Date: Tue, 27 Nov 2007 22:53:08 -0500
From: blue pervina <bluepervina (at) gmail (dot) com>
Subject: Beach Bums ( MMM, rom, sm, ws, puke, diaper, scat )

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http://bluepervina.blogspot.com/

Copyright 2006, 2007 by bluepervina, all rights reserved.

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--WARNING ADULT CONTENT-----------------------------------
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This file contains subject matter that is of an explicit
sexual nature.

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by
law to read (any or specific kinds of) electronically
transmitted erotic material, please do not read anything
else in this file.
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--YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED------------------------------------
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Beach Bums

( MMM, rom, sm, ws, puke, diaper, scat )

by bluepervina


--1--


Jack drove out to the beach after work.  The sun was just setting; he drove
west with his eyes half-blinded, but he knew where he was going.  Between
two beachside mansions sat a modest white house on stilts, and there was
just enough space to park his convertible Saab between the pylons and out
of the next day's sun.  Bruce, his best friend, was waiting.  Hopefully the
beer was plentiful and well-iced.  And there was plenty of lube.

He had the entire weekend to himself -- plus a day.  His wife left that
Friday morning on a plane, bound for the North Carolina mountains and a
rendezvous with her kin.  She'd taken their two daughters with her and had
sadly kissed him goodbye at the airport.  Jack had lied and said he was too
busy with work to travel over three-and-a-half days, so he begged off and
would stay home.  Which meant he'd stay at Bruce's and spend the Labor Day
weekend fucking.

"Ready to go?" Jack hollered up from his car.  Bruce appeared on the deck
that surrounded the house, tanned and well-muscled in his white linen shirt
and khakis.  He wore his hair in a ponytail always, and he had
distinguished-looking heavy platinum hoops in both ears.  There were hoops
in his nipples as well, and Jack could see their outline against the shirt
as Bruce descended the steps toward him.  Bruce's brown leather sandals
completed the rich beach bum look, and as he slid into the seat beside his
longtime lover, Jack couldn't help but once again catch his breath in the
fresh revelation of how lucky he was to have found such a classy, kinky
stud.

"You look tired," Bruce said, reaching out and rubbing Jack's knee as he
backed the Saab out toward the narrow beach town's main road.  They were
headed to a beachside bar at the far end of the island, called "Ruck's",
which served up the best gumbo and smoked mullet on earth, as far as Jack
was concerned.  It was just what he needed to set his mood straight for the
weekend's fun and to push back the scraping claws of fatigue that always
dogged him at the end of his week.

"I'm OK now," Jack smiled back, throwing the convertible into gear and
roaring them 2.3 miles north.  Along the way, he said, "I've been wearing
them all day, you know," and he unzipped the fly of his smart wool trousers
so Bruce could see.  A bright pink pair of panties was easily visible
between the teeth of the zipper, but Jack reached in and pulled them aside
to reveal the black leather straps of the cock restraint he'd been wearing.
Bruce grunted his approval and leaned over, pinching Jack's right nipple
between his expert fingers for a good minute before letting go and leaning
back.

"That's the spirit!" Bruce laughed.  "I bet that was some fun having that
on in court today."

Jack was a real estate lawyer.  "How many times do I have to tell you?"  He
rolled his eyes mock-dramatically.  "I do real estate.  I don't have to go
to court, man."

"Well, you might if somebody here sees you wearing it," Bruce muttered, and
Jack hastily tried to zip with one hand as he steered into the crowded
parking lot at Ruck's.  Since they were in a convertible, people heading
into the restaurant could easily see down into their laps as the walked
past.  It took a moment to furtively yank his zipper the last few
millimeters up, but then all was well.  On to dinner.

Bruce bought, as was his custom.  Ever since selling off his company in the
mid-nineties, life had been good for him.  The majority of his profit from
the sale got reinvested in the market, and the tech boom that shortly
followed reaped him enormous reward.  Still using the market to make money
for him, Bruce had now amassed a fortune that would keep him secure for the
rest of his life.  As long as he didn't suddenly try to buy Costa Rica or
something.

