Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2017 08:49:44 -0500
From: Xavier Stewart Belle <excessbelle@gmail.com>
Subject: Uncle Terry Part 2

Three weeks after my dad's best friend joined me in in the dark of my room
and let me have my way with his body, we went for a run together. We waited
until mom left for her Monday night cribbage game, then we showered. He
scrubbed at me methodically, pausing only twice to crouch between my legs
and take me into his mouth, swallowing me down to the hilt. I would have
taken him there, fisting my hands into his hair and driving my dick down
his throat until I came, but he was impatient for our run. He brushed my
hands away and ran a wash cloth up and down my legs, between my thighs,
over my balls, into the crevice of my ass. When he was satisfied I was
clean, he shut the water off and ran a towel over his body. He ignored me
as I pressed my hard dick against his ass and leaned forward to speak into
his ear.


"We could do it once now," I said, "and once when we get back."


"No. Your mother will be back back by 7:30."


"Plenty of time," I said. "C'mon. Hard and fast, the way you like it. Then
we'll go." I reached around him to wrap my fist around the thick, hard
piece that bounced at attention while he dried his hair. "Please?"


He turned and pushed the towel against my chest.


"Dry off and put your shorts on," he said. "I'll meet you downstairs."


I glared at his broad, thickly muscled back as he left.


We ran side by side, bare chested, in the thin nylon shorts Uncle Terry
loved. I let him set the pace as we ran through the neighborhood. We
wouldn't be out long--just far enough for a good soaking. When Uncle Terry
was satisfied that enough sweat had gathered on our backs, between our
legs, under our arms, that every inch of our clean skin had been covered
over in the rich, masculine smells he loved, we'd turn back and head for
the empty house.


In the meantime, we ran in silence and I watched the houses of the
neighborhood slide by. I wondered if anybody looked out to watched us. We'd
taken this same route often over the years, both together and alone, but
never with this kind of illicit motivation. If anyone was watching, I
wondered if they noticed my new, much smaller running shorts. Could they
have guessed that I wore them to excite the man running next to me? That
his thick, heavy dick had hardened immediately the first time I'd modeled
them for him, and that he loved to run his hands over the pale skin where
my thighs never used to see the sun?


After about fifteen minutes I wiped the sweat from my forehead and sniffed
at the smells coming from under my arm. I thought Uncle Terry might turn to
look, that he'd appreciate the gesture, but he just kept running, eyes
ahead.


I'd learned that Uncle Terry preferred the complex aroma of my deodorant
mixed with the sweat of exertion, not the sharp, acrid tang of raw body
odor. He said it smelled like power, that he could smell the strength of my
body in it. It was a heavy scent, one I knew well and had always covered
up, but having seen the effect it had on him, it had begun to work the same
magic on me. I understood it as an extension of my body, a concentrated
shot of myself that could move through the air and drive another man wild.


I sniffed again. Not quite there yet. I nudged him anyway as we passed a
cul de sac.


"Ready?" I asked.


"A little longer," he said. "It's worth it."


"I just want to make sure we have time."


"We'll have time."


"We better. Your ass has had me hard all day."


He turned and growled at me from the corner of his mouth.


"Keep your fucking voice down, Bobby."


"Alright," I said. "Sorry." We ran on silence for a a few minutes. "Maybe
down to Kell Street, then back?"


He was silent for a moment.


"Alright," he said.


He didn't say anything else as we ran on. When we reached our halfway point
I slowed, but he ran all the way to the stop sign before turning. I waited
for him as he made his way back, another lewd comment on my tongue, but he
broke into a dead run and blew past me before I could speak.


I chased him all the way back to the house. He slowed down a few times, but
whenever I got close he pulled away and I had to work hard to keep up. By
the time we got home I had to dig deep to make it up the driveway when I
saw him standing by the door to the house, his finger on the button that
brought the big metal door down.


As the door closed behind me I bent and put my hands on my knees.


"Happy?" I panted.


"We'll see," he said. "You look tired. Need a rest?"


I stood and took two purposeful steps toward him, but he turned and was
through the side door and into the house before I could reach him.


I followed him up the stairs and as I walked into the shadows of my
bedroom--we always seemed to fuck in the dark, as if the empty house wasn't
enough to hide us--and jumped as the door slammed behind me. I let him push
me back toward the bed with a hand on my chest until I fell over backward
onto the rumpled sheets.


