Date: Mon, 20 Mar 2017 19:17:10 -0400
From: Xavier Stewart Belle <excessbelle@gmail.com>
Subject: Uncle Terry Chapter Three

Over the next week, one thing or another kept me from finding time to pull
Uncle Terry's clothes off. I saw plenty of him, but someone was always with
us in the house--mom, a friend from school, one of dad's colleagues passing
through town. I kept my hands to myself, but I knew something between us
had changed. After I'd snuck into the house the weekend before, narrowly
avoiding my mother, I'd lain awake in bed for a long time and considered
Uncle Terry's tone after he'd pulled over to lunge and catch my load in his
mouth. He'd talked about me the way he talked about dad, like we suddenly
commanded his attention in the same way. Despite the alcohol pulling my
eyes closed, I wrapped my fist around my dick and revisited all the things
we'd done together since that first time in the garage. I felt the moisture
from Uncle Terry's mouth lingering in the hair between my legs each time I
stroked, and after I came against the sheets, a slick covering my hand, I
fell asleep almost immediately. When I'd woken up hard in the morning I'd
done it again, savoring the way another load slid down my shaft, warming me
the way his mouth had.


I'd almost been afraid the change had happened only in my head, that it had
just been drunken wishful thinking, but all that week I could feel a
difference in the way he watched me. His eyes followed me longer than
usual, lingering on my hands, my crotch, my ass. He didn't reach for me,
but he waited longer in doorways as I passed, sat closer to me at dinner so
our knees would knock together. When I sprawled on the couch in just a pair
of shorts, he positioned himself for a view up one leg, let me see the way
his dick mounded in his jeans. I got off at least once every night thinking
about what I would do to him if I could just get him alone, and I wondered
what I could do to make his change in attitude permanent. I had a hunch,
but I didn't get to test my theory until the next Saturday.


It was the last day of my gig coaching intramural lacrosse for
disadvantaged kids a few towns over (mom thought it would look good on my
college applications), and I was glancing over my playbook when Uncle Terry
walked by my room in nothing but his tiny running shorts. He'd paused to
consider me, then moved on down the hallway without a word. With my dick
twitching instinctively, I ducked my head out into the hallway and called
after him.


"My game's in an hour. You coming?"


"Yeah," he said. "Just getting a quick run in."


I looked him over, admiring the hard, toned body barely concealed by his
thin nylon shorts.


"Alright," I said. "I'll join you for a warm up."


We didn't go far, just ran in companionable silence until we'd worked up a
sweat. When we got home we walked around to the backyard to wait until mom
got home with the van.


Uncle Terry sat on one of the pool chairs and watched me. I enjoyed the way
his eyes moved up and down my body, finally resting on my crotch as I
stopped to stand a few feet in front of him. He was leaning forward with
his arms on his knees and his eyes level with my hips.


"I bet you smell amazing right now," he said.


I smiled. I'd been waiting all week for an opening like that. I hooked a
thumb in the waistband of my shorts.


"Think so?"


I was about to tug my shorts a little lower when I heard the front door
slam. Mom's voice came through the windows into the back yard.


Uncle Terry's eyes flickered toward the house. He frowned and I could see
the paternal authority settle over his face, reorder his features. By the
line between his eyebrows and the serious set of his mouth I knew what
would come next, but before he could speak I took a step closer.


"Open your mouth," I said, my tone flat, firm.


Uncle Terry looked up at me, searching my face. Surprise, and something
else, smoothed the authority from his face.


I let my eyes drift down to his lips.


"Open your mouth."


I watched as the voice of command I'd discovered the weekend before washed
over him. He offered none of the resistance I'd come to expect over the
last month. He parted his lips then he waited, still and attentive, to see
what came next.


I hooked my thumb in the front of my shorts and pushed them down until the
hair showed.


"Look," I said.


He looked.


"Smell it," I said, and I pushed my shorts down until the waistband was
pressed against the base of my dick.


He leaned in, mouth still open, and inhaled through his nose. When he
exhaled, the heat of his mouth washed over my knuckles and hit my
stomach. The sound of it, the damp warmth on my skin, made my dick
jump. With one hand still holding my shorts down, I hooked the other behind
his head and brought his face forward, burying his nose in my crotch. I
felt him suck in another breath, felt it whistle in through his nose while
his mouth pressed against me.


