Date: Thu, 5 Oct 2006 17:31:13 +1000 (EST)
From: Zac Grech <zaccooee@yahoo.com.au>
Subject: Tom and Mick and Me part 2

	'Well, I'm impressed!' I gave a low whistle.  'Thanks, Tom.'  And I
was: for the first time since he'd been staying with me Tom had got the
breakfast ready.  Of course, since it was a Saturday, he'd been able to
take his time.  If I promised him he could fuck me later, would he also get
the lunch?  If I dropped my shorts now and bent over the kitchen table,
maybe I'd get dinner as well.  I'd have liked to think he was saying thank
you for doing him over the night before, but by the look of the bulge in
his crotch, that wasn't what he had on his mind.
	Actually, during the night, I'd decided the best thing would be to
suggest we call it quits - it was just too messy and dangerous.  If you're
living with a guy, it has to be just two guys sharing a house or two guys
open to a regular fuck.  And with Tom that was going to end badly.  And he
was my brother's son and I was twice his age.
	Sitting at the table with him, though, I could feel myself
weakening.  It's a pretty horny situation - two half-naked guys who've
known each other well for quite a while, spent whole weeks together,
sitting next to each other both remembering that just a few hours before
one of them (me) had eaten out and then soundly fucked the other (him).
I'd told him he could fuck me 'some other time' - maybe it was easier to
just get it over with - he was eighteen, he'd be quick.  I could reach over
now, stick a hand through the half-open flies of his pyjama pants and start
juicing him up.  His tongue was fucking hanging out for it.  He'd jump me
in two seconds flat.
	To be frank, I'm at a bit of a loss in this sort of situation.
Like my brother Micky, if I'm going to get fucked, I like it to be very
rough and very dirty.  I like to be wrestled to the floor and forced to
take it.  I wasn't sure that young Tom would be up to it, although maybe he
could learn.  But if he didn't rape me senseless, I wouldn't shoot, and
then I'd want to flip him over and dump another load of cum up that
well-fucked arse of his, and then ... well, we'd be back where we started.
I looked down at those long, black-haired thighs of his, just inches from
my own, and it was all I could do not to lay a hand on one and work my way
up into the hairy fork I'd ravaged with my tongue and cock the night
before.
	What I'd decided to do during the night was to ring my mate Nick
and get him to drop round.  If I could give Nick a good seeing to - spend a
couple of hours really ripping into that Greek arse of his - it might
relieve the immediate tension with Tom.
	I'd met Nick in the train on the way to the city.  Greek, as it
turned out.  The carriage was almost empty, but I sat opposite him - a bit
cheeky of me, I suppose, but there was something about him that clicked
with me.  Late twenties or early thirties, not so tall but wiry, a trace of
dark designer stubble, and wearing an expensive dark suit, one expensively
shoed foot resting casually on his knee.  Sleek as a seal.  I could just
tell that, out of his suit and tie, he'd go off like a rocket.  Something
about the way he grinned at me when I sat down, something about those
liquid black eyes of his.  Nice husky voice, too, when we started talking.
These clean-cut guys in suits - clean hair, clean skin, white teeth - can
be dynamite if you can just get them on their backs with eight inches of
cock rammed up their arseholes.
	I've got to be honest: what really caught my eye was his hair.  He
had this crazy hair, like a bunch of clean straw, sticking out all over the
place, blond on top and honey-coloured round the sides.  It was hard to
tell if he'd paid a fortune to have it look like that or someone had been
treating him rough.  When he ran his fingers through it at one point, I
felt my cock uncoiling in my jocks.  By the look of the calf resting on his
knee, there'd be plenty more hair to get my tongue into further down, too -
unless he was one of those pretty boy types who shaved and trimmed as if
they were Princess Grace.  Nice thick lips as well.  I could do things with
those lips - and I didn't mean feed them jam and scones.  They'd look good
with a bit of raw fuck-meat between them.  Give me a few minutes alone with
you, I thought, and I'll soon have those lip-balmed lips of yours saying
things you never knew you knew how to say.  Or maybe he did know.  He
grinned.  Yeah, he knew all right.  Once I got him out of that fucking suit
of his, I'd have him gushing sweet filth like broken tap.  Man, this guy
was blowing my horn without even trying.
	So when we got to town and he looked at his watch and said 'How
about a coffee before I hare off to work?', I wasn't going to say no.  We
talked about this and that for a few minutes - Greece, a couple of movies
we'd seen - and then I said: 'I'll just drop into the john - be right
back'.  If he's on my tail, I thought, we're on.  If not - then too bad -
sayonara.
	I had to hold the door open for him, he was practically crawling up
my arse.  OK, time's short, I thought.  I walked straight into a stall and
turned round to face him.  He was already locking the door behind us.