He was on me before I could reach for him and I sighed as he tongued his
way along the side of my jaw and down my neck. He grunted appreciatively
and ran his hands up my sides until he caught me by the elbows and pushed
my arms up above my head. He grunted again as he grazed his nose and lips
over the matted hair under my arm.


"Worth the wait?"


His only response was a throaty sigh as he dragged his face down my chest
to my stomach, his stubble rasping against my slick skin. He used both
hands to spread my thighs, then pushed his nose up the leg of my shorts
until his lips were buried in the heat next to my balls. He stayed there
for a while, inhaling, tasting, sucking, until I hooked my thumbs in the
waistband of my shorts and began to push them off. I wanted his mouth on my
dick. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to throw him around and press my smell
into him. I wanted to bear down on him until he smelled like me and he came
in torrents that soaked into my sheets along with our sweat.


"No," he said, and caught my wrists. "Leave them on."


He straddled one of my thighs and maneuvered my dick out through the leg of
my shorts as he leaned his forehead against my shoulder. He inhaled the
scent rising from under my arm, his breath hot and then cold against my wet
hair.


"Fuck me," he said, and began pumping my dick.


I reached up to grip the back of his head and pulled his face hard against
my arm pit. He growled and leaned into it, working his face against me
until I let him go.


"Get the lube," I said.


Instead of climbing off the bed, he climbed back between my legs and
swallowed me to the hilt without a word. With a soft mouth and methodical
precision, he bobbed up and down. I was irritated, enjoying the attention
but anxious about our limited time, until I felt the trickle of spit
running down over my balls.

Good enough, I decided.


As I sat up, Uncle Terry slid his shorts down, kicked them onto the floor,
then lay on his back with his knees held to his chest. I pressed my middle
finger against his sweat-slick hole.


"Get on your stomach," I said.


I liked to be on top while he lay face down. I liked pounding him into the
bed, listening to his muffled cries while I brought my body down with
enough force that the bed sent him up to meet me on the next stroke.


"No," he said. "Like this. I want to smell you."


I knew he might move if I insisted, but I didn't want to argue. We only had
so much time. So I positioned myself over him and pressed the head of my
dick against his hole.


As I leaned into him, slowly, cautiously, I watched a frown crease his
forehead. As a second inch pressed into him, the frown deepened, so I
pulled out. When I lowered my face to spit onto his hole and ease the way,
he growled at me.


"Just do it," he said.


I straightened but didn't respond. I wanted to slam into him, to show him I
was in control, but I didn't want to hurt him. We'd never fucked without
lube before and I wanted to show him that I could manage it, that I could
be responsible for his pleasure and mine, that every time we found an
opportunity like this it could be as good as it had been the first time. So
I pushed into him slowly, steadily, until his hole had swallowed me
completely and my balls rested against his ass.


"Do it," he said. "Use me."


I didn't have to be told twice. Hooking his knees over my arms, I leaned
over him and began to piston my dick in and out of his ass. Each time my
hips slapped against him and my weight rocked him down against the bed,
Uncle Terry grunted. He glared up at me until the steady pounding rocked
him into his own head space and his eyes grew heavy and finally closed. His
mouth hung open, and I looked down at his raw, blissed out expression while
new sweat slid down my chest and dripped onto his. I varied my rhythm,
wanting it to last after we'd spent so much effort to get there, but I felt
like I'd barely gotten started when the sound of the garage door opening
rumbled up through the floor into my room.


Uncle Terry's eyes flew open.


"Hold on," I said. "I'm almost there."


It wasn't entirely true, but I had an animal need to finish what we'd
started and I was willing to risk a quiet fuck while my mom puttered around
in the kitchen.


Uncle Terry wasn't. He bucked under me, trying to roll to the edge of the
bed while I was still inside him.


"Hold on," I said.


But he wasn't listening. He pushed me backward with his powerful legs, then
rolled onto the floor. He pulled his shorts on while he got to his feet and
went to the door, opening it quietly to listen.


"She's in the kitchen," he said.


"Then we have time. Let's fuck."


I could hear the adolescent whine in my own voice, and I could see the way
it irritated him when he turned to look at me.


"Quiet," he said. "Put your fucking clothes on."


"C'mon!" was the only response I could manage, but he was already closing
the door behind him as the word left my mouth.


I threw myself back on the bed and sighed. Then, teeth clenched, I gripped
my dick and stroked hard and fast, my mind filled with Uncle Terry's
slack-jawed face. It wasn't long before my stomach tightened and I erupted,
spraying hot lines all across my chest.

