Date: Fri, 01 Oct 2004 19:09:51 +0000
From: Brewster Hardy <brewsterhardy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ballard Boys Part 10
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the consent of the author.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental.
Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story is meant to
condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.
*Chapter 21*
Bob Ballard wasn't sure why he had awoken so early that morning. The
sun had barely risen when his eyes had cracked open. Considering the fact
that he and his younger brother had indulged in virtually nonstop sex the
previous day, he should have been exhausted. Pushing his shaggy blond bangs
out of his eyes, he stretched out to his full 6'3" length and then stumbled
naked out of bed.
Pulling on his blue terrycloth bathrobe, the 17-year-old tied the belt
firmly to hold his morning hard-on in place against his abs. Mmmm -- that
felt good. He pulled the belt even tighter -- shuddering a bit as the
constricting fabric forced the heat of his oversized cock-flesh against the
coolness of his lower torso.
As he walked by Ian's bed, he smirked at his sleeping brother --
facedown, long dark hair shimmering in the early morning light, tight little
ass grinding and pumping, obviously having one hell of a sex dream.
The temptation was powerful.
Knowing that Ian was a heavy sleeper, Bob stepped over to the
16-year-old boy's bed and pulled down the single white sheet -- exposing the
dazzling butt. Climbing onto the bed between Ian's widespread thighs, he
grabbed the taut, glossy globes of ass-flesh with his hands and pushed them
gently apart until he could see the sweet pink hole. Leaning down into the
warm, moist valley, he began to lick the tiny opening. Fuck -- that's good.
Applying more pressure, he managed to slip his tongue into the beginning of
the constricted tunnel. Ian was moaning quietly now, all six feet of his
muscular young body writhing and twisting in reflexive pleasure.
Bob was deeply tempted to simply whip out his cock and fuck the kid
again, but he stopped himself. Save it, he thought, as he reluctantly got
off the bed and headed downstairs instead.
Trish was just walking out the back door as he stepped into the
kitchen.
"Morning, Mom..."
"Good morning, sweetheart," Trish turned and smiled at her big,
handsome son. "I'm going over to the Pratt's. I promised Helen I'd help her
repaint the kitchen, so I probably won't be back until dinner."
"Cool. I'll be at work all day anyway."
"Of course. Would you like me to wait and give you a ride?"
"Oh, no, that's ok. I'll see you later."
He waited until Trish was gone and then, remembering that his Dad was
out of town, he turned the kitchen radio up full blast. "If I was the king
of the world," he sang along with Three Dog Night -- perfect way to start
the day, "...joy to the world..."
He somehow withstood the overwhelming urge to jerk off in the tub. Save
it -- he thought as he ran the bar of soap over the sensitive head of his
big cock. Save it -- he thought as he pressed the bar hard against his
asshole. Fuck -- that feels good. His recent discovery of this secret
pleasure center had been a stunning revelation. He slipped a soapy finger
inside the hole and his cock stiffened further in response. Fuck, man...oh,
yeah...he slowly swirled the finger around inside, pressing deeper into the
sweet flesh. Clean it out good. His pelvis began thrusting automatically --
fuck, oh, yeah...
NO.
Save it.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and heading out the back door.
Still having some time to kill, he decided to take the long way -- through
the field and down by the river. As he neared the riverbank, his cock began
to swell again at the thought of his weekend odyssey of sexual discovery.
Within the past 36 hours, he had had extraordinary sex down here with both
his brother and Carlo -- the beautiful Brazilian musician.
Carlo. I wonder what he's doing right now, Bob thought, as he stepped
into the little secret clearing. He stood there for a few moments,
daydreaming, absentmindedly stroking his erection through his jeans.
Mmmm...Carlo. Reaching inside the waistband, he scooped up some pre-cum from
his cock-head and brought it to his mouth, licking the salty fluid from his
fingertips.
Snap out of it -- he chastised himself, pulling his hand away from his
lips as he turned to leave. Maybe if I run -- he thought -- this fucking
hard-on will go away. He would end up arriving at the shop way before
opening time, but that was ok. He had his own key, and Mr. Roberts would
probably be glad to see the place all set up and ready to go whenever he
arrived.
Mr. Roberts -- fuck. Drunk as he had been the other night, Bob retained
enough memory of the photo shoot to assume that he had made a total fool of
himself. What was I thinking? Fuck...fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...
Fuck, I'm horny -- he thought, as he began to jog along the riverbank.
Probably should've jerked off in the tub after all...
************
After Bob's stumbling departure from the studio on Friday night, Paul
Roberts had worked in the darkroom for hours. As image after image developed
before his eyes, he became further convinced that he had stumbled onto
something exceptional and exciting. By the time the young photographer was
ready to head home, the little room was a jumble of hanging, drying images.
He had spent the better part of Saturday completing the processing.
On Sunday, he stayed home -- quietly mulling over his "discovery".
The 28-year-old Brit desperately wanted to share his excitement with
someone, but decided against talking to his young American wife.
Karen Roberts, over the brief two years of their marriage, had proved
to be a bit of a jealous creature. Any hint that anyone (in any way) might
be interested in (or interesting to) her hip, handsome husband brought out
the very worst in her nature. He loved her regardless, but couldn't help
recalling -- from time to time -- the girls he had dated and fucked in
"swinging" London just a few short years earlier. Those had been crazy
times. There had even been a drug-enhanced orgy one night, involving a
certain rising young rock star -- male -- who had since become a
world-renowned sex symbol. Paul grinned when the thought occurred to him
that -- in terms of "endowment" -- the rocker apparently had nothing on Bob
Ballard.
By the time Monday morning rolled around, he was desperate to get back
to the shop and examine the treasure trove of images.
It was barely past dawn when he arrived.
He locked the front door behind him -- far too early to be letting
stray customers in.
He turned on the radio.
"...if I was the king of the world..."
Moronic fucking tune, he thought as he headed into the darkroom.
The dozens and dozens of photos were still hanging there, where he had
left them to dry. It was quite overwhelming, really. As he began to take
them down, he gradually lost all track of time -- studying one sensual image
after the other. Bob Ballard's beautiful face, his dazzling, electric eyes,
his ridiculously full lips, his stunning musculature, and there -- there it
was -- the final sequence of shots, the tight jeans slipping down exposing
the first few inches of the breathtakingly long, thick shaft of rock-hard
manhood.
Jesus.
In the cold, sober light of morning, Paul found the images all the more
implausible.
Here was a close-up of the groin, clearly showing the thick vein
running along the hard shaft from the base. The lighting was perfect. You
almost felt you could touch the thing, feel its heat. Still, it was only
partially visible -- the denim fabric still concealed the head and much of
the shaft. In a funny way, that only made the photo sexier. There was the
dark wet spot in the fabric. The kid had clearly been pre-cumming copiously,
as the size of the spot expanded through the sequence of shots.
Christ -- he thought, as he reached into his trousers to adjust his
growing erection -- it's even bloody well turning ME on. Incredible...
Here was the kid with his back arched toward the camera, showing his
flawless butt. Christ, what a stunning piece of ass -- now Paul unthinkingly
opened his fly and pulled out his own thick, uncircumcised cock -- I'd fuck
that. He started leisurely manipulating the sensitive foreskin as he lost
himself in image after image of Bob's firm, satiny butt. He wasn't even
aware of the trousers slipping down to his ankles as he repeatedly squeezed
and released his blood-engorged cock-head. Fuck. It was almost as though he
could smell that sweet flesh, taste it -- he began slowly stroking the full
length of his rod, closing his eyes now and leaning back against the
counter, imagining his throbbing man-cock penetrating the sumptuous depths
of the kid's warm, velvety ass. What's happening to me? -- he wondered, as
he continued stroking, head thrown back, images of the strapping, manly
teenager dancing through his head. Fuck. I'm going to cum -- and I'm
fantasizing about a 17-year-old BOY. Jesus.
