Date: Thu, 29 Apr 1999 12:31:08 EDT
From: Roarrr201@aol.com
Subject: Family Fuck Part I

FAMILY FUCK

written by: Roarrr201@aol.com
All rights reserved. 


Warning: If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sex between men,
you should stop reading now.

This story is a fantasy. People frequently have unsafe sex in it (or to be
more precise: will have unsafe sex in further parts of this story) - please
don't feel encouraged to do the same. You might risk your life.


Family Fuck

Part I

Well, the whole thing started when I found his shirt on the floor in the
hall. It was lying in front of the door to the shover, dropped by him while
he had walked into the room. Behind the closed door you could hear him
humming some odd ditty, his voice deep-chested and throaty, accompanied by
the sound of the running water, and his shirt was lying there right in the
middle of the hall.

He was like that, you know, dropping things he didn't need anymore wherever
he walked or stood. Especially his clothes. He always started to undress
the second he entered the house and littered stairs, halls and thresholds
with his things, not givin' a damn if someone fell over them. My Dad had
called him a 'slut' because of this habit, but he had just laughed and went
on to leave things behind. He had me to tidy things up - he knew that.

It was his sweat shirt, one these gray things that turn dark when the
fabric is wet, and it was really sweaty because he had just come back from
his daily routine of running more than four miles up to the waterfront and
then back again. I had seem him leaving the house earlier on, as always
clad only in this slightly worn tee-shirt and in his black tights and as
always I had quickly looked away the second I saw him. Back then I was -
like so many other youngsters at the tender age of 16 - still pretty
prudish, you know, and I resented the way my uncle liked to show off his
body in public.

No, resentment is too weak a word to describe my feelings for uncle Bob, my
mum's younger brother - I had hated him from the moment he moved in with
us, with my Dad and me. We had been on our own for several months then. One
beautiful morning in spring that year Dad and me had woken up to find Lisa
gone - his not very loving wife and also my not very loving mum. She had
just packed up a few things and disappeared, leaving behind - besides a
heap of bad memories - only a slip of paper on which she had scribbled a
farewell to me and the sentence: 'For Frank: Should have done this years
ago, you bastard!' (all in capital letters, of course).

Well, we didn't miss her that much. Life is much easier when you don't have
to look after an alcoholic and paranoic - and that's what she was. Dad just
locked her remaining things away and never mentioned her again; I felt
relieved to be spared the constant fights between the two and got used to
the life without her very quickly. We got along very well although Dad
tended to be quite moody and brooding. But then Uncle Bob came to live with
us since he had got a job in the city and since we had a free room to
offer. Dad cheered up the moment he arrived, but I hated my uncle. You see,
I was one of those insecure, shy kids back then, hiding myself and my body
in over-sized shirts and loose-hanging, baggy pants and he was one of those
boisterous, the-devil-may-care guys with an easy attitude and tons of
self-confidence. Also, he had a great bod and he liked people to take
notice of him and all his muscles. And I hated that most of all.

I hated him for walking around bare-chested in the house and garden every
second the sun was out, proudly presenting his broad shoulders, his
bulging, hairy pecs and the rippling muscles of his flat stomach to the
world; I hated him for wearing tight cut-offs even on chilly days, annoying
me with the sight of his thick, heavily muscled thighs and strong calves
that were - like his arms - so generously covered with jet-black, shining
hairs; but most of all I resented his running tights: they were tight,
really very, very tight, you know, and there couldn't be a shadow of a
doubt that he was not wearing a jock-strap or any other kind of underwear
under those shorts. At his back the thin fabric clung so tightly to his
buttocks that you could see his taut, well-rounded ass-cheeks rising,
flexing and dimpling with every step he walked. The front was - of course -
even worse: the black, flexible material clearly outlined his huge balls
and the thick shaft of his dick, sneaking down to the left in a meaty arch
over his more than impressive, lemon-sized nuts that tented the shorts and
stretched the fabric to the limit just as much as his fat cock. I turned
crimson-red every time I saw this obscene and agressive display of his
"private parts" and I wondered if the neighbors took offence or just
laughed at this sight, but both possiblities embarrassed me immensely.