"Bobby?"


In one motion I let go of him, took a step back, and tugged my shorts
up. As I turned, mom walked out onto the deck and looked up from her phone,
frowning.


"Are you ready?"


"Just tightening my laces," I said, pulling a smile onto my face. "Terry
was helping me."


Mom frowned again. "Uncle Terry," she said. "Hurry up. We're late."


"Right."


She disappeared inside and I walked across the lawn to the house. I turned
to look over my shoulder. "C'mon Uncle Terry."


He didn't move. He just sat there with his mouth still open, a conspicuous
arm across his lap. I climbed the stairs to the deck, taking my time,
watching him, knowing how his full, heavy piece was straining against the
thin fabric of his shorts. I waited. When I heard the car start out front I
stepped to the railing and let the smile fall from my face.


"Go up to my room," I said. "My hamper's in the closet." I hooked the strap
of my jock with a thumb and pulled it up above the waist band of my shorts
so he could see it. "Smell around until you find one of these. Put it on. I
want to know you're wearing it while you watch me."


I didn't wait to watch him get up. As I walked through the house toward the
front door, I knew I had to do something about the bulge that had begun
tenting my shorts. I couldn't get in van that way. I thought about the
game, the field, the maddening screams of parents from the sidelines. When
that didn't work I stood in the middle of the dining room and stared at my
grandmother's china, as if the bland porcelain patterning could clear my
head.


But all I could think about was Uncle Terry's wide-eyed stare, the way his
lips hung open as he watched me go. When I heard the steps of the deck
groaning under his weight, something surged in my chest. I turned from the
door that opened into the garage and sprinted up the stairs into my room. I
move quickly past the bed, past my closet, into the dark doorway of the
bathroom. I stood just out of sight of the bedroom door and leaned against
the sink, waiting, listening for the sound of his feet coming up the
stairs.


I held my breath as he moved into the room. I heard my closet door roll
open, then the soft rustling of cloth as he dug through my hamper. I held
back a grunt as I heard him sniff once, twice. When I heard him sniff a
third time and make an appreciative grumbling noise in his throat, I pushed
myself away from the sink and peaked out into the room.


He stood with his back to me and held one of my jocks to his face. I
watched his shoulders rise and fall as he inhaled again, then he
sighed. With one quick movement he brought his hands to the band is his
shorts and pushed them down. They fell to his feet with a slithering sound
and he stepped out of them. He paused then to grip himself and smell the
jock he held in his fist. As he hauled the lingering smell of my exertions
into his lungs, I admired the line of sweat that had soaked from his ass to
form a dark line on the seat of his trunks. My dick twitched, painfully
constrained, but I didn't move. I didn't want to give myself away. I waited
as he bent to push his underwear to the ground. I waited as he put one leg
through the straps of my jock, then the other. I waited until he pulled
them up, settled his dick into the pouch and adjusted the straps under his
ass. Then, as he stood running his palm over the pouch, I was out of the
bathroom and across the room before he realized he wasn't alone.


"Just me, Terry," I said, as I clamped a hand on his shoulder to keep him
from turning. I wrapped my other arm around his waist and ground my crotch
against his bare, sweaty ass. I reached down between his legs to feel the
monster that stretched the pouch of my jock. I squeezed, hard, and he
growled. "I need a little more help with my laces," I said.


With one hand on his hip I spun him around. With the other hand on his
shoulder I pushed him to his knees. He already had his mouth open when he
hit the ground, and when I shoved my shorts and my fresh jock down beneath
my ass he lunged forward to swallow me to the root. As he wrapped his lips
around the base of my dick he nuzzled his nose into my dark hair, like he
wanted to gather my scent onto his face. He bobbed up an inch and then back
down, twice, three times, then came up for air. When he gasped and lunged
forward again to swallow me whole, I caught him with both hands on the side
of his head.


"Get me nice and wet," I said.


I felt his hot mouth go soft around the upper half of my dick. I guided him
up and down as the wetness of his mouth spilled from his lips and rolled
down my shaft. When it covered my balls and ran through my dark, curly
hair, I pushed him off my dick.


"Get up," I said.


He did.


"Turn around," I said.


He did.