He started stroking faster, faster, harder, harder...eyes squeezed
tight...mouth falling open...chest heaving...legs buckling...
************
*Chapter 22*
Ian was sleeping so heavily that he didn't hear the ringing right away.
"Ugnh..." the boy grunted aloud -- powerful morning erection trapped
between his taut belly and the white bed sheets, as a storm of sexual images
swept through his dreams. The steady flow of pre-cum soaking the linens
right through to the mattress only added to his pleasure. The muscles of his
long frame tensed as he drew closer to the brink of orgasm.
"Uuuuggnnhhh..." so close -- almost ready to erupt...
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
Huh? His eyes snapped open as the kitchen telephone rang for the third
time. Fuck. Dream images swiftly evaporating, he struggled to orient
himself. Fuck.
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
Telephone...morning...where's Mom? Monday morning. Fuck. What time is it?
Big, dripping cock pounding, aching for release, he untangled himself from
the twisted sheets.
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
Fuck. All right, all right -- he found yesterday's jockey shorts
crumpled on the floor and pulled them on clumsily. Wake up, wake up -- the
glistening head and several throbbing inches of the shaft of his hard-on
remained exposed above the straining elastic waistband. Whatever --
obviously no one is home, so who cares...
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
Half-stumbling, half-running, he raced out of the bedroom, through the
short hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Why the fuck is the
radio on so fucking loud?
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
Reaching up to push his long dark hair behind his ear, in his freshly
wakened stupor he slipped off balance and stubbed his big toe hard against a
chair.
"F-U-U-U-U-CK!"
R-I-I-I-I-I-NG...
The pain shot through him as he reached for the phone. FUCK.
"Hello?" he groaned, gritting his teeth and balancing on one foot,
holding his other foot in his hand, doing damage inspection.
"Hey -- Bob?"
"Uh, no -- this is Ian." Satisfied that his toe would survive, he
lowered the foot gingerly back to the floor and stuck a finger in his free
ear to muffle the blaring sound of the radio.
"Ian? Wow. You sound all grown up..."
"Oh, yeah?" Still barely awake, Ian had no idea who he was talking to
-- and he didn't really care. The relatively good news was that his erection
was subsiding a little -- thanks to the pain in his toe and the exertion of
the sprint to the phone.
"You don't recognize my voice, do you?"
"Um, nope..." cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder blade,
he reached into his jockeys to rearrange his balls and semi-erect cock,
frowning slightly as he noted a faint yellow piss stain on the white fabric.
"It's your Uncle Chris."
"OH! Hey, Uncle Chris -- how's it goin'?"
"Uh, great...listen, Ian, I, uh..."
Someone was knocking at the back door. Jesus Christ. Now what...?
"Sorry, Uncle Chris, there's someone here. Hang on -- I'll be right
back."
Forgetting his near-naked state, Ian hurried to the back porch and saw
the familiar silhouette of a tall, blond teen through the backdoor screen.
As always, Ian's heart beat a bit faster at the sight of his brother's best
friend; he had had a secret crush on Frankie ever since he could remember.
The fine-looking 18-year-old was a regular presence in the Ballard home, but
seeing him first thing Monday morning was unusual. This was all way too much
to deal with so early in the day, Ian thought as he opened the door,
allowing the blazing July sun to spill over his face and body -- unaware, in
his youthful naiveté, of the dazzling power of his own physical beauty.
Eyes wide, mouth agape, the older kid took a step backward.
"Hey, Frankie, what's goin' on?"
"Um, I was, uh, wondering if Bob...um..."
"Listen, Frankie," Ian interrupted, disconcerted, "I'm actually on the
phone right now. C'mon inside, and I'll talk to you in a second. Just close
the door behind you."
************
It was the summer of 1971, and Frankie Eglinton was obsessed with two
things: music and sex. The music part was easy; he was a naturally gifted
musician and -- as he was an only child -- his wealthy family had always
happily given whichever instruments or lessons he had requested.
Sex was another matter altogether.
Even though he was clearly a "catch" by any normal standards, Frankie
was almost painfully shy around girls. While his pal Bob -- some six months
younger -- had had the apparent great fortune to be going steady with
Annette for almost two years now, Frankie had unhappily made do with a small
handful of disastrous dates. He had only managed to screw up the courage to
get to the kissing stage on one occasion, and he had felt so clumsy and
inept that he never tried again.
Hence, his most active hobby -- other than guitar practice -- was
masturbation. He was expert at pleasuring himself, and took every available
opportunity to manipulate and stimulate his thick, eight-inch cock. He knew
it was eight inches because he measured it regularly, yearning for further
growth. He understood, intellectually, that his sexual endowment was
substantially greater than that of most other guys his age. Even here,
however, he knew his friend had an edge on him. He had no idea what size
Bob's full-blown erection might be, but he had caught enough locker-room
glimpses over the years to know that -- even in its flaccid state -- his
friend's appendage was formidable.
Whatever -- Bob was his best friend in the world, and he loved him.
He had also been worrying about him since Saturday night. Bob had
seemed a bit disoriented after the fight with Annette -- and then he had
just disappeared from the Cellar Door without even saying goodbye.
Frankie had intentionally left him alone on Sunday, thinking that the
guy probably needed some time to himself.
This morning, waking early, he had decided to walk over to the Ballard
residence and try to catch Bob before he went to work -- hoping to make a
plan to get together later in the day.
The greeting he received at the back door had temporarily thrown him
off-guard -- Ian Ballard in his jockeys was a stupefying sight. Now,
following the younger boy into the kitchen, Frankie couldn't take his eyes
off the kid's butt -- fascinated by the play of flimsy white cotton against
hard, rolling muscle.
He waited by the sink and watched as Ian crossed the room to the
telephone.
Janis Joplin was wailing full blast on the radio.
"Hello? Yeah...sorry about that...what were you saying?" Ian spoke quietly
as he turned and leaned against the windowsill, his torso facing Frankie,
his head facing away, a hand covering his mouth in an attempt at preserving
some sort of conversational privacy. This provided Frankie the somewhat
strange (and unasked-for) opportunity to scrutinize the kid's physique
discreetly. From a distance of about 12 feet, he had a perfect view of the
handsome profile, the wide shoulders and the strong arms.
"Huh? What do you mean an accident?"
Frankie noted how Ian absentmindedly stroked his pink nipples as he
spoke -- saw how they stood out firmly from the broad pectoral muscles.
His gaze wandered down across the chest, registered the hard, clearly
delineated abdominal muscles, the feathering of dark hair around the navel
leading down to...holy shit...
"Bike? He never rides a bike..."
Frankie was barely able to believe his eyes, as he witnessed how the
thin fabric of the jockeys strained against the size and weight of Ian's
cock and balls. Clearly, Bob was not the only Ballard with an overabundant
endowment.
"Oh...ok...yeah, sure -- I'll tell her..."
One of Ian's legs moved slightly, and Frankie watched, spellbound, as
the youth's sexual apparatus shifted inside the shorts. He could clearly see
the shape of the large head and the thick shaft, constrained as they were
within the soft fabric. His own cock suddenly twitched, and he forced
himself to look away from Ian.
He hardly dared breathe as he struggled inwardly with a confusion of
thoughts and urges he had never previously encountered.
"Sure...no problem..."
One of Ian's fingers began tracing a circle around his left nipple.
Helplessly, Frankie turned back and watched as the finger slowly teased its
way across the wide, hairless chest and down, down, down across the abs, the
bellybutton, still moving, circling, lightly, ever so unhurriedly down to
the waistband of the jockeys.
*************************
Frankie's presence in the room was distracting, and Ian was only
half-listening to his Uncle Chris -- something about his Dad falling off a
bike and getting scratched up, needing to stay in Boston a couple of extra
days.