This day things had been particulary bad: sitting at the kitchen-table I
had had a full frontal view of him while he walked past me to the
back-door. I had looked up from the newspaper just as he suddenly, silently
entered the room. My face was at the same level as his crotch and so I had
found myself staring right at his thinly covered dick. Of course I quickly
reverted my eyes but still I couldn't help but notice that you could even
see the outlines of the mushroom-shaped cockhead that capped the length of
his meaty rod. Balls and cock seemed ready to brust through the
well-stretched fabric. As usually he had just nodded to me with a faint,
condescending smile on his lips; as usually I had blushed like an idiot and
grunted something unintelligible while I starred down on the paper in front
of me.

And then the door had burst open again right after he had left. Cursing at
him under my breath I got up to close it and guess what I had seen when I
reached the door - I had starred right at his up-turned ass because he was
still on the porch and had bent down to re-adjust the laces. His hard,
perfectly moulded buttocks seemed to be literally thrust 'into my face' and
for the fraction of a second my eyes had roamed over those full,
high-riding buns, covered only by the thin black fabric, and over the
well-stretched seam that ran down right over the cleft between his muscular
ass-cheeks. The seam too looked like it would rip apart any second and in
my mind I had seen it happening: I saw how the worn fabric tore apart and
gave way, saw myself staring down into the deep crevice that separated
those two strong, taut buns. I imagined his ass to be as hairy as his arms,
chest and legs and so I pictured his ass crack as a dark precipice, filled
with black, wiry hair that looked even darker than the hair on the rest of
his body because of all the sweat that gathered there while he worked out
and so the hair hid the clamping, puckered hole that was at the bottom of
this meaty cleft....  Suddenly I had felt a big lump in my dry throat and I
slammed the door shut with brute force while a white-heated anger welled up
in me.

Or at least I had told myself that it was anger.

And then, not an hour later on, I found his shirt in the hall while he was
standig under the shower.

I picked it up gingerly, softly swearing at him again, and made ready to
carry it off to the dirty clothes basket but then something stopped me
short in my tracks. I froze and stood motionless in the empty hall for long
moments in the rays of sunlight that filtered through the shades, holding
the shirt in front of me with slightly out-stretched arms, gazing down on
it, and my mind went completely blank while I listened to his voice that
was husky and soft behind the closed door. Occasionally it was drowned by
the sound of the running water or he left out a few of the notes of the
song and then started again. And suddenly the lump was back in my throat
and I realized that my heart was racing like mad and that I had started to
sweat too.

The shirt felt hot and damp in my hands at the same time: hot because the
heat of his body was still in it, damp because it was soaked with his
sweat. I turned it slowly around in my hands and noticed that his body -
that strong, hairy, all-male body - had left an amazing variety of marks on
the fabric: those two elongated stains that were clearly separated by an
equally long dry patch had set atop of his heavily muscled back and his
spine; at the front the lines and spots of light and dark gray told you
everything about the shape of his collarbones and the size and curve of his
large, meaty pectorals; even the six-pack on his flat, hard stomach had
left a blurred mark on the worn fabric. In a crude way the shirt resembled
Veronica's veil that I had seen depicted on a pious painting in the church
and I held the cloth in my hands just as reverently as the saint on this
naive piece of religious art.

And there were of course the two very large stains under the arms, where
the material was really soaked - soaked with his sweat. My fingers traced
over the dark spots and I shivered as the fluid coated the sensitive skin
on my palm and fingertips. My breathing became somewhat strained and my
whole body became alive with strange and indecribable feelings; my flesh
prickled with electric excitement and fear, my cock twitched in my baggy
boxers. Slowly I raised the cloth to my face and then everything in me
flipped over and I realized that my dick got hard and harder, that it
swelled with almost painful rapidity and intensity with every inch my hands
and the shirt approached my nose.

I inhaled slowly and my mind reeled as the smell - his smell - got more and
more intense and then my face was buried in the damp, hot fabric and I took
the deepest breath in my whole life and filled my nostrils and my lungs
with the heady scent of my uncle's sweat. And that did it for me: my dick,
tucked securely away inside my shorts, was rockhard, harder and thicker
then ever before, engorged to almost agonizing dimensions, and it throbbed
with uncontrollable excitement and leaked with pre-cum like a broken
faucet, coating my belly and staining my boxers. The salty, acrid smell was
so strong that I was about to swoon and I breathed out slowly while my
knees buggled. A small voice in my mind said something like 'stop this!
stop this right now!', but I knew that I was lost, that I had to do it
again and so I inhaled again, this time more slowly, pleasurably, with the
utmost enjoyment, almost methodically, eager not to miss a single one of
all the atoms that contributed to this mind-boggling, male scent and I felt
the thickness of my throbbing erection, confined in my pants, and heard
myself groan, the sound stiffled since the shirt was all over my face, and
suddenly, acting on impulse, I opened my mouth and my tongue came out and I
licked at the soaked fabric, running my tongue over the damp, hot stains
again and again, until I had the taste of this man in my mouth, on my
tongue. It was even better than the smell, still more intense, more salty,
still more male and then I took some parts of the shirt in my mouth and
started to chew on it, soaking it with my spit, so that all of his sweat
would be washed into my mouth, so that I could gulp it down. I heard myself
groan again deep in my heaving chest and realized that I had begun to
thurst my pelvis forwards, looking for something that I could press into my
lap and rub against my achingly hard, jerking dick, something that would
make me cum. And I wanted to cum - right then and there. Automatically one
of my hands came down and I pressed it against my bulging crotch and
squeezed my throbbing dick hard with strong fingers.