While my orgasm faded and the lines on my chest melted and rolled down to
soak into the bed along with Uncle Terry's sweat, I lay for a while and
listened to the sound of the shower running down the hall. I wondered
again, as I had every day for the last two weeks, why Uncle Terry obeyed
dad's every word but shrugged off my commands when it suited him.


I'd witnessed their dynamic for the first time barely an hour after I'd
fucked Uncle Terry for the first time. While mom was out getting pizza, I
watched through the glass door of the shower as dad fucked a load into the
hole I'd left loose. He said he wanted to hear any pointers I might have,
that he was happy learn what I'd done to Uncle Terry to make him so smug
about our new relationship, but what I think he really wanted was to show
me, show both of us, who that hole really belonged to. So I just stood
there, mute, hard as I'd ever been, while he dominated the man who had just
been moaning in my bed.


At first I didn't understand why the sight had turned me on so
profoundly. It wasn't a spectacular fuck and dad didn't have a great
body. He was handsome enough, but he wasn't doing much to battle his middle
age spread and I couldn't imagine most guys giving him a second look. But
standing there listening to the sound of his hips slapping against Uncle
Terry's ass, watching the way he leaned on the arm that held Uncle Terry's
face against the tiled wall, I couldn't look away. The effect he had on
Uncle Terry, his reaction to that control, that absolute confidence, were
mesmerizing. He obeyed dad's every word and pressed is ass back as far as
he could, hungry for every inch.


When dad finished he smiled at me, got out of the shower and clapped me on
the back. "What do you think? I still got it?"


That night, thinking about Uncle Terry's face as dad drove into him, I got
off twice.


The weekend after dad had found his best friend and I were fucking, the
three of us took a three day camping trip. We had a lot to discuss, he'd
said, and it wouldn't do for mom to stumble in on any of our discussions.


I hadn't known what to expect, but it's a weekend I'll never forget. When
we weren't fucking, it was just three guys shooting the shit, fishing,
hiking, swimming. But when our clothes came off everything changed. Dad
took charge and Uncle Terry became another person. He did whatever we
wanted, assumed any position we described. We used him and he got off on
it. That subservience had attracted me, and it drove me wild to watch the
way dad commanded him so completely. He never hesitated when dad called,
and after I went to bed that first night, after I'd spent three loads in or
on Uncle Terry, I dreamed of what life would be like at home now that I had
ready access to someone so eager to please.


But I began to I realize things might not pan out the way I'd hoped when we
stopped at a gas station on our way home late Sunday afternoon. While dad
went in to pay for our tank of gas, I'd put my hand on the back of Uncle
Terry's neck to pull his head down into my lap. I wanted to see how close I
could get to feeding him a load before dad got back, but Uncle Terry shook
me off.


"The hell are you doing?" he'd hissed, scanning the parking lot to see if
anyone was close.


I stared at him, surprised at this sudden resistance after three days of
taking me whenever I'd reached for him.


"C'mon," I said. "Let's see if you can swallow a load before he gets back."


I reached for the back of his head again, but he ducked away from me.


"Cut it out. Anyone could see us here."


Stung by his refusal, his sudden resistance, I let my arm drop.


"All right," I said. "Sorry."


We sat in silence until dad returned and climbed into the back
seat. Instead of buckling his seatbelt, he unfastaned his jeans and pushed
them down to his knees along with his briefs.


"Terry, get back here with me," he said, his tone casual but firm. "I want
one more throat fuck before we get back. Bobby can drive."


Without a word, Uncle Terry was unbuckled, in the back seat, and face down
in dad's lap before I could completely absorb what was happening. I stared,
twisted in my seat to see, as dad put two hands on the back of Uncle
Terry's head and began to fuck his mouth. Neither of them looked around or
up at me. They just got started.


I watched, hurt by Uncle Terry's selective rejection, impressed once again
by the way dad owned another man's mouth so completely, until dad nodded
toward the driver's seat without looking up.


"Let's go, Bobby. I told your mother we'd be home by dinner."


So I walked around to the driver's side while they kept doing their
thing. I pulled out into the highway while I listened to the wet noise of
my dad sliding in and out of his best friend's mouth, and I drove the first
fifteen miles toward home with the sound of Uncle Terry's moans filling the
car. While I maneuvered onto an on ramp, dad decided he wouldn't be
satisfied with a blow job, and he had Uncle Terry strip. For the next
twenty miles I divided my attention between the road and the rearview
mirror, watching the two of them fold into different positions, my dad half
clothed, Uncle Terry completely naked, until, finally, dad let out a
grumbling roar that meant he was emptying himself into Uncle Terry's ass.


