Date: Thu, 1 Jun 2006 09:47:43 -0700
From: qwb <qwb@san.rr.com>
Subject: Stonegate Stable - chapter 1

This is a many-chapter story about a group of guys.
Stonegate is a fictitious horse stable in east Texas. None
of the characters are intended to portray real people,
although some of my friends may recognize a phrase or a
touch. This story contains explicit man on man sex. Don't
continue if you are underage or repelled by explicit sex.

As always, your comments are greatly appreciated. Please use
the story name as the email subject. Thanks. qwb@san.rr.com


Stonegate Stables

Chapter 1

And I know just where I touch you
And I know just what to prove
I know when to pull you closer
And I know when to let you loose
- Making Love Out Of nothing At All - Air Supply

     The day passed, as most do, with a variety of
miscellaneous bullshit, the worst of which - Alejandro
finding moldy hay in the latest delivery, requiring all 103
remaining bales to be unstacked and inspected before being
piled back up again - made evening feeding late so I spent
an extra 45 minutes scooping grain, measuring out vitamin
and joint supplements, and weighing hay flakes before
hopping on Zena bareback and loping out the gate for home.

     The quickest route to mi casa ends at my back gate and
as we trotted up the little hill to my barn, I could see
that the kitchen lights were on. That meant Vincent was in
my kitchen and Vincent meant home made Italian food and hot
Latin sex. My dick gave a happy twitch as I fed and
blanketed Zena and by the time I got to the house, I had a
nice boner going so I greeted Vincent with a full body hug
from behind so he could enjoy it, too.

     "Mama Mia," he growled when I bit the side of his
neck, rolling his eyes as he stirred red sauce and sipped a
glass of wine. He tipped his head back to my shoulder and
kissed me, rubbing his butt into my crotch in bump and
grind fashion. "You're late. Tough day?"

     "Moldy hay."

     He wrinkled his nose in disgust and stuck out his
tongue in a gagging face. "Aaagghhh."

     I giggled at him. "Yeah, that's about what the horses
said."

     We'd met 8 years ago when I was still riding
professionally, before the accident. I made reservations at
one of his parents' restaurants, Corleone's, and showed up
only to find that they didn't have me on the list. Vincent
came out from the kitchen to see what the problem was, one
thing led to another, and we ended up dining nude in the
middle of his king sized bed, between rounds two and three
of the hot Latin sex I mentioned earlier. My friends shook
their heads and went elsewhere.

     Vincent D'Ambruzzo is classic Italian, dark eyed,
olive-skinned, with long black hair which I realized early
on was his emotional barometer. Tonight his hair was
freshly washed and hanging free past his collar so I knew
we would make love for hours before and after dinner. He's
32 to my 30, taut and wiry at 5'11"/162, with a runner's
physique of long, lean muscles. His back is nice, not too
wide at the shoulders, tapering down to his narrow hips and
tight ass. His body fat is low enough that you can see the
vertebrae, one by one, down the furrow of his spine.

     He had a sprinkling of black hair across his chest,
trickling down to a small manicured patch in his groin; a
pinkish brown cock that, when aroused, stood out thick and
straight at a 45 degree angle from his flat belly, its dark
head slightly pointed with a pronounced flare, overhanging
the most beautiful scrotum I've ever seen. Soft as velvet,
hairless, the crinkly dark brown skin was seamed down the
center with a firm oval hanging low in each half. He was
very sensitive and I loved to lie between his legs, tracing
a finger over his balls to watch the skin react to my
touch.

     He had a security code for my place and usually showed
up unannounced three or four nights a week, joining in
whatever/whomever I had going that night. He was a favorite
with my friends, not only for his amazing tongue but also
for the Italian pastries he frequently brought with him
from the restaurant. I have no idea what he did on the
evenings he wasn't with me but early in our relationship,
he'd sometimes stay away for several days and when he'd
return I'd notice what appeared to be ligature marks on his
wrists. He didn't try to take me there so I never asked him
about it and quit looking for them.

     He turned to me and kissed me deeply, gazed lustfully
into my eyes, then took me by the hand and pulled me into
the library. As we entered the room, he stepped behind me
and began to pull my shirt over my head while he steered me
to the piano, shedding clothes along the way. Pushing me
forward till my chest rested on the lid, he licked, nibbled
and kissed his way from the back of my neck, along the
center of my spine, down the valley of my ass, ending up
kneeling below me with my balls in his mouth. Now, that's a
welcome home.

     I hung there with quivering knees while Vincent's
tongue worked its magic on me, sighing and moaning,
squirming back into his face when he did something
particularly wonderful. By the time he stood up and pressed
the dripping head of his rock hard cock to me, I was dizzy
with arousal and sank back onto him with a deep groan of
pleasure. He lay over me, the soft hair on his chest
tickling my back as he kissed my neck and ran his hands
down my thighs.