But then the water stopped running behind the closed door and I heard that
Uncle Bob stepped out of the shover. Of course I panicked and ran away,
seeking shelter in my room.

But I didn't let go of the shirt.

In my room I threw myself down on the bed and tried to catch my breath. I
also tried to make sense of what had happened to me during the preceeding
minutes but somehow I couldn't think straight however hard I tried. The
smell - his smell - was still in my nostrils and on my hands, it seemed to
surround me, to fill the room, to become stronger and stronger,
suffocatingly strong, maddeningly strong. And my hard-on was harder than
ever before. Looking down at my outstretched body I could see the huge
bulge at the front of my pants and I felt the thick shaft throb and jerk,
coating my belly with even more sticky pre-cum. I closed my eyes and tried
to concentrate on something that would distract me.

But that was not a good idea: suddenly images of Uncle Bob's body raced
through my mind, images I had stored there everytime I had seen a glimpse
of him, everytime he had walked around half naked in the house or in the
garden, everytime I had succesfully persuaded myself that I resented him
and the sight of his overpoweringly strong body. And now all these images
came back to me. I saw his broad shoulders, tapering down to his small
hips, his huge, bulging pecs, covered with that mat of thick, black hair,
glistening in the sun, his mighty biceps, shining with sweat, the hard
muscles of his flat stomach, his hairy, thick thighs and his elegantly
curved calves.

And I saw myself in front of this magnificent body and there was sweat
everywhere on the man, appearing on all these bulging, flexing muscles,
coating his skin, gathering in drops in the wiry hair on his chest, arms
and legs, running down in small rivulets in the thick mat of his chest
hair, encircling his tiny, hard nipples. cascading down over the rippling
six-pack on his flat stomach - and I was there to lick him clean, to lap up
all this male sweat, to scoop up this smelly fluid with my raspy tongue and
gulp it down until his body was shiny with my spit. And I pictured myself
doing this job, sticking my tongue out enthusiastically, my dick rockhard
between my trembling thighs, and I saw myself lapping at his goose-fleshed
skin, licking up large drop of sweat on his chest, running my outstretched
tongue over his stomach, dipping into his navel, kissing his sweat-dripping
balls, licking at his strong thighs, sucking at his sweat-drenched crotch
hair and at the hairs in his smelly, wet arm-pits, inhaling the scent of
his body again and again.

I also pictured his taut, deep-dimpling ass-cheeks, flexing and relaxing in
turns under the thin fabric of his tights and I saw his huge balls, so
tightly confined in his pants, tenting them in a really obscene way. And I
saw his dick, hidden from my eyes just by the thin, well-stretched fabric
of that tights, so fat and thick although it was still soft, moving a
little bit under the cloth with each of his steps, arching down to the side
with its own weight.... And I started to fantasize about my uncle's cock:
in my mind I saw it all hard and thick and fat, popping from his pants, a
mighty rod of a dick, throbbing and jerking erratically in his hand, the
huge, mushroom-shaped head bright red and slippery and shiny with oozing
pre-cum, smeared over the smooth, sensitive skin by his strong, hairy
fingers that held the pulsing shaft in a tight grip, squeezing it hard,
pumping it, milking it for more pre-cum, making it swell still harder and
thicker and fatter. And I pictured him cumming in front of me, shooting his
jism right in front of my face, me down on my knees before him, over-awed
by the sight of his mammoth cock, he towering above me, jerking himself to
a fast climax with quick strokes on the fat shaft, his balls swinging back
and forth between his wide-spread, hairy thighs, and then I saw the large
ovals draw close to their base and he froze, his head thrown back in a
silent cry of exctasy, holding the thick, pulsing shaft of his dick in a
steel-hard grip and then cum started to erupt out of the gaping piss-slit,
volleys of glittering white jism appeared, gushing forth like the fountain
of a geysir, shooting up, racing through the air, approaching me, flying
forward towards my face. I almost felt the impact of crashing globs of jism
on my cheek and on my heaving chest, hitting my skin, running down in a
small rivulet, coating my brow, my cheeks and neck with a thick layer of
hot, smelly cum... his cum... my hot uncle's cum... on my
face... everywhere on me...