When we got home I had to slip around the house to the backyard and jerk
off with a few frantic pumps in the open air shower. Then I went in to see
mom.


I spent the next two weeks trying, with mixed results, to dominate Uncle
Terry. I knew that he was willing, but I couldn't get him to take the
chances that thrilled me. If I positioned myself on the couch so he had a
view up my shorts to see my jock, he wouldn't take the bait if anyone other
than dad was home. If I tried to pull him into my room after mom had gone
to bed, he pushed me away. If I reached for him in the car while we drove
around town, he knocked my hands away and told me I needed to be more
careful.


But when it was just the two of us, when he thought it was safe, he was
insatiable. If we had the house to ourselves on a Saturday, he took every
load I could pump out. The weekend after our camping trip, I managed two in
his mouth and three in his ass over a twenty four hour period while mom and
dad visited friends. We never bothered to put clothes on.


But I couldn't get him to listen to me the way he listened to dad,
abandoning all caution to satisfy me at a moment's notice. I tried not to
let my resentment get the better of me, but I couldn't help it. After I'd
grabbed his ass in the dining room and the sound of his slap on my hand had
been loud enough to make mom curious from the kitchen, I decided my pride
was bruised enough. When mom went to bingo after dinner and Uncle Terry had
suggested we have a few beers by the pool, I told him to go fuck himself
and stormed out to my truck. I left without knowing where I was going, and
ended up at one of the weekend parties that were always happening by the
pond in the woods a few miles from town.


I spent three hours getting shit faced, drowning my anger and trying not to
feel inadequate. It worked, mostly, until I realized I had two missed calls
from mom, no excuse for being out, and no way to get home.


While I nursed another beer and brooded by the camp fire, phone in hand, a
text from Uncle Terry came through: I told her you went to the movies with
friends.


Then: where are you?


I tapped the response out carefully: drunk.


Good for you. Where?


Here, I told him.


Give me the address. I'll come get you.


Might stay, I said.


You can't stay out all night if you're at the movies.


I took a moment to think about my options if I decided I didn't want to
take advantage of Uncle Terry's lie. I could sleep in my truck, on the
ground, or get friendly with someone and squeezed into one of the tents set
up by the woods. But then mom, and everyday dad, would learn where I'd
been. I didn't want that. I wanted Uncle Terry.


So I texted him directions as I sat by the fire, my mood no better than it
had been when I'd left, and wondered how we'd get both trucks home.


It turned out I didn't have to worry. When headlights flashed twice through
the trees and I wandered up the trail to the passenger side of Uncle
Terry's truck, Dad, who had apparently gotten home early from a trip,
rolled down the passenger side window.


I was suddenly aware that I still had a beer in my hand, and I was more
then a little drunk.


Dad looked down at the beer for a long moment, then fixed me with a stare.


"You didn't really think this through, did you?"


I opened my mouth to speak, but shut it again. I shook my head.


"Give me your keys."


I dug them out of my pocket and handed them up to him.


"Where are you parked?"


"Up the road a ways," I said, pointing through the trees.


"Alright," he said, as he opened the door and climbed out. "Here's what
we're gonna do. I'm driving your truck home. You're going to ride home with
Terry. If you can get past your mother and into bed, I'll tell her
something went wrong with the truck and I don't want you driving it until I
work out the problem. Two weeks, maybe. If she catches you and smells that
cheap shit on your breathe," he said, nodding at the beer in my hand, "I'll
keep these--" he jangled the keys at me, "--until your mother decides you
can have them back. You understand?"


I nodded.


"You understand?"


"Yes," I said.


"Good."


I waited until he disappeared into the darkness up the road before I drank
the rest of my beer, tossed the can into the trees, and climbed into the
truck.


Uncle Terry and I drove in silence until the beer sloshing around in my
head submerged my anxiety enough that I could think of something other than
having to sneak into the house unobserved.


"You get him off on the way over here?"


Uncle Terry glanced over at me but didn't say anything.


"Where?"


He didn't take his eyes from the road.


I waited. "Somewhere quiet?"


"Behind the grocery store," he said finally, his voice low.


"He fuck you?"


He didn't say anything.


"Your mouth?"


He sighed.


It took more effort than I expected to get my jeans down my thighs. The
seatbelt locked twice and sweat made the denim cling to me, but I managed
to push them down to my knees.