	I took off his glasses and put them on top of the cistern.  I was
going to treat him rough and we didn't want his glasses getting broken, did
we.  I unzipped him and let his spotless suit pants fall to his ankles.
Fuck, he looked good!  Nice, well-muscled thighs and calves, olive skin,
and whole handfuls of dark brown hair sprouting out the sides of his Calvin
Klein pouch.  Just the way I like my men: fuck the Boss suit - from navel
to toes he was an animal.  I pulled his jocks down to his knees.  His cock
sprang out, already long and dripping.  His tight, hairy balls were
churning.
	'Turn around,' I grunted in his ear.
	'What are you going to do?'
	'Fuck you.'
	'I don't know, mate ... I mean, maybe this isn't the right place
...'
	'Just turn around - now.  I'll do anything you want later, mate -
you name it, I'll do it - but right now I'm going to fuck you.  Now turn
around - let's see that arsehole.'  Fuck first, talk later - that's the way
the boys in our family do it.
	He took a bit of manhandling - I actually like a guy who puts up a
bit of a fight - but I soon had him facing the wall, arms above his head.
I dropped to my knees to part his arse-cheeks and wet his hole.  Slicking
up my cock with one hand, I stuck my tongue into his hot, furry crack and
started eating.  'Oh, fuck,' he groaned, 'what are you doing to me, man?
Ooooh ... yeah ... oh, yeah, eat it, get your tongue in there ...'  I was
nearly swooning from the smell - still soapy but ripening - going straight
up my nostrils.  It was like eating hair pie, with a nice squishy rosebud
bang in the middle.  It was so good I nearly squirted then and there.
	When I stood up and rammed the head of my prong into him, he yelped
and swore.  'Fucking hell, man ... you're splitting me open ...'  But when
I went ahead and jacked the whole fuck-pole up into him, right up to my
pubes, he just groaned and pushed back onto it.  'That's my boy,' I said,
'you take that cock ... come on, milk it ... that's it ... You like getting
raped, Nick?  You like that raw cock rammed up your arse?'  His legs were
quivering and when I reached round to grab his cock, he was pumping it like
crazy.  'Don't you shoot, you little fucker - don't you shoot before I
empty my balls up your arse, do you hear me?'  He kept pumping, so I banged
him hard in the nuts to quieten him down.  'What the fuck did you do that
for, you bastard?' he yelled.
	'I'll do it again if you don't get your hand off your cock,
fucker,' I growled, and then jacked my burning tool even more savagely up
into his gut.  'Come on, hands above your head.'
	By the time I started gushing, he was right on the edge himself,
and with a smack or two from me to his nuts he shuddered, gasped and
started splattering the wall with his man-juice.  I turned him round to
face me and kissed him hard on the mouth.  'I'd like to do you again,' I
said to him, 'you deserve it, but we'd better get out of here before we're
sprung.'
	He had that dazed, shagged-out look on his face - but was kind of
smiling.  'I'll call you,' he said, reaching down for his pants.
	'Yeah, well next time I won't be so gentle.  That was just to open
you up.'  I went back to the table outside.
	When he reappeared, he was the little prince again, just a few damp
spots on his shirt where he'd washed off his own cum. He flashed me one of
his boyish grins and walked off up the street, every inch the sweet young
man every mother wants for her daughter.  Fuck, he was asking for it, the
little animal - and sooner or later he'd get it.
	And did.  It wasn't an affair, we weren't even fuck-buddies, but
every few weeks or so he'd call me and we'd make a date.  Then on the
morning of the day we were going to get together, I'd call him, talk dirty
to him for a minute or two and then tell him to get round to my place fast
to get fucked.  It was just out little game.
	He'd come round (always right on time - I do like a man who arrives
punctually to take his medicine), dressed as if for a photo shoot, that
sexy hair of his all spiky and greased, I'd fuck the shit out of him, kick
him in the balls and then wait for him to resurface.  When he did, we'd
fool around for a bit, eating out each other's arses, ball-chewing,
cock-sucking - the usual - and then he'd do me, with surprising brutality,
as a matter of fact, given his slight build, grunting filth at me with
every thrust.  We'd both end up with sore fuck-chutes, mashed balls and
serious stubble rash, lying in a pool of cum and arse-juice, and good for
nothing for the next couple of days.  And a few weeks later we'd do it
again.  We both got off on it and nobody got hurt.  Perfect as far as I was
concerned.
	'So,' I said to Tom, when he finished his toast, trying not to look
down at his swelling crotch, 'are you going to the footy with Mick today?
	'Yeah, he's picking me up in half an hour or so - we're going for a
run first.'  Nice, I thought.  And he'll make sure you pay for it in the
usual way - on your back with your legs in the air.