"Pitcher of Bud, and let's say... eh, three Jack shooters each, right?"
Bruce announced to the waiter as soon as he arrived at their table.  "And a
dozen oysters on the half-shell... and gumbo for each of us... and then
we'll do some real ordering after that," he chuckled, "if we can still
remember where we are."

The beer and the bourbon got both men plenty comfortable with their Friday
night, and they sat at their table by the window, with its magnificent view
of the Gulf of Mexico at twilight, and played footsies.  Bruce's shoes were
off, and his bare toes danced their way up and down the damp cotton of
Jack's socks, his feet long since out of his cramped but handsome loafers.
It was excruciating for Jack whenever his cock made to rise in arousal.
The restraint became a choking, painful instrument of torture, and it
caused him a great deal of squirming and shallow breathing while he willing
it to go back down.  Bruce, of course, made it worse by just staring at him
as he agonized.

But the mullet was ordered, more beer consumed, and eventually Jack felt
the urge to piss suddenly come on him all in a hot, pressing rush.  He told
Bruce, and they went ahead and settled the bill, swinging by the tiny
restroom on the way out.  There was one stall and two urinals all
compressed within a room not much bigger than a linen closet.  The urinals
were so close to one another that there was no space between for the
customary short partition.  The two men were alone as they entered, the
stall door hanging partially open, blocked by the jutting lower bowl of the
second urinal.

"Yeah... a nice, cozy piss..." Bruce murmured, as he sidled up to the
second urinal, unzipped, and let his water flood out.  Jack, standing right
next to the door back to the restaurant, had to wait and jiggle his cock a
bit, trying to get it to soften a little more so he could go.  His eyes
peered through their dizzy fog at the urine cascading down beside him, and
he couldn't help but sigh.  And as the last bit of that long breath died,
he suddenly felt his dick release, and his own gushing piss began to
thunder down onto the stained porcelain and the baby blue deodorant cake.

"That's it, Jackie... nice, hot piss!" Bruce cheered, already re-zipped and
clapping him on the back.  He leaned in close and licked Jack's ear,
breathed hotly into his neck as he kissed it.  Jack rolled his head ever
slightly and moaned.  Bruce nibbled on his earlobe and whispered, "You know
I love watching it, remember?"

Outside the door, a waiter could be heard walking by, asking someone else
about a salad order.  Something bumped the wall on the other side of the
urinal, jostling the door but not opening it.  Bruce stayed on Jack's neck
and ear, kissing, licking, nibbling, breathing so low and so slow.  Jack's
eyes were closed, and all he did was feel it all.  And then he felt the
splash.

Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw Bruce's large, bronzed hand
playing back and forth through his still-rapid flow of pee.  As his lover
danced his fingers across the jetting piss, hot splashes of it rained back
against Jack's front, pelting his crotch, wetting his pants obscenely.
Jack's nearly choked on his sudden desire, his breathing came so hard; all
he wanted to do was lie down right there and let Bruce find a dozen other
men to come in and soak him in his clothes, from head to toe, with their
stinking, boiling piss.

Bruce chuckled softly, watching Jack jerk a little with pleasure.  "You
little pig, you," he intoned, closing his fingers over the head of Jack's
cock as the urine stream weakened and then died.  He gave it one
affectionate squeeze, then pulled up his hand and wiped it back and forth
several times across Jack's dress shirt.  It soaked in a few places large
enough and deeply enough to see the matting of his chest hair beneath.  And
its rich stench was all around him, that glorious piss-stink he'd loved all
his life.

"Fuck," Jack muttered, then laughed.  He got his cock back in his pants and
took care to give Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek.  "Thanks, stud," he
smiled.  "I owe you one."

Before Bruce could kiss him back or laugh or drag him into the stall for a
serious moment of cocksucking, the door was flung open; three men attempted
to bunch themselves inside the claustrophobic restroom, much like idiots
outside elevators often attempt to enter before bothering to look inside it
to see who might be coming out.  The first man ran right into Jack as Jack
stepped back away from Bruce in surprise.  The other two men attempting to
follow the first piled all into each other, until their combined klutziness
pushed them and Jack straight back into the stall's nearest partition and
up against the sink.  Bruce laughed, "Whoa!"  He had his hands out helping
to catch and steady any man he could reach.