Whatever -- Ian was battling the threat of an out-and-out resurgence of
his morning erection, while simultaneously enjoying the decidedly sexual
thrill of displaying his barely-clothed body before his brother's friend.
The situation felt highly charged and intimate, with Ian pretending not to
be aware that the older boy was staring at him, studying him.
Continuing the charade, he slipped the tip of his index finger under
the waistband of his shorts, loving the feel of warm skin against hard
muscle as he tilted his pelvis slightly upward. Now his fingernail was
gliding along the edge of his thick shaft, and he could feel the flesh
heating up as it expanded.
He sensed Frankie's discomfort, and it excited him, making him feel
oddly powerful.
Uncle Chris was saying goodbye.
"Ok...talk to you later..."
Ian hung up the phone and stood, withdrawing his finger from inside his
jockeys and letting his arms fall to his sides. Fully aware of the massive
protrusion of his barely covered cock and balls, he intentionally tilted his
pelvis forward as he crossed the room to where an increasingly uncomfortable
Frankie stood waiting, fidgeting nervously.
"So, what's up?" He stopped moving when he was scarcely a foot away
from the older boy, and placed his hands on his slim hips -- simultaneously
planting his feet wide apart and thrusting his crotch further forward.
"Jesus Christ, Ian...get dressed, would ya?" Frankie was looking Ian
directly in the eye, and Ian's heart sort of skipped a beat -- being so
close to the handsome guy while in this virtually naked state.
"Huh? What's wrong, Frankie? Am I making you nervous?" Ian was in
full-tease mode now, taking another small step, moving still closer to the
other boy.
"For fuck's sake..." almost desperate now, Frankie pushed him away hard
-- causing Ian to fall back against the edge of the kitchen table.
"YOW! OUCH! Fuck, man -- that hurt!"
"Well, smarten up then, Ian..."
"Fuck, alright, alright...jeez..." Ian was rubbing his butt where it had
smacked against the table. Now he pulled down the back of his underwear to
check for damage, but couldn't really see much from this angle. Turning
around, he presented his tight, bare ass to Frankie. "Do I have a bruise?"
"You fucking little asshole!" Frankie roared and lunged for his
tormentor.
Laughing now, Ian eluded the older boy, running around the table.
Frankie followed in livid pursuit, chasing Ian twice around the table,
then up the stairs, through the short hallway and into the boys' bedroom --
tackling the kid as they fell onto his bed. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!"
Ian was laughing hysterically as the struggle continued, thrilled by
the weight of Frankie's strong body pressing against his own. He grabbed
Frankie's hard, denim-clad butt with both hands, forcing the guy's crotch to
push forward.
"Hooooo-wee!" Ian, still laughing, thrust his groin upward against
Frankie's -- but the fabric of his jockeys somehow tangled up with the catch
of the older boy's belt buckle causing his underwear to twist and slip.
His hard cock sprang free through a leg-hole, and he instantly began
thrusting it against the rough denim of Frankie's jeans.
"You fucking little pervert!" Frankie jumped up off the bed and,
breathing heavily, stared and pointed at Ian's huge, throbbing, dripping
member -- unable to take his eyes off it as it stood heaving and waving in
the air. "What the fuck is this?" he sputtered.
"It's a fucking morning hard-on -- ok?" Ian was still laughing, but a
bit nervously now. Frankie seemed truly upset. Ian began to wonder whether
he had pushed the situation a little too far. Still -- never one to back
away from a potential opportunity -- he decided to press on just a little
further. "Looks like you've got the same problem yourself..." he said,
pointing to the growing bulge in Frankie's jeans.
"Aw, fuck," Frankie shook his head miserably, "just fucking get
dressed, would ya?"
"Yeah, yeah, alright..." Ian got up slowly from the bed, cock bobbing and
swaying heavily before him. He deliberately took his time as he crossed the
room to his dresser, angling his torso so he was giving Frankie constant
visual access to his achingly hard erection.
As he began to rifle through his top drawer, he could see from the
corner of his eye that the older boy was staring at his cock again. The
tension in the room only heightened his excitement, and he decided to try to
prolong to moment.
He found his tightest little white muscle shirt, and began pulling it
on. When it was about halfway on -- just at that point when his face was
covered and his arms stretched over his head -- he turned slightly, so that
his body pointed directly at Frankie, and clenched his ass muscles, causing
his cock to jump.
Hearing a little gasp from Frankie, he grinned to himself and continued
pulling t-shirt on.
"Gee, Ian, do you think you could move any slower?" Frankie managed to
mutter, as he sat heavily on the edge of Ian's bed, turning away and staring
out the window.
"Hey, gimme a break. I just woke up, ok?" Ian pulled down his
piss-stained jockeys, completely freeing his shaft -- which immediately
whacked back against his pelvis with a resounding slap.
Frankie turned at the sound, and Ian tossed his underwear directly at
the 18-year-old's face.
"Aw, fuck -- gross!" Frankie snatched the garment from his face and
hurled it back at Ian, who was laughing uncontrollably again -- delighted at
this little game.
He threw the shorts into the laundry hamper, turned back to the dresser
and began searching through his underwear drawer -- while wiggling his
creamy-skinned butt provocatively in Frankie's direction.
"Nice ass, eh Frankie?"
"Man, you are fucked up..."
"Mmmmmm...sorry...I'm just so fucking horny today..."
Ian found what he had been searching for -- an old pair of jockeys from
a couple of years ago, several sizes too small. He grinned wickedly as he
pulled them on, sensing the fabric of the undersized shorts threatening to
rip apart.
Turning to face Frankie again, he forced the briefs up over his hips,
grabbing his dripping shaft with one fist, attempting to angle it so that it
would somehow fit within the confines of the tiny garment. The position was
actually painful, and he felt a perverse pleasure from the effort --
guessing that the visual effect would be absolutely, wholly obscene.
"There...I'm dressed. Is that better?"
Frankie was speechless for a moment as Ian walked across the few feet
of floor that separated them.
Ian was scarcely able to breath; the discomfort of his unnaturally
angled erection was so intense. Every step sent a jolt of excruciating agony
through his body, but he forced himself to keep moving until he was standing
directly in front of Frankie.
The older boy remained frozen in his sitting position, and was now
openly staring at Ian's massive manhood; he could hardly avoid it, as it was
mere inches away from his face. The frail fabric of the shorts was already
soaked through with pre-cum, making the shape and size of the throbbing,
painfully restrained shaft and head all too clear.
Ian clenched his ass muscles again and almost passed out from the
torturous anguish as his cock lurched within its intentionally awkward
incarceration. He wanted to scream in delirious pleasure/pain. He heard
Frankie's labored breathing and felt the exhaled air warming the dampened
fabric that clung to his throbbing shaft.
He clenched his butt again. His manhood surged rudely in response.
"Fuck..." Frankie whispered, barely audibly, as the iron-hard organ
jerked again, stretching out and nearly rending the thin fabric. "It's
fucking huge."
"Yeah," Ian struggled to breathe evenly as he raised his arms high and
clenched his fists together behind his head, digging his nails into his
palms to distract himself from the torment in his groin -- it felt as though
the thick shaft might snap in two if he didn't release it soon. "I know." He
was actually grimacing now, as a pure burning agony steadily overtook the
oddly pleasurable sensation. "It kinda hurts..." and with all of his remaining
self-control, he stretched his torso out fully, spread his muscled thighs
wide and tightened his butt once again while shoving his crotch forward so
that it was nearly touching Frankie's face, "it's really hurting me,
Frankie..."
"What do you mean?"
"It's too hard...," he reminded himself to keep breathing, "It doesn't
fit in my underwear right..."
"So," Frankie was lost now, blatantly studying the fabric-covered
marvel, "what are you gonna do?"
"I don't know. But it really, really hurts," Ian clenched his jaw,
gasping short jagged breaths. He looked down and saw that Frankie's cock was
now obviously hard within his jeans. "I think I might have to take it
out...will you freak out if I take it out?"