"What the hell are you doing?" There was an exasperated note in Uncle
Terry's voice, an edge of anxiety.


Frustrated that my jeans wouldn't let me spread my thighs wider, I
unbuckled and I fought them farther down my legs. When I got them down to
my ankles, I kicked one boot off and pulled a naked leg free. I propped the
other foot on the dashboard and let my jeans and underwear hang from my
shin.


After I slapped my dick into my palm and let it harden, I spread my legs
wider and slid farther down in my seat.


"You wanna go for round two?"


Uncle Terry ducked slightly as we passed through a green light, cars
passing us on either side.


"Put your pants back on, Bobby."


It was the response I expected.


"Your loss," I said, and began stroking.


I brought my hand up and down slowly, leisurely, admiring myself through my
drunken haze, pretending to ignore the man next to me. I figured I'd tease
him for a few miles, enjoy myself, then get off just before we got home and
finish on the dash where he'd have to clean it up.


But we didn't get very far before the words, combative and moody, started
sliding out of my mouth.


"I like the way your mouth pops open when my dick hits you at the right
angle," I said.

I think I wanted to wind him up, to needle him for not cooperating and
remind him what he was missing, but the words had as much an effect on me
as I'd hoped they'd have on him.


"I like how tight you are when I first slide in," I said. "I like working
you loose before I fill you up."


Through the fog of beer that unhitched my mouth from my mind, I watched
myself talking and felt a little surge in my chest. I could hear authority
in those words, a tone of command that had always lurked under the
adolescent propositions Uncle Terry had rejected. I liked it. I liked the
aggressive surge I felt in my chest.


"I love the sound you make when I push your face into the bed," I said,
letting my voice dip almost into a growl. From the corner of my eye I saw
Uncle Terry's hands shift on the steering wheel.


I let my voice drop a little lower.


"I'm going to start fucking you in every room in the house," I said. "I'm
going to pound you until you shoot on the kitchen floor, then I'm going to
use your throat while you're on your back on the living room rug."


I was as hard as I'd ever been, and after hours of irritated blue balls, I
knew I could shoot at any minute. But I wasn't ready. I wanted Uncle Terry
to understand everything I could do to him.


"I'm going to let dad use you first," I said, "then I'm going to fuck you
so hard you'll forget his fucking name."


And that was too much. The combination of my stroking and an entire day of
anticipating a fuck had me just at the edge. I couldn't hold it.


"Pull over," I said, thrusting my hips up into my fist and rising off my
seat. "Take this."


Ron my surprise! Uncle Terry cut the wheel and angled the truck over onto
the shoulder. Almost before the truck came to a stop, he unbuckled and
leaned over toward my lap, his mouth open. Using both hands on the back of
his head, I slammed his mouth down over my dick.


As his lips fastened around the base of my shaft and the sensation of his
hot, wet mouth slid over me, I exploded. I grunted, open-mouthed, and
bucked my hips up against his mouth, feeling his nose press into my hair
and his stubble against my skin. I held him in place with both hands and
closed my eyes, feeling every surge that blasted over his tongue, filling
his mouth.


When my dick stopped twitching and Uncle Terry began to swallow, I opened
my eyes again, spent but still enjoying the sensation of his warm mouth. I
noticed his hand working in his own lap, pressing against the thick pipe in
his jeans. I reached over him and began to massage the head. He tried to
pull away then, but I pressed his mouth firmly back down on my half-hard
shaft.


"Stay," I said, another little surge of authority filling my chest. I felt
him relax and his weight settled onto my lap again.


With one hand still holding the back of his head, I began to work his shaft
through his jeans until his breath came in short gasps through his nose,
hot and cold against my hip. I stroked my fingers up and down its length
until he moaned into my stomach and began to buck and spasm, his dick
inflating under my hand.


When his orgasm faded and he went limp, I let him go. He pushed himself up
slowly into a sitting position and wiped his mouth. We sat in silence for a
while, the only noise the occasional passing car and the ticking of the
blinker.


Shifting in his seat and looking down at the large wet spot soaking into
the left leg of his jeans, Uncle Terry sighed.


"I'll never get any sleep now," he said, "with the two of you always on me
like this."


I didn't answer. As we pulled back out onto the road, I pulled my pants
back on.


_____




Thanks for reading! This story will have one more installment. Stay tuned!


You can follow me on tumblr at xsbelle.tumblr.com where I post pictures I
like and where I'll be making announcements about other fiction
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(excessbelle@gmail.com) if you'd like to say hi! I'm always interested to
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