	'Look, Tom, about last night ...' I began, shifting awkwardly on my
chair and inadvertently brushing his thigh.  I thought he might say:
'Forget it, that's fine.'  But he just looked at me with a small expectant
smile.  I looked down at his crotch - the helmut of his cock was already
inching its way out of the leg of his pyjamas, swollen and ... I've got to
be honest: fucking beautiful.  I knew if I so much as brushed it with one
finger, I'd be as good as fucked.  I felt my arse muscles clench
involuntarily.
	It was Tom who made the next move: suddenly bold as brass, he
snapped the elastic waist-band of his pants down under his balls and leant
back.  Yesterday's puppy had completely disappeared.  He was a cocky male
animal now, showing me what he was about to ram up my still tender arse:
the long, lean shaft and flared head rearing up out of an explosion of
black, springy hair.  OK, I thought, you win, let's do it.  I smeared it
with a gob of soft butter and started stroking.  He groaned, tossing his
head back. But when I started greasing up his balls, he sprang to life,
pushing me face down to the floor.  It was show time.
	In no time at all he was pushing my legs apart with his lanky
thighs.  There was a pause while he let his eyes and fingers roam over my
wiry-haired crack and then he pushed down hard on my ring with his knob.
'Open up, Zac,' he grunted, 'come on - let me in.  Oh yeah, oh shit ...!'
The buttery shaft slid in quite quickly, making me gasp, and then he
started jabbing hard and fast.  It hurt like hell, but I kept my mouth
shut.  After a few minutes he lay down on top of me - I could feel his
coarse body hair scraping against my skin - but somehow or other he wasn't
spiking what needed to be spiked.
	Then bang!  The kitchen door swung shut.  I didn't even need to
look up to know who it was: it was my brother Mick, a few minutes early.
	'That's what I like to see,' he laughed, 'my two boys enjoying
their breakfast.  You're making me feel hungry.'  It would've been a
different story if I'd been plowing Tom.  In a flash I felt him slide in on
his back between our legs so he could gobble on our swinging balls and get
a ringside view of the cock plunging in and out of my hole.  'That's it,
boy - fuck him good.  Really make him feel that cock of yours.  Man, that
looks good!  Come on - fuck him harder, the harder the better with Zac.'
	When Tom started spasming, Mick went crazy.  'Fill him up, Tom -
empty those balls into him ... Wow!  Yeah!  Shoot that jizz into him!'  And
he started slurping at my hole where Tom's cum was beginning to leak out
around his cock down into the hairs on his balls.
	Then, as I knew he would, he slid out and jumped to his feet.
'Pull out, man - I need some of that ... yessir, this boy needs finishing
off.  Want more cock, Zac?  Here it comes, baby!'  I just stayed bent over,
with my gaping arsehole waiting for what was coming.  No point in even
looking round.  I was going to cop it.
	When Micky fucks, it's like he's crazily trying to spear something
he can't quite reach - but he was hitting my pleasure-knot alright, as
usual, that tight, aching core of cock-greed deep inside me, battering it
apart with each thrust.  There's one thing I have to say about Mick: it may
be kinky and best not thought about most of the time, but nobody knows
better than my big brother how to give me pleasure.  Even when he's raping
me.  He's a complete bastard, but not a man alive knows how to take me to
the sort of pitch of excitement he does - and keep me there.  A brother
just knows.
	I was writhing like a snake, pinned to the ground by Mick's long
spike, begging him out loud to fuck my eyeballs out.  He pulled my butt up
into his bucking groin and power-drilled it, balls slapping against my
arse, until I felt us both start to spasm.  'Oh, fuck yeah ... take my
load, Zac, here it comes, little brother ... are you ready?'  He wrapped
one fist around my balls and squeezed them hard.  'I want you to shoot,
Zac, I want to feel that arse of yours gripping my cock while I ...  AAAH!'
As soon as I felt the first bolt of cum slam up into me, I let go.  For at
least a minute we shuddered and swore while we emptied our ball-sacs of
their man-juice.  Then he slowly slid his fuck-pole out of me and sat back
on his haunches to examine my gaping, leaking hole.
	'Look at that fucking hole, Tom.  I reckon he's greedy for more,
don't you?  Want to do him again?  Come on, you little monkey, I'll hold
him down for you, if you like.'
	But Tom seemed suddenly shy.  They picked up their gear and headed
for the door.  'Thanks, Uncle Zac,' he murmured.  Was he serious or taking
the piss?
	'See ya later,' Mick called out.  'If you're still there when we
get back, watch out - we might want a second serve.'
	When they'd gone, I got to my feet - shit, I was sore! I'd be
bowlegged for a week - and went to the phone.  Someone had to pay for what
had happened.  I punched in Nick's number.


Comments welcome.  Tell Zac on zaccooee@yahoo.com.au