"Like, um, you mean out of your underwear?"
"Yeah...please? It feels like it might break or something..."
"Oh -- wow -- fuck -- yeah, man. I mean, sure...I guess that's cool..."
"Ok...here goes..." Ian sensed this was the make-or-break moment, so as he
lowered the ill-fitting jockeys with one hand he kept a tight grip on his
penis with the other hand -- wanting to keep the large, pulsing organ as
close as possible to Frankie's face, yet guiding it carefully so that it
would not accidentally touch the other teen. That would definitely freak him
out. Once he had restored it to its natural upright position, he released it
and heaved a sigh of relief as it stood at attention, quivering, dripping
pre-cum, but free. "Phew...that's better..."
"Fuck..."
"What?" somewhat emboldened now, Ian clenched his butt again, causing
the hefty shaft to jump once more and forcing more pre-cum to ooze out of
the slightly gaping slit of the gleaming cock-head.
"I...I don't know...um..." Frankie struggled to speak coherently as he
continued to stare at the raging phallus, "fuck...ok...how fucking big IS that
thing anyway?"
"What do you mean?" hands on hips now, Ian subtly thrust his pelvis
forward, edging ever closer to Frankie's face.
"Um -- I mean, like -- inches -- how long is it?"
"Huh..." clench, jump, "uh...I don't really know..."
"Fuck...uh...haven't you ever, um...you know...measured it?"
"Mmmm, no...why?"
"Uh, nothing...I mean...it doesn't matter..."
"Hmmm..." clench, jump, dripping pre-cum -- Ian studied Frankie studying
his manhood, red-faced, actually perspiring a bit now, "have you measured
yours?"
"Uh," squirming a bit, embarrassed, and deeply conflicted, "yeah...once
or twice..."
"Cool...how big is it?" edging in closer still.
"Um, like, eight inches, I guess...eight-and-a-half if I'm really, really
horny..."
"Cool..." jump, jump, jump, pushing the moment, "are you really, really
horny right now?"
"Uh..." Frankie was breathing quickly, shallowly.
"Show me."
"Fuck..."
"Come on...it's only fair..."
"Oh, man..."
"Come on, Frankie..."
"Aw, shit..."
Still sitting, Frankie remained immobile for a moment, and then --
hesitantly, cautiously -- reached down and began unbuckling his belt.
"Stand up," Ian stepped back, once the belt was undone, allowing the
other boy to rise.
As they stood there, virtually eye-to-eye, Frankie looked at him
questioningly. "This is really fucked up, Ian"
"Do I have to do it for you?"
"Huh?"
Without speaking another word, Ian reached out and unbuttoned the
waistband of Frankie's jeans. He felt the power of the young man's hard abs
pressing against the back of his fingers as he slipped his left hand inside,
behind the fabric. He maintained eye contact with the handsome, slightly
taller teen as he fumbled for the zipper with his right hand. Forcing
himself to remain calm, he slowly pulled downward and the tightly fitting
jeans sprang open.
****************
*Chapter 23*
When he unlocked the door and let himself in to Roberts' Cameras, the
first thing Bob noticed was the loud music.
"...Never can say goodbye, no, no, no..."
That's weird -- he thought. Mr. Roberts must have left the radio on by
mistake on Saturday.
The second thing he noticed was a strange noise -- like moaning or
grunting or something.
Alarmed, he froze for a second. What was going on? Had someone broken
in? Who? Why?
Focusing now, he determined that the sounds appeared to be coming from
the darkroom at the back of the shop. Seeing that the door was slightly
ajar, he screwed up his courage and quietly tiptoed closer, closer, closer
-- until he was standing just outside the little room. Carefully, he pushed
the door open.
It took him a moment to register what he saw, so astonishing was the
sight.
Mr. Roberts was on the far side of the room -- which was not all that
far away, really -- eyes closed, naked from the waist down, surrounded by
stacks of 8x10s, furiously stroking his impressively-sized dick.
Wow.
Holy fuck.
Bob had no idea what to do, so at first he did nothing -- except stare,
spellbound. His initiation into real sexual activity was so fresh and recent
that he had never seen a grown man's erection before. In fact, he had never
thought of masturbation as something a grown man might do -- never mind a
grownup and married man. It had also never occurred to him to think of Mr.
Roberts as a sexual being.
Funny how that works.
He had also never really noticed that the guy was actually quite
handsome.
"Awwwww...fuck..." Paul was groaning aloud again, pounding his cock harder.
"...Every time I think I've had enough and start heading for the door..."
the Jackson 5 grooved on...
Heart pounding, Bob quietly stepped toward the man, little by little
tiptoeing around the table.
As he moved closer, he could see that a dripping layer of pre-cum
coated Mr. Roberts's hand. He also realized for the first time that his
boss's cock was uncircumcised.
For some reason, this excited him, and now Bob's own shaft was fully
hard again, aching for relief.
"Ohhhhh, god..." the young photographer's legs bent, thighs straining,
pelvis thrusting.
Closer and closer -- Bob was only a few feet away now, standing
directly in front of his breathless, moaning boss, staring at the
fully-engorged, shimmering flesh-column, the punishing fist flying up and
down the length. He was close enough to touch it. The thought made him
salivate; he wanted to feel the heat of that rock-hard, burning manhood,
taste the glistening pre-cum.
His glance darted over to one of the piles of photos.
What the fuck...
That's me!
"Aaaaaaaaaggghhhh!"
The sound of Paul's primal howl drew Bob's attention back just in time
to witness the first massive discharge of hot cum blasting from the man's
cock.
"Fuuuuuuuuccckkk..." the semen shot through the air between them,
splattering on Bob's face -- shot again -- in his hair -- and again -- on
his shirt, his jeans -- still, it kept shooting. His own cock was thumping,
throbbing in his tight jockeys, trapped balls so frustrated and aching he
could hardly breathe.
The fresh cum slowly dripped down his face, onto his upper lip. He
opened his mouth to lick it.
"JESUS!" Paul's hand flew away from his convulsing shaft. For a brief
moment the 28-year-old man and the 17-year-old youth froze, staring into
each other's eyes in alarm and confusion.
"FUCK!" Scrambling to reorient himself, the photographer clumsily
reached down to pull up his pants. Bob could see that the man's thick, hard
cock was still pulsing, pumping -- shooting and oozing the last of his hot
juices.
"Uh, fuck, I...I'm s-sorry, Mr. Roberts...I...I should have knocked...I just..."
"Jesus Christ, Bob...fuck..." Fully dressed again, Paul turned away from
Bob and faced the wall, breathing heavily, shoulders heaving, and head
shaking.
Staring at his boss's heaving back, Bob quickly wiped his hand across
his face and clothing, gathering up all the traces of fresh semen. He held
the dripping fingertips to his nostrils and inhaled deeply, savoring the
intoxicating odors. Now his lips parted, and he tasted the warm viscous
substance, licking, sucking, swallowing all of it, and loving the sensations
as it gradually coated his mouth and throat. With his other hand, he roughly
groped at his own crotch through his tight denims, desperately squeezing his
aggravated erection.
He really, really needed to cum now.
The air in the room was thick with the smell of sex and the sound of
Paul's ragged breathing.
"Bob," still facing the wall, the young man finally began to speak in a
hushed, measured tone, "I, um, I think you'd better take the day off.
Please."
"But, Mr. Roberts..."
"Please, Bob. Go away. Leave. Now!"
****************
*Chapter 24*
The radio was still blasting when he walked into the kitchen.
He had a single purpose as he strode through the room; jerk off and
cum.
He had already peeled his shirt off when he started up the stairs.
Ian's probably still asleep, he smirked, as he started undoing his
jeans.