"Bend over," I said, and as he placed his hands firmly on his knees I
leaned over to spit into the hairy crevice between the globes of his
ass. The smell rising off him, of sweat and masculine heat, pulled a grunt
from me. I thought of the first time we'd done this, in the dark of my room
after he'd come in from the sun. I spread my spit through the hair around
his hole with one thumb while I stroked my wet dick with the other.


I considered telling him to take a deep breath, to prepare himself for what
I intended to do to him. I could have explained that we were already
running late, that today's game was important and I needed to concentrate,
but the sight of him, bent over, waiting, unquestioning, expanded something
inside me. I felt huge standing behind him, my dick in my hand, my thumb
pressing into his hole. He didn't ask for an explanation, so I didn't give
him one. We both knew what we wanted.


I stroked my dick once more and stepped forward until the head pressed
against the entrance to his ass. Pausing, I told him the only thing he
needed to know.


"This is mine," I said, and slammed inside.


My uncle half grunted, half shouted, and had to throw his hands forward to
catch himself on the edge of my bed. I leaned on the small of his back with
both hands to give myself leverage.


"Hold still," I said, my voice calm, commanding, and began to hammer into
him.


It didn't last long. Every one of my senses pushed me toward a blinding
climax. The tight heat of his hole, the smell of him, the sight of my jock
band on his lower back, his grunting through clenched teeth, the grunts I
could feel in my own chest--they all filled me with an energy I didn't know
I had. As I stroked into him with long, hard thrusts, I knew we were
filling the entire house with the sound of colliding skin. But I didn't
care. I was caught up in that wild, illicit fuck, secure in the knowledge
that he wasn't protesting, that he hadn't pushed me away or told me why we
couldn't do what we were doing. He was mine. His ass was mine. I could do
whatever I wanted with it.


So I did. I let the climax build like an avalanche behind my balls and as I
pressed down on his back, pounding into his hole with more force than I'd
ever dared, I exploded, filling him, claiming him in that moment to use
whenever and however I wanted.


As I came with a shudder that curled me over against his sweat soaked back,
I kept thrusting, churning myself into him until I couldn't stand it
anymore.


Finally I stopped, took a moment to catch my breath, then peeled myself
from his back and pulled out. I stuffed myself back into my jock, still
half-hard and dripping, and walked to the door.


"Let's go," I said.


He still leaned against the bed with one hand, digging into the jock with
the other. "Give me a minute," he said as he began pumping furiously.


"No," I said. "I want you like this."


He looked at me and when our eyes met his fist slowed, then stopped.


"I can't go out like this," he said. He stood and his heavy dick swung back
and forth a few times before it settled and stood straight out, pointing at
me.


"I want you like this while you watch me," I said. I grabbed my still wet
dick through my shorts. "While you watch me from the bleachers I want you
to wonder when I'll let you have it again."


His eyes glazed over for a moment as he stared at me, then he looked around
the room as he maneuvered himself back into the barely adequate jock. "I'll
have to change." He pointed to where his shorts lay on the floor. "Those
aren't gonna cut it."


"Put them on," I said, turning back to the door. "They make your ass look
amazing."


So he did.


During the game I couldn't look at him without risking an immediate and
embarrassing reaction, but I knew where he was. He sat in the bleachers, my
equipment bag on his lap the whole time. After the game, after I'd shaken
hands with the losing team and hugged my beaming mother, I walked to where
he sat alone on the bleachers, my bag still on his lap.


"Mom wants to get dinner," I said.


Uncle Terry wilted a little. He looked pained and then resigned. "All
right," he said.


I looked at the bag in his lap. "How you holding up?"


He looked around, then behind me, then lifted the bag to show me the little
wet patch spreading from the mound between his legs.


My dick, already awake, began to thicken. I smiled.


"I told mom I wanted to shower first. She's gonna go on ahead to get drinks
with Troy's mom while we take the van home. If we're quick, I can put
another load in you before I shower. Maybe another after." I reached down
discreetly to adjust myself. "Then, maybe after dinner, you can have
yours."


And here's the final installment! I hope you enjoyed reading!


If you'd like to read other things I've written, you can follow me on
tumblr at xsbelle.tumblr.com. The pretty pictures will tide you over until
I can give you more words. Thanks again, and feel free to shoot me an email
(excessbelle@gmail.com) if you'd like to say hi. I'm always interested to
hear how a story landed with readers and what about it got you off.


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