And then the images changed and I saw myself, squatting on my heels again,
only this time my hands were on his strong hips and my mouth was spread
wide open, my head bobbing as I sought his giant dick and caught it with my
tongue and snaked it into my gaping mouth, thrusting forward until the
thick, throbbing shaft went deep down into my throat, until my nose was
buried in his pungent, smelly crotch-hair, until his big balls were pressed
against my chin and his spasming, jerking dick was buried to the hilt in my
tight-gripping mouth and my raspy tongue swirled and washed over the
hugeness of his throbbinh erection, sending a wave of excitement through
his powerful body, and I saw myself drawing back on the thick shaft that
forced my lips wide open, so wide open that my jaws ached and that the skin
at the corners of my mouth felt like it would tear apart, my neck craning,
my eyes unblinkingly open since I wanted to see every movement of his
rippling, bulging muscles, wanted to observe every fleeting expression on
his handsome face, longed to stare in his lust-glazed eyes while he began
to fuck my face, to drive his fat, hard dick back into my straining, aching
throat with one long, forceful lunge, pulling back quickly, only to shove
the huge rod back into me again... and again... and again...

And I pictured that my hands would be as busy as my mouth, stroking his
hairy body everywhere, kneading his heavily muscled thighs and taut
buttocks, measuring them with my palms, bouncing the impressive weight of
his huge balls on open hands, then closing my fingers around them in a
tight grip, pulling the sensitive oval gently down, squeezing them until he
would gasp and his hands would come down hard, clamping on my shoulders
while the movement of his hips took completely control of my hard-sucking
mouth, impaled by the throat-stretching fullness of his wildly jerking
cock, and he would start pumping with relentless energy, driving, fucking
harder and deeper into my wet, consuming mouth and throat, eager to shoot
his load into me.

And I saw myself wrapping my arms around his thrashing hips, holding him
close while I sucked hard, harder and yet harder, determined to make him
cum in my mouth like he had never cum before in his life, swirling my
tongue over the smooth skin of his rockhard, deep-driving dick with ever
increasing intensity, working at his throbbing manmeat like a maniac,
taking him all the way into my throat, tightening every possible muscles
and every sinewy to make him cum... cum in me...

While these images raced through my minds my hands searched for the shirt
that I had tossed aside on the bed. My heart jumped when my fingers met the
damp, smelly cloth again. Quickly I pulled it over my face and inhaled,
inhaled once again as deeply as I could. The scent was still overpowering,
intoxicating, and I sniffed and sniffed and sniffed again. At the same time
I fondled myself, stroking my tight-bound, seven inch hard-on through the
straining fabric of my pants, rubbing my flattened palm back and forth over
my throbbing erection. I had to cum, had to cum then and there.. on my
bed... with my uncle's stinky shirt spread over my face. Almost sobbing
with excitement I yanked my rockhard out of my pants, circling it with
trembling fingers and levering all of the seven hard, fat inches into the
open. The thick shaft jumped and jerked and seemed to swell up even more. I
groaned deep down in my chest and held the rod in my hand for a long moment
without moving, feeling its heat and the pulse of my blood in my palms
while I once again inhaled slowly, pleasurably the heady odor of my uncle's
sweat. Quickly I yanked my shirt up over my pecs with one hand, exposing my
stomach and chest, at the same time shoving my pants and boxers down to my
knees with the other hand, trembling goose-fleshed in the warm sun-light
that poured into the room.