He sighed in blessed relief as he released his screaming hard-on from
its denim prison.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped for a moment and just stared
at his pulsing manhood, fascinated. It was almost vibrating, electric with
the power of sexual craving.
That's when he heard the voices.
"This is really fucked up, Ian"
"Do I have to do it for you?"
"Huh?"
Then there was silence.
Bob froze.
Ian was obviously awake, and talking to somebody in the bedroom.
Who?
What the fuck was going on?
Bob tiptoed the rest of the way to the shared bedroom and slowly,
carefully turned the doorknob.
As the door swung open, he saw the full-length profiles of his brother,
Ian, and his best friend, Frankie, in silhouette as they stood facing each
other before the bedroom window.
Adding to this initial shock, he saw that -- other than a skintight
white muscle-shirt -- Ian was completely naked and sporting a full-blown,
dripping hard-on.
The next thing he registered was that Ian's right hand was holding
Frankie's cock, which was also brutally erect.
Then he realized that both of the other boys were standing stock-still,
staring at him -- or, more specifically, at his massively swollen shaft.
There was a long moment of stunned silence in the sexually charged
room.
"Aw, fuck," Frankie spoke first, almost moaning in mortification.
More silence.
"Jesus, Ian..." Bob mumbled, shaking his head.
"Oops," Ian stifled a giggle as he finally remembered to let go of
Frankie's cock.
The silence returned, as the three teens remained frozen in a sort of
oversexed, suspended animation.
"'OOPS?'", Bob finally repeated, head shaking in disbelief, "did you
say 'OOPS'?"
At that, Ian lost whatever shred of self-control he had been grasping
onto, and fell back on his bed, laughing hysterically. Bob and Frankie
stared at the kid as he wrapped his arms around his convulsing shoulders,
watching as his enormous erection slapped repeatedly against his quivering
belly, spreading a trail of shiny pre-cum across the firm, hairless abs.
As he scrambled to make sense of the freaky scenario, Bob
surreptitiously glanced over at his best friend, and noted that Frankie was
still sporting a full hard-on.
What the hell had been going on here?
"Aw, fuck," Frankie muttered, in pure shame and dismay, "I'm getting
out of here. I'm so sorry, man. Fuck."
"Hey, Frankie, hold on...don't worry about it, man," Bob said, thinking
quickly, "Everything's cool. I know what a freak Ian can be sometimes."
Frankie turned and looked into his eyes somewhat apprehensively.
Ian's laughing fit slowed down to a relatively controlled gasping.
Bob decided to act first, and ask questions later.
"Well," he said, "I don't know about you guys, but if I don't jerk off
soon, I'm going to fucking explode. I mean it. Look at this thing!" He
roughly gripped the base of his shuddering man-flesh, "I've been holding off
all morning. If I don't get off soon, I'm gonna fucking go crazy."
Now the other two boys were both openly staring at his cock again. He
decided that it was now or never.
"Come on, you assholes. Let's just get it over with."
He turned and led the way to his side of the room, confident that the
other two boys would follow. The role of leader suited him just fine, and he
wore it well.
"Ok, strip!"
Ian instantly tore off his little t-shirt, and was now stark naked,
grinning while his bone-hard cock swayed heavily before him.
Frankie hesitated, still staring at Bob skeptically.
"What are you waiting for, Frankie?" Bob asked, as he removed his own
jeans, "We can already see your fucking hard-on."
"Aw, fuck," Frankie rolled his eyes and slowly began to undress. As he
removed his shirt and sandals, he studiously avoided eye contact with the
two Ballard brothers. He turned his back to them as he bent over to pull
down his jeans.
Ian gave out a low whistle. "Nice ass, Frankie."
Frankie whipped around quickly, and saw that Bob and Ian were lying
down at opposite ends of the bed, leaving a space for him in the middle.
They had both already begun stroking their massive dicks.
"You're a fucking cunt, Ian," Frankie muttered, as he glared at the
impossibly beautiful 16-year-old.
"Come on, Frankie," Bob gestured at the empty space on the bed," just
ignore him."
Bob was stroking the length of his organ very lightly and cautiously
with his thumb and middle finger. He had been so horny for so many hours
that day, that he knew he might go off at any second. This unexpected
scenario only heightened his aching need -- but as much as it thrilled him,
he also wanted to make it last as long as possible.
He stifled a sigh as Frankie lay down on the bed between him and Ian.
He watched as Frankie took hold of his own blood-engorged manhood and began
tentatively stroking.
Bob found the heat of his friend's naked flesh next to him weirdly
exciting.
The only sound in the room was the music wafting up from the kitchen
radio, and the heavy breathing of the three young men as, side-by-side, they
each quietly pleasured themselves, stroking, massaging and teasing their
throbbing, hypersensitive phalluses.
"Hey, Bob," Frankie spoke quietly, breaking the silence.
"What?" Bob sort half-grunted, as he lightly circled a fingertip around
his overripe cock-head.
"Do you guys have any, you know, lotion or anything?"
"What do you mean?" Bob slid his finger through the pool of pre-cum in
his cock-slit.
"Um, I usually use my Mom's hand lotion or something like that, when
I'm jerking off."
"Seriously?" he began spreading the fluid across his cock-head,
shuddering slightly in response.
"Yeah. Haven't you ever tried it?"
"Um, no," intrigued now, Bob continued, "what's it feel like?"
"Really, really fucking good."
Silent up until now, Ian suddenly popped up into a sitting position.
"Hey, Mom's got some of that stuff down in the bathroom. Should I go get
it?"
"Sure," Bob replied. "Hurry up, though."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Ian jumped up and ran out of the room.
Now Bob and Frankie were alone, naked together on the bed.
"Wow." Frankie said, "This is kind of weird, huh?"
"Yeah, it is."
The two old friends fell silent once more, each boy stroking his own
hard penis.
"Hey, Bob?" Frankie spoke again.
"Yeah?"
"Do you jerk off a lot?"
"Yeah."
"Even when you were seeing Annette?"
"Yup."
"But you must have fucked her all the time."
"Um, honestly, no. She wouldn't let me."
"Oh, man, are you serious? I always assumed..."
"Yeah, I know."
"Wow."
The silence returned for a moment, and Bob was aware that he wanted to
be even closer to his friend -- to touch him. Again, he slowed down his
stroking, in a further effort to prolong the peculiarly magical intimacy.
"So," Frankie continued, "even if you weren't actually fucking her, you
must have fooled around a lot -- I mean, like, playing with her tits and
stuff..."
"Yeah, sometimes."
"...and, like necking and kissing..."
"Well, yeah, of course. But you've done that shit before."
"Um...well, no, actually. Not really."
Bob got up onto his elbows and looked Frankie in the eyes. "Are you
serious?"
Frankie shrugged, half-smirked and nodded, "Unfortunately...yeah."
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Are you telling me you've never even kissed a girl?"
"Well, I tried once, but it was really bad. Fuck, man, I don't even
know HOW to kiss a girl."
Bob stared at his pal in pure disbelief. How could he have known
Frankie for so long, and not have been aware of this crazy, basic fact of
his life? Then, it came to him -- the idea -- as clear as could be. The
simplicity of it almost overwhelmed him.
"Frankie, man, kissing is fucking amazing -- and it's easy," Bob
hesitated for an instant. This was going to be the make-or-break moment.
"Want me to show you?"
Frankie half frowned as he looked into Bob's eyes. "Huh?"
"Fuck off and do what I tell you. Ok. First, close your eyes."
Frankie closed his eyes.
"Oh, yeah, and keep stroking your cock."
Frankie kept stroking his cock.
"Ok. Now, relax your mouth. Let it fall open a little -- nice and
easy."
Frankie's lips parted slightly, and Bob's heart leaped a little at his
friend's sudden vulnerability.
"Ok, Frankie," Bob was whispering now, "Try to stay relaxed, and just
do whatever I do."
As he hovered over his best friend's beautiful face, Bob hesitated one
last time. This was nuts.