     In this mood, Vincent is a tough act to follow and
it's how I like him best. He is gentle, perceptive,
patient, and strong, able to go for as long as I want him
to, the perfect top. Other hair styles bring with them
other moods - hair gelled and wild, he can be a little
rough, more concerned with his own needs than mine,
requiring my active participation; hair tied back, he is
quiet and remote, and sex with him is almost spiritual, no
words, few sounds, just sensation after amazing sensation.
In any mood, he is someone I enjoy being with and I love
him. It is only his unknown darker side that prevents me
from developing real feelings for him. That and the
knowledge that he does not feel those emotions for me
either, no matter how much he cares for me.

     Vincent fucked me slowly, long strokes alternating
with short ones during which he tilted his hips to graze my
prostate, bringing me to my toes, fogging the glossy piano
lid with my moans. Eventually he built up a rhythm,
stroking me in time with his thrusts and we came together,
him in me and me in the kitchen towel he'd thoughtfully
brought along. We lingered for a while, kissing and hugging
but hunger drove us back to the kitchen and soon we were
eating spaghetti with meatballs, garlic bread and salad,
naked at the counter, washing it down with a bottle of
wine.

     We tidied the kitchen and wandered up the wide
staircase to the master bedroom, grandly situated at the
back of the house, overlooking my acreage, the stream that
meanders through the estates, and a few miles distant, the
steeple atop the big barn at Stonegate. Tonight it was
clear and the sky was filled with stars. If you lie in bed
and tip your head back a little, that's all you see. Our
shower was leisurely, more foreplay than necessity. I love
playing in the shower and Vincent was in the mood to
indulge me. We slicked each other up with the shower gel
and explored every nook and cranny we could find, lingering
when a certain spot drew a particularly enthusiastic moan.

     While preferring to top, Vincent occasionally likes to
be fucked; it only happens in the hair loose and flowing
mood. When we reached the bed, he took his arm from my
shoulders and crawled forward, dropping onto his stomach in
the middle of the big mattress, arms and legs spread, cock
pointing toward his toes. This was my cue so I knelt
between his feet and began to run my hands lightly over his
skin, licking the spot behind his knees that I found the
first time he asked me do this, (a story for another
time).. He moaned softly as I worked my way up, ruffling
the hair on his thighs, pressing my thumbs lightly between
his legs while I squeezed his ass, running my tongue here
and there, teasing him.

     I'm pretty versatile, enjoying either side of a good
fuck, but when I top, I feel like a different person
entirely. It is much more an act of control combined with
desire than being taken. When I'm being fucked by a
familiar partner, I lose myself in it, trusting them to
take care of me. But when I top, I must do the taking care,
paying attention to the feel, the mood, of my partner, and
his comfort and pleasure become my temporary universe.

     My cock was leaking precum to spare so I wet two
fingers and worked one slowly into him, feeling the warmth
of his body envelop me. He's always very tight but soon
loosens enough to take my other finger easily. I know that
he allows only me this privilege and I honor that trust,
concentrating fully on him, wanting him to enjoy every move
I make. I enjoy fingering him almost as much as I enjoy
fucking him. My sensitive fingertips probed him gently,
inside and out, and the smooth heat of him was very
arousing. When he was clutching the sheet in his fists and
moving restlessly, I removed my fingers and slid forward.
He lifted his hips slightly for my entry and I eased into
him, awed as always at this joining of one man to another
in the most intimate way possible.

     He was very relaxed and accepted me with only slight
resistance, grunting softly as I sunk deeper into him. When
I could go no further, I leaned over him, bracing myself on
my arms and let him adjust to my friendly invasion. In a
minute, he shifted his body under me, reached back for my
hands, laced our fingers and pulled them out to our sides
so that I slid slowly down onto him, my chest to his back,
rising slightly as he breathed. I began to thrust slowly
with just my hips, rocking in and out of him. It is almost
hypnotic and we can do this for long stretches of time,
neither of us building to climax, just enjoying the quiet
of the night and the feel of each other.

     Laying there on him, buried in his body, I couldn't
think of any place I'd rather be. The house was still, the
room dark; it seemed as though we were the only two people
on the planet. I nuzzled my face into his neck, breathing
in the smell of him, kissing that soft spot just below his
ear, nibbling on the muscles of his shoulder, loving him.
His eyes were closed and his mouth was curved in a soft
smile. He hummed a little mmm now and then, tightening his
fingers in mine, arching his back to take me deeper into
him. Heaven should be this good.

After a while, I pushed one of his knees up the bed and
rolled him onto his side, straddling his lower leg. This is
his favorite position because the penetration is very deep
and I can touch both sides of his body. I stroked his cock
and circled my other hand low on his back, all the while
fucking him deeply. My perineum rode his thigh with perfect
pressure. We didn't speed up as the end drew near - it took
me months to develop the control to be able to do this for
him - just kept a steady pace so that our orgasms built
very slowly. When we finally came, it was within a stroke
or two of each other. I always pull out of him and wrap
both our cocks in one fist, his hand closing over mine, and
we ejaculate on his belly. We've done this hundreds of
times; it is special for both of us and I wouldn't change a
thing.

     We settled down to sleep, Vincent on his back with me
draped over him. When I stirred a couple hours later,
Vincent ran his hand reassuringly down my arm. I was
surprised that he was awake so I watched him as I drifted
off. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, his face sad and
I felt a flutter of unease in the pit of my stomach, though
I couldn't have said why.