his shaft, foamed with the energy in his
fucking; it's like the entire lining of that sucking,
quivering tunnel is being dragged out with each
emptying backstroke, as if the sleeve of some casually-
removed coat.

I tug gently on his balls, hot and tight, and paw sloppily
as far as I can reach down the sweaty crack of his
flexing butt, feeling him slow his motion against me as if
painfully close to release.  Each scuff across his ring
provokes shaking from the base of his spine upwards,
spilling out as a low groan through gritted teeth.
Eventually his whole midsection twitches and bucks,
and it's that rubbing which - so pleasurable it's
bordering on pain - finally propels me over the edge of
my own climax.

Gurgling hilariously, I feel the milky spatters fleck our
bodies, together with the incredible waves of bliss
radiating from my sexually tormented crotch.  I must
look ridiculous, but Adam's too far gone himself to
notice it - eyes wide, he forces his way one last time
and
"shiiiit"
unloads his spunk into the depths of me.

                          ___


We lie like that for a while, Adam slumped on top of me,
my legs gently hooked around his.  There's that familiar
smell - well, as familiar as our one other time can be, I
know - of boy and boy, and I drink it in, savour it.  For
one reason or another, there isn't the paranoia and guilt
that haunted me before.  Only the warmth of his flesh
and the ease of our breathing.

                          ___


I guess I knew then that it would be our final time
together.  As we dressed - a slow process, searching
out each scattered item, clothes clammy against
unwashed skin - we made the playful eyes of friends,
giggling inwardly as if at a shared joke.  I kissed him
again as I left, a beautiful boy framed in his doorway
with combats hanging from his hips, t-shirt tugged on
unruly.  He was exquisite, and so were my regrets, but
right then the coolness of the night air was the only thing
upon my cheeks, not those tears that had followed our
first encounter.

His number is still in my phone, although I haven't called
it again.  Sometimes, when I'm lonely, and it's simplistic
to mistake the most available option for the most
appropriate one, I'll scroll to it and sit with the memories.
And then I'll scroll away, and call a friend, and make
myself go out and do the social thing.  I still get nervous
in pubs and bars, still shy away from clubbing and still
don't think I need to be half of a couple in order to be
wholly happy.  When push comes to shove it was just
sex - the same old sex that people do at sixteen and at
sixty - and if you think it's going to change your life then
you're looking in the wrong place.  Thank goodness
things don't have to be life changing to be fun.




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

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