Fuck.
He moved in closer, and then, suddenly, his lips ever so lightly
touched the warm softness of Frankie's lips. He felt Frankie's breath as it
melded with his own. He turned his head slightly from one side to the other,
and trembled a bit as his flesh danced across the fullness of his friend's.
Gently, gently, he extended the tip of his tongue and tasted, licking softly
at Frankie's virgin mouth.
Then he felt it.
Frankie's tongue.
Everything was suddenly an explosion of warm wetness, as the two teens
threw off any pretense of reserve, and hungrily made as if to devour one
another. Bob threw his arms around Frankie's strong torso, and thrust his
aching cock shamelessly against his friend's throbbing manhood, pumping hard
as their kiss deepened, their tongues, lips and teeth thrashing and gnashing
as their hard bodies intertwined, flailing about the bed.
"Holy fuck!"
At the sound of Ian's voice, Bob and Frankie scrambled to untangle
themselves, brows sweating, hearts hammering, chests pounding, cocks heaving
as they scurried to opposite ends of the bed.
"Sorry," Ian smirked, "am I interrupting something?"
"Fuck off, Ian," Bob said, trying to mask his deep embarrassment, "I
was just, uh, explaining some stuff to Frankie..."
"Really? You want to explain it to me too?" Ian looked directly into
his brother's eyes as he placed Trish's hand lotion on Bob's bedside table.
"Hey, man," Frankie said, completely flustered, "lay off your brother.
I was just asking him, um...asking him about, um..."
"Kissing," Bob interrupted, "he wanted to know about...oh, never mind."
Ian smiled wickedly as he stood before the two older teens -- head
cocked, arms folded, legs spread wide, big, thick penis swaying before him.
"Hmmm. Gee. Well, I think it's only fair that Frankie show me what he just
learned from my big brother. Don't you?"
Frankie turned to Bob, panicked.
Bob shrugged and threw his hands up in the air.
"Come on, Frankie," Ian said, "I'm waiting."
"Aw, fuck," Frankie grimaced, "alright. ...but if you ever tell anybody
about this, I swear I'll kill you. I'm not joking."
"Hmmm. Right. My lips are sealed...sort of..."
Frankie got up from the bed, and stood facing Ian.
Bob sat, watching as his friend squirmed in embarrassment.
"Fuck, alright Ian," Frankie said, "it was just about, like, ways to
kiss a girl..."
"Uh huh?"
"Yeah. Like this..."
Bob stared, fascinated, as Frankie placed his hands on Ian's shoulders
and pulled the younger boy closer to him. He saw how Frankie and Ian both
closed their eyes as their lips met. He glanced down and saw that Ian's big
cock was brushing against Frankie's flat belly. He watched as Ian placed his
hands on Frankie's butt, crushing their pelvises together. He heard a
muffled moan, but the kiss continued, and Bob wasn't sure if the sound had
come from his friend or his brother.
He suddenly realized that he was feeling a twinge of jealousy.
"Alright, Ian," he said, "That's enough."
Frankie pulled away from Ian, and, red-faced, gasping for air, turned
to face Bob.
"Wow," Ian said quietly.
"What?" Frankie asked.
"Oh, I don't know," Ian replied, "I guess it never crossed my mind that
you'd be such a great kisser."
"Fuck off."
"No, I'm serious," Ian continued. "Can I watch you guys do it again?"
Bob looked at Frankie again, and tried to gauge his expression. This
whole scene was so bizarre and confusing; he wasn't sure what to do or how
to react. Was this the beginning of a new phase in their friendship, or a
really fucked-up and twisted ending? He finally decided that, seeing as they
had gone this far, turning back was pointless. Nothing was ever going to be
the same, so he might as well take it as far as could can before they got to
the end.
"Get back over here, Frankie," Bob gestured for his pal to rejoin him
on the bed. As Frankie lay down beside him, Bob placed a hand tenderly on
either side of his face and began kissing him again. This time, there was no
tentativeness or shyness; the kiss was deep and loving, hot and wet. From
somewhere seemingly far away, Bob was aware of Ian's voice.
"Wow."
Then, opening his eyes slightly, Bob sensed a blur of motion, felt an
added heat, and he knew that Ian was joining them. He saw the top of Ian's
head at waist-level, felt and heard Frankie moaning, and knew that Ian was
sucking his friend's cock.
Suddenly, sputtering and panting, Frankie broke the kiss. "What the
fuck...?"
Bob pulled back and half-smiled at Frankie -- who in turn was staring
astonished at his own cock as Ian skillfully worked his lips and tongue over
it.
"Feel good, Frankie?" Bob asked.
"Fuck, man..."
"I guess this is your first blowjob."
"Fuck..."
Bob leaned over Frankie, kissing him again, smiling inwardly as his
friend moaned and writhed in ecstasy. He was aware of his brother's long
dark hair gliding silkily against his pelvis as Ian slowly worked up and
down Frankie's cock. Hornier than ever, Bob shifted so that his hard-on was
thrusting against the side of Ian's head.
Suddenly, a warm, velvet wetness enveloped the head of his cock. He
broke the kiss with Frankie again -- long enough to look down and see that
Ian had switched over, and was now sucking on his cock while slowly stroking
his buddy's shaft.
"Yeah, Ian," he muttered. "Fuck, that's good."
Now, Frankie raised his head just in time to see Ian squeeze the two
bulky erections together in his fists and attempt to fit both heads into his
hungry mouth.
"Aw, fuck," Frankie moaned.
The pulsing heat of Frankie's cock jammed up against his own triggered
waves of pre-orgasmic rushes through Bob's body. He didn't know how much
longer he could hold back. He grabbed Frankie's head with both hands and
pulled the boy to him, thrusting his tongue deeply into the soft, open lips,
just as Ian finally managed to devour both pre-cum streaming cock-heads.
Now Bob and Frankie were moaning aloud together, their voices
resonating within each other's heads as Ian's insatiable mouth threatened to
suck the hot blood right through the near-bursting skin of their burning
flesh-rods.
"FUCK!" Frankie screamed as he broke away, "I'M GONNA CUM!"
"FUCK, YEAH!" Bob hollered.
Ian instantly released both cocks and jumped off the bed.
"Oh, no, you're not!" he ordered. "Not yet!"
Bob and Frankie were stunned, astonished, lying side-by-side,
blood-reddened cocks heaving and dripping.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Ian," Bob struggled for breath, "What are you
doing? Fuck!"
"Oh, god, oh, god, oh my god..." Frankie seemed on the verge of weeping.
"Gee, guys," Ian was the picture of ingenuousness, "I just realized
that we forgot all about the hand lotion thing. You know, Frankie was gonna
show us..."
His voice trailed out and stopped mid-sentence, as he realized that the
other boys weren't really listening to him at all.
"Man," he started again, as he took in the vacant stares and the rigid,
gleaming sex organs, "you guys look like a couple of fucking horny zombies.
Fuck."
Bob, struggling to breathe normally, turned to Frankie. The two old
friends locked eyes as each attempted to think beyond the anguish of his
tormented cock, and sort through the moment.
"Frankie?" Bob finally spoke through gritted teeth.
"Yeah?" Frankie could barely speak above a whisper.
It was beyond eerie, being this close to Frankie, looking so deeply
into his eyes, feeling his breath, sharing such an extraordinarily intimate
moment. Wow, Bob thought in an instant of pure revelation, I really love
him.
"Um," Bob continued, cock twitching, jumping, "maybe you should just
show him whatever the thing is with the lotion..."
"Oh," Frankie murmured, still lost in Bob's eyes as an overpowering
tremor ran through his entire being, "yeah, sure, oh god..."
"Here, Frankie," Ian was holding the plastic container up to Frankie's
face. "So, what's the deal?"