I breathed deep and grobed my thick meat, wrapping a tight fist around the
base, squeezing the shaft hard. It jerked and twitched and I heard myself
moan. The image of my uncle's dick appeared once again in my mind, the
image of his giant fiery prod, convulsing, spasming, glistening with my
spit, deep-driving between my clamping lips, battling with my stroking
tongue for room in my wet mouth, ready to explode with a roaring torrent of
cum right on my tongue and I raised my hand to mouth, cupped it, and spit a
generous glob of slimy saliva into my palm and then I lowered my hand again
and wrapped it around my dick again, smearing the hot lubricant over the
sensitive, steel-hard shaft. I moaned again and my hips thrust upwards,
wanting more of that good, wet feeling, making my dick all slickly juiced
up and then I started to jack off with rapid, long strokes, becoming hotter
and hotter with each of the tight-fisted movement up and down the thick,
pulsing shaft.

With my free hand I pressed my uncle's smelly shirt down on my face,
inhaling deeply, delighting in the strong, heady scent, groaning with
excitement, my eyes tightly shut, seeing in my mind the image of my uncle
who drove his hard dick deep down into my straining mouth with relentless
force. I pictured him trembling with the agony of cumming in my
hard-sucking mouth, whimpering with lust, his hard muscles frozen and shiny
with dripping sweat, and I almost seemed to feel the first explosive spurt
of cum shooting out of the swollen, dilated lips of the cockhead, filling
my mouth to the point of overflowing, and I saw myself starting to gulp, to
drink down my uncle's cum while more of his jism erupted from his throbbing
dick, while volley after volley of his cum washed thickly and creamy into
my mouth.

My cock jerked in my hand while I licked over my lips again and again,
tasting my uncle's sweat and my own again and again. Pre-cum was leaking
all over the head and down the pulsing shaft. It was big, and hard, slimy
with spit and pre-cum, and hot, and I felt that I would cum in a few
moments like I had never cum before. My breath became fast and short and my
guts rolled with insatiable hunger for his hunk of a man, for my own uncle
who had conquered me just by leaving his smelly shirt behind. Words began
to form themselves in my head and began to say them, because they made me
even hotter then before and confirmed my overwhelming feeling. And so I
began a soft chant of filthy words, taking sniffs at the stinking shirt in
between, inhaling the mind-blowing smell of my uncle's sweat, my voice
shaking with excitement:

"Ohhh... this... this smells so good... so unbelievable good... I'm... so
hot... so unbelievable hot... I... can't... get enough of his smell...
your smell, uncle... want for of it... more of you... not just your
smell.... not just the stinking smell of your sweaty shirt... yeah, it's
good... very good... that's for sure... but it's not enough... not enough
for me... I want more, uncle... much more... want to lap at your
skin... yeah, want to lick your sweat right from your skin... from your
hairy pecs... from your hard, little tips when they drip with your
sweat... right out of your stinking arm-pits... want to chew on your smelly
crotch-hair... want to drive my tongue deep down into your damp, hairy
ass-crack... and lick up all the sweat that has gathered there... while you
were working out... in those tights... that tights that drove me mad
everytime I saw you wearing them... I want to lap with my tongue at your
clamping, sweaty asshole... stroking it... teasing it... and then shove my
tongue deep down into your ass... eat your ass out... with my
tongue... want you to fuck my face... hard and deep and fast... want you to
cum in my mouth... yeah, right in my mouth... want you to drown me with
your hot, slimy jism... so that I'm forced to gulp it down... gulp down
your sticky cum... milking your meat with my mouth... your rockhard
dick... in my mouth... pulsing... throbbing... spurting hot, boiling
cum... down into my throat... while your sweat drips down on me... on my
face... on my lips... that are locked around your giant dick... and right
at the same moment... right then... when you cum in me... when you give
your juice... all of it... right then... I will cum too... cum harder then
ever before... spraying the floor between your feet... with a sea of
cum... globs of my jism everywhere... everywhere... ohhh... man...
here... can't hold... hold back... it's... I'm close... so close now... and
I'm... gonna cum... cummm... cummmm for you, man!"

My body convulsed and trembeld and with one quick movement of my hand I
spread my uncle's shirt over my chest and stomach and, holding my hot,
jerking dick in my other hand, I watched with unblinking eyes as jets of
creamy spunk blasted out the piss-slit at the head of my up-turned dick,
sailed through the air and fell down on the dark, damp cloth, soaking it,
mingling with my uncle's hot sweat, and the spasms of my tight-gripping
hand forced even more spurts of jism out of my trembling dick and I came
and came and came, moaning, groaning, screaming, my body writhing,
spasming, convulsing, shaking, until the shirt was completely soiled with
my sticky, white cum and spurts of jism were everywhere on it, seeping
through the worn fabric, adding the smell of my hot cum to the heavy
fragance of Uncle's Bob sweat and I thought that these two male scents
blended extremely well.