Wordlessly, Frankie took the bottle, flipped open the top and turned it
over, expertly squeezing a thick line of the lotion along the length of his
broad, fiery shaft -- from the pulsating purple head all the way down to the
aching, constricted balls. Bob and Ian watched, rapt, as the boy sensuously
spread the lotion over his organ with his right hand, saw how his body
undulated with the fresh levels of pleasure, and heard him whimper
helplessly as he slid the palm of his hand over the newly slick, sensitive
crown.
"Cool," Ian said, as he reached for the bottle.
"Wow," said Bob, watching his friend give over to pure rapture. He then
turned to watch Ian applying the stuff to his oversized flesh-column.
"Oh, man," Ian said, still standing beside the bed, sliding a fist
slowly up and down the length of his lubricated shaft while handing the
bottle over to his brother, "this is fucking amazing."
Bob had just started to massage the lotion into his own erection, when
Ian spoke again.
"Oh, wow," the younger boy exclaimed, as he squeezed and stroked his
shaft with both fists, "I just figured out another thing you could do with
this stuff." He jumped on the bed, pushing his way in between Bob and
Frankie, reached for the plastic container again, and squeezed a generous
dollop onto his fingertips and said, "Watch this!"
As the other two watched, breathlessly stroking their rock-hard shafts,
Ian laid back, threw his long legs up so that his knees were by his
shoulders, and began massaging the lotion onto his pink asshole.
"Man," Frankie said, as he got up on his knees to get a better look,
"what the fuck are you doing?"
"Just watch," Ian replied, as he intensified the circular massaging
motion.
Now Bob was on his knees as well, and he and Frankie continued stroking
their cocks as they stared at Ian's moving fingers. His middle finger
started to focus directly on the tiny hole, and then suddenly Ian plunged it
right inside -- up to the second knuckle.
"Jesus," Frankie gasped.
Ian froze for a moment, and then began moving the finger within his
asshole -- in and out, round and round, moaning in a deeply guttural tone as
he stimulated his moist, secret insides. Though he was not touching his
erection at all, pre-cum was steadily seeping from his cock-head, forming an
expanding, glimmering pool on his tightly muscled belly. His cock jerked
abruptly as he slipped a second lubricated finger into his young body.
"Fuck," Frankie whispered, "you're fucking nuts, man. What are you
trying to do?"
"It's...it feels...ohhhhh...fucking...ungh...amazing," Ian struggled to speak.
"You...should try it."
"No fucking way, you freak," Frankie shot back.
Seeing that Ian's eyes were glazing over in sheer pleasure, Bob turned
his gaze to Frankie. His friend was obviously intrigued, despite the
protestations. "I'll help you, Frankie."
"Huh?"
"Lay down."
Frankie looked into Bob's eyes for a brief moment, and then, averting
his gaze completely, lay back on the bed beside Ian.
"Pull your legs back -- like Ian," Bob commanded.
Frankie closed his eyes, and did as Bob told him.
Now, Bob got up from the bed and stepped around so that he was standing
directly before Frankie's spread thighs. Ian lay to the immediate left, lost
in sexual bliss as he alternated between two and three fingers, shoving them
roughly into his asshole, penetrating himself repeatedly, moaning
senselessly, the pre-cum covering his belly now and beginning to drip down
his sides.
Bob coated his fingers with lotion, and then lightly touched the tips
to Frankie's rigidly clenched hole.
"Ugnh!" Frankie jerked back reflexively at the intimate contact.
"Shhhh," Bob spoke quietly, "relax. Keep stroking your cock Yeah,
that's better." As Frankie wrapped his fist around his thick man-meat and
resumed the rhythmic pumping, Bob began tenderly massaging the rosy, muscled
hole. "Yeah, Frankie...that's right...keep stroking...relax, breathe..." It looks so
sweet, he thought as he gently manipulated the virgin flesh, so pink and
clean and innocent. Frankie still had his eyes closed. Bob hesitated for a
moment, and then quietly bent down, flicking the tip of his tongue around
the periphery. Oh, man, that's good.
"Oh, fuck..." Frankie groaned.
Bob moved his head back quickly, replacing his tongue with a finger,
slowly circling, applying slightly more pressure. Seeing that Frankie's cock
was rock-hard, Bob decided to press on. With the pad of his index finger, he
teased the flesh immediately around the opening for another moment, and
then, carefully, slowly, began to push inward.
"Aaaaaughhh!" Frankie yelped. "FUCK! STOP!"
"Shhhh..." his finger was only in to the first knuckle, but Bob felt
Frankie's ass muscles constrict brutally around it, opposing the invasion."
Shhhhh...push back with your asshole...keep stroking..."
"FUUUUCK..."
Something gave way, and Bob's finger slipped in further, to the second
knuckle. As he began the tender exploration of Frankie's inner flesh,
feeling the warm, fluid silkiness, the unexpected vulnerability of his
handsome, strapping friend struck Bob once again. How could a guy be so
manly and so fragile at the same time?
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." This was a different sound coming from Frankie now.
"Feel better?"
"Mm-hmmmm...yeah..."
As he slid a second finger inside, Bob began stroking his own cock
again. He felt Frankie's hole relaxing, allowing him to move his fingers
around even more, penetrating deeper. The heat and the wetness excited him.
Without thinking, he pressed the purple head of his cock against the
opening, right beside his fingers. It would be so easy, just to slide it in
there. He pressed a little harder, and Frankie's flesh began to give way.
"Bob! What are you doing? No! Stop it!"
"Fuck," Bob pulled his cock back, instantly ashamed. "I'm sorry, man. I
don't know what I was thinking. Fuck...I'm so sorry."
"Where you trying to fuck him?" Ian piped up.
Except for the heavy breathing, the room was silent for a moment, as
Bob looked at his brother, then at Frankie, then back at his brother. He
felt terrible about losing control, but he still had two fingers buried deep
inside his friend's asshole, and his own cock -- after suffering hours of
frustration -- was demanding relief. He turned back to Frankie.
Frankie shook his head -- no. "I can't, man..."
"Hey, Frankie," Ian's voice was low and husky. Bob saw that he had the
index and middle fingers of both hands in his asshole now -- four in total,
stretching the little hole wider. "You can fuck me if you want."
Bob and Frankie both turned to look at the younger boy and saw his
sweat-beaded brow, his undulating torso and his big slab of horse-dick -- as
achingly hard as theirs. They heard the slight squishing, liquid sounds as
he plundered himself with his fingers.
"What?" Frankie asked incredulously.
"I'm serious. I want it. I want to feel it. Come on."
Frankie looked at Bob.
Bob shrugged as he withdrew his fingers from his friend's hole, stepped
back and said, "Go for it, Frankie."
Slowly, deliberately, Frankie got up from the bed and moved in between
Ian's widespread legs.
"You sure about this?" he asked, as he looked into the eyes of the
16-year-old who had been teasing and tormenting him since his arrival at the
Ballard home that morning.
"Yeah."
Bob watched as Ian slipped his fingers out of the hole, and then used
them to hold himself open for Frankie's entry. He watched as Frankie moved
in, pressed his big cock-head against the pink skin and then, with one great
shove, buried himself to the hilt in Ian's ass-flesh.
"YOWWWWWW!" Ian bellowed.
Suddenly, without warning, Frankie was a machine -- a mindless, brutal,
relentless jackhammer. Bob looked on in awe as the 18-year-old's heavy shaft
rammed his brother's hole mercilessly, pounding, hammering, pulling out,
driving in, faster, harder, faster, harder. Ian was groaning helplessly,
biting his lower lip as his head flopped back and forth like a rag doll, his
erection slapping against his torso with every hit, endless pre-cum spraying
everywhere. Bob scrambled back up onto the bed and squatted over Ian's head,
facing Frankie. He shoved his screamingly hard fuck-meat deep into his
brother's mouth, and reached for Frankie's head. Not caring about anything
anymore, he fucked Ian's throat hard, not hearing the muffled screams.