I sagged and felt as though my very guts had been shot out of my dick. Weak
and spent I fought for my breath while my hands ran over the sticky, soiled
shirt that now smelled as strong of me as of my hot uncle.

Right at that moment I heard his voice in front of the door:

"Have you seen my shirt, Simon?"

I froze and after a moment of shock somehow managed to croak:

"Ye-ah..., I've... put it into the laudry basket!"

Suddenly the door flew open - I told you he was not a man to observe
rules. There was only a second left before he stepped into the room and set
eyes on me, so all I could do was turn around on my stomach as quickly as
possible. The sticky shirt was buried under me.

"What did you say?," he asked coldly.

Turning crimson-red again I looked up and my heart leaped. The man of my
newly discovered wet fantasies stood in the door-frame of my room and he
was half-naked: a skimpy towel was hiked high about his thighs, rolled low
around his lean hips, and his strong body seemed to vibrate with vitality
and sexuality. The still wet hairs on his chest and arms looked darker then
ever before and clung in erratic patterns to his bulging muscles.

"I... I... put it into the laundry basket," I repeated weakly, overawed by
the glorious virility of his massive frame.

"Why that?," he said frowningly.

I blushed even more, not because of the silly lie I had made up, but
because I realized that I could see the tip of his cockhead: it peaked
teasingly from below the lower edge of the inadequate covering of his
crotch, made even more obvious by my low position. My own cock responded
immediately, lurching to an instant erection although I had cum only some
seconds earlier on, bursting into the damp, sticky fabric that was buried
under my stomach with violent force.

"It... it was all wet and... and...," I croaked but then my voice failed
me.

"And what?," he said, frowning even more strongly and I was sure that he
added something like "you nerd" in his mind.

"Smelly... it was all smelly!"

"So what? What's wrong with that?"

He shook his head angrily and I watched with starring eyes as this movement
send a wave of ripples through his heavily muscled chest and stomach and
then the tip of his dick, that fraction of an inch of his mushroom-shaped,
flawlessly symetrical cockhead that I could see, trembled ever so
slightly. I was at the brink of swooning.

"Don't they teach you anything about environmental things in school?," he
added. "This shirt was still fresh, man! No need to have the washing
machine running all the time. There nothing wrong with a man's smell."

My cock jerked painfully under my belly, sliding back and forth in the
large pools of my own hot cum even with the smallest movement of my body,
and I had difficulties to breath properly but still I managed to say:

"Yeah... yeah... I guess... I guess you're right."

"Okay - next time you know what to do. Just leave the shirt where I drop
it."

I was absolutely sure that I wouldn't do that for all the money in the
world but of course I nodded and gave him a weak smile.

His gaze still fixed on me he seemed to notice for the first time that I
was bare-assed and that my shirt was shoved up to my shoulders. A faint
smile passed quickly over his lips and he raised his eyes-brows quizzically
while his eyes roamed freely over my exposed back and buttocks.

"Mhhh... looks like I have disturbed you at... something important, huh?,"
he said and gave his voice a deliberate sexy tone at the end of the
sentence.

I had to clear my voice before I could speak again and concentrated hard to
prevent myself from moving my hips.

"Yeah... you could say that... Uncle Bob," I said, mimicking his blurred
tone, thus putting a strange emphasis on the end of my sentence too.

He looked at me really puzzled for a brief moment, taken aback by the
sudden change in my attitude (before that moment I had always avoided to
call him by his name), but then he started to close the door and smiled at
me.

"Sorry about that, Simon... I better go now. And take care."

"You too, Bob," I said, feeling suddenly bold enough to drop the 'uncle'.

And then he was gone and I shoved my rock-hard, tormented dick into his wet
shirt and into the mattress with one mighty, viscious lunge, whimpering,
tossing my head, and then my balls exploded in a blast of shattering
sensation and I shot my cum so hard into the wet cloth that it seemed to
rip apart from the on-slaught of the huge globs of my churning jism, and I
writhed in the convulsive spasm of a second shattering orgasm within a
minute, inundating my uncle's shirt and my bed with my hot cum, slamming my
dick into the wet folds underneath my belly while my cock erupted in a
vulcano of cockcream, shooting vollies of spunk that seemed endlessly to
soak into the now completely soiled fabric of the shirt that I had found in
the hall just a few minutes ago.


(to be continued)


Comments are welcome; constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged.

Roarrr201@aol.com