Ignoring the look of stunned horror sweeping over Frankie's face, he kissed
his friend ravenously, profoundly, tongue, lips, teeth everywhere. Frankie
was screaming inside his head -- or was it Ian? No. Frankie. Frankie was
cumming. Frankie was cumming and cumming. Cumming hard. Shooting and
shooting and shooting his burning spunk deep inside Ian's butt. Bob fucked
Ian's throat harder, faster, trying to catch up with his friend. Fuck, fuck,
fuck, fuck...hurry. Frankie was trying to push Bob away. Both of his hands
were on Bob's chest, pushing hard. Bob still fucking Ian's mouth. Hurry.
Hurry. Frankie shoved Bob hard, knocking him off his brother, and slamming
him against the wall. Frankie pulled out of Ian, big purple cock still hard,
still pumping, still shooting cum all over. Frankie was wild-eyed,
red-faced, drenched in sweat. Frankie was screaming, crying.
"NOOOOOOOOO! THIS IS FUCKED! FUUUUUUUUCK!"
************************************************************************
Frankie is scrambling for his clothes, getting dressed quickly,
carelessly. Frankie is running out the door.
Frankie.
Frankie is gone.
Running.
The two brothers can hear the pounding of his feet on the stairs as he
makes his escape, flying through the kitchen, slamming the door on his way
out to the street.
Bob is stunned.
The back of his head hurts, where it slammed against the wall.
Frankie ran.
Oh, fuck...
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
"Bob?"
Confused, weary, sad, he looks down at Ian. Ian. Ian, covered in drying
pre-cum and semen, long, dark hair tangled, drenched with sweat, a little
trace of blood at one corner of his luscious mouth, lying there like an old,
broken toy some kid has tossed aside.
"Yeah?"
Looking into his beautiful eyes. My beautiful little brother. My sweet
little man.
"Fuck me. Please, Bob. Fuck me."
Leaning in, leaning down so that his lips are right beside his
brother's ear.
Whispering.
"Only if you beg for it, pig."
Waiting.
Smelling the sex on the boy.
The hunger.
The fear.
"Please. Sir. Please fuck me with your big, hard cock. Sir. Please."
Sticking a finger in the boy's mouth.
Whispering.
"Suck."
Waiting.
"Suck harder."
Waiting.
"HARDER."
The kid is sucking as hard as he can, whimpering, whining.
Pulling the finger away.
Out.
The kid's lips are still sucking. Sucking air.
"You've been a bad boy."
"Yes, sir."
"A very, very bad boy."
"Yes, sir."
"You need to be punished."
"Yes, sir. Please, sir"
Thinking.
Thinking.
Moving to the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.
"Get on my lap."
The kid lies across his lap, face down.
Ian's belly has Bob's ragingly hard cock trapped, jammed up against the
younger boy's still-throbbing erection. The discomfort of the unnatural
position is somehow pleasing in its aggravation.
He looks at the creamy-skinned perfection of his brother's ass-cheeks.
He sees Frankie's semen seeping out of the pink hole.
This enrages him.
"You opened your hole for my friend's cock."
"Yes, sir."
SLAP.
"You wanted him to fuck you."
"Yes, sir."
SLAP.
"You wanted him to fuck you hard."
"Yes, sir."
SLAP.
"You're a fucking pig."
"Yes, sir."
SLAP.
"Slut"
"Sir."
SLAP.
"WHORE."
"Sir."
SLAP.
"CUNT."
"SIR."
SLAP. SLAP. SLAP.
"BITCH."
"SIR."
SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP.
The cheeks reddening now, the abused asshole releasing more and more of
Frankie's man-seed, as both brothers' frustrated cocks continue to leak
their boundless pre-cum, and one of Bob's eyes produces a single, salty
tear.
Reality.
"Faggot."
Silence.
"You're a fucking faggot."
"No."
"NO, WHAT?"
"No, SIR!"
SLAP!
"FAGGOT!"
"NO, SIR!"
SLAP!
"HOMO!"
"NO, SIR!"
SLAP!
"QUEER!"
SLAP!
"PANSY!"
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
"COCKSUCKING FUCKING QUEER-ASS HOMO FAG!"
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Crying.
Ian is crying.
Chest heaving, body-wracking weeping.
Bob, hand in mid-air, stops the physical abuse.
Ian is whispering, in a tiny, barely audible voice.
"Yes."
Bob waits.
"Yes."
"Yes? Yes, what?"
Waiting.
"Yes, I am."
"You are what?"
More sobbing.
"Yes, I am...a faggot. Yes, I am a homo. Yes, I am a pansy. Yes, I am a
queer...sir."
Bob finally sees, through the film of tears clouding his vision, the
damage he has wrought on his brother's flesh.
He senses, through the sound of pain that now fills the room, the
essence of the spirit he has come close to breaking.
He leans over and, with his powerful arms, he lifts his brother up,
raising him in the air, turning , and then, as cautiously as if he were
bearing fine crystal, lays the boy down on the bed, facing upward.
He bends down between his brother's spread thighs, and begins to lick
the thickening semen from his tortured asshole.
His friend's man-juice.
It tastes ambrosial.
He licks and sucks until the stuff fills his mouth, until it seeps from
the corners of his full lips. He climbs up until he is looking directly into
his brother's face. He moves to kiss his brother, parting his outrageously
sensual lips, and the viscous fluid cascades down into the younger boy's
waiting mouth.
They kiss.
They share the illicit bounty, the captured treasure.
He tilts his pelvis forward, and the tormented, blazing flesh of his
manhood, his blood-sword, his fuck-rod, his soul-hammer, slides into his
brother's liquid heat.
He licks the dried blood from his brother's lips.
He sinks deeper down into the welcoming, surging warmth, spreading the
youthful flesh with his unrelenting girth.
He tilts his head downward, and the swollen, leaking head of his
brother's cock is there. Right there. He moves his head only slightly, the
cock-head is inside his mouth, and he is sucking, tasting the free-flowing
man-juices, fucking the boy's hole and sucking his salty-sweet juices.
This is it.
Nothing can stop it now.
He feels like his head is about to explode.
Thrusting his pelvis so hard, his pubic bones smash against his
brother's sweetness. The pain, the longing, the hunger, the sweat, the
blood, the sucking, the fucking, the NEED TO CUM NEED TO CUM NEED TO CUM
NEED TO CUM. BROTHER'S CREAM, SEED, SPUNK, SEMEN FILLING HIS MOUTH.
POUNDING, POUNDING, POUNDING, FUCK HIS HOLE, FUCK HIS SWEET HOLE, FUCK HIS
HUNGRY, SLUTTY HOLE. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW.
Brother's cock is falling out of his mouth as his entire being spasms,
body-quake, eruption, volcano erupting through his cock. Fire. Cumming,
cumming, cumming, cumming, laughing, weeping, Brother's cock shooting more
cum in his face, his hair, his eyes, blinding him with salty, flaming cum,
marking him, branding him. Still, his cock is ramming endlessly, firing its
pent-up fury deep into his brother's bowels. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,
fuck you...
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...
Collapsing.
Falling.
Weak.
Nothing.
Empty.
Gone.
************************************************************************
Bob laid there for a long time, his cock buried deep in Ian's ass, his
chest pressed against his brother's broad chest, feeling the boy's heart
beat. He waited for his own heartbeat to slow down, for his cock to soften.
He was very aware of Ian's arms. They wrapped around his strong back,
holding him close, caressing him.
His nostrils were full of the scent of his brother's hair -- a vaguely
herbal smell, fresh, soft.
The kitchen radio was still playing.
"...on the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to
create a dream come true..."
The fucking Carpenters.
Fuck.
It was near noon when he finally spoke.
"Ian?'
"Uh-huh?"
"Don't ever leave me. Ok?"
"Ok."