"Jesus!" said one of the men, then, "Thanks."  They all managed to keep
their feet and navigate their way around each other, Jack and Bruce finally
getting through them to the open doorway.  In those close quarters, pressed
almost sensually up against the strangers as he shuffled his way out, Jack
smelled powerfully the odor of piss; he caught one man as he passed sniff
and glance down dully at Jack's splotched shirt, but he stared openly as if
not at all comprehending what he saw, not able to add the stench to the
stains and come up with the obvious.  It was clearly not a leap the
stranger was able make.  He blinked in a dim sort of way and awkwardly let
Jack go on out the door.

A few moments later, Jack was slowly attempting to meander the two of them
home.  He was at the very end of his tolerance for alcohol, was just the
perfect shade of drunk for the night, and he could tell that Bruce was,
too.  They laughed even more, touched even more.  Talked even less about
stupid, mundane things.  The car hummed along, almost seeming to drive
itself.  The breeze that blew over them took away most of the piss smell
that still clung to Jack, but Bruce, ever Puckish, raised his hand to
Jack's nose from time to time as the went along, giving his lover some
sweet moments to inhale the scent of dried urine that still clung to
Bruce's unwashed fingers.

"Hey!  Pull in here," demanded Bruce suddenly, pointing at a brand new
convenience store about halfway between his house and Ruck's.  "I need some
smokes."

When he came out, Bruce was accompanied by a scrawny-looking kid in baggy
painter's jeans that barely hung onto his bony hips.  He wore a black
Emerica t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his hair was shaved on the
sides, long on top, and fine strands of long blonde hair fell all about his
head in a lazy way, stirred a bit like spaghetti just thrown into the
boiling water.

"Hey, Jack, look who I found!" laughed Bruce, who tossed a carton of Dorals
into Jack's lap and then graciously held the door open for the boy.  Nearly
tripping over his own flip-flops, the kid scrambled to get behind the seat
that Jack hastily folded forward.  He glanced once at Jack and muttered
something that must've been a thank you, and then he glued his eyes to his
own hands, clutching a one-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in his lap.

"It's Raylene's kid, Cory," chuckled Bruce, settling in the passenger seat.
Raylene was Bruce's regular drinking buddy, a divorcee with all kinds of
money pouring in.  She lived in a house similar to Bruce's just a
quarter-mile down the beach.  "You remember him, don't you?  He used to be
the guy wakeboarding in front of my place 24/7."

Jack did a double-take, and Cory turned red.  "Yeah, matter-of-fact, I do
remember him.  Wow!  You've grown up a bunch, kid."  Jack was lying.
Except for the haircut, which had definitely thrown him, everything else
about the boy seemed the same as it was the last summer, when he was
hanging around their beachfront, almost like a lost puppy, showing off his
little wakeboard tricks.  "You off at college now?"

Cory cleared his throat and looked out the side as they rode.  "Yeah," he
grunted, taking a swig of his Dew.  "I'm up in Gainesville."

"Well, congratulations, man," Jack smiled, remembering some good times
there.  "That's where I went to school, too.  I know you're having loads of
fun!"

"Yeah," said Cory flatly, and he rode on with them in silence.  Jack had to
glance back over Cory's shoulder twice on that drive, checking traffic
behind, and he couldn't help but notice that Cory's jeans were riding so
low as he sat that nearly half the white of his underwear was visible
beneath his t-shirt.  But it was thick underwear, or baggy, or some kind of
pair of shorts or something he had on, because it was clear there was more
bulk to the undergarment than a normal pair of BVDs would show.  Jack, in
his hazy brain, barely thought about it, though, and soon he quit glancing
back entirely and just kept on driving.

Bruce was trying to make conversation still, without much success.  "So
where's your skateboard, Cory?  I heard from Raylene that you're skating
more than ever now, got some kind of traveling competitive thing going on
sometimes too?  Some kind of skate club in Gainesville, right?"

"Yeah, well," muttered Cory, "it's more than a club, really...  But I'm
just takin' a break down here this weekend.  Tonight.  I guess.  Didn't
even bring down my board..."

As the boy's voice dully faded away, it was clear to Jack that the kid was
regretting accepting the ride.  But Bruce would not be Bruce if he didn't
bull straight on ahead and force the boy to talk some more.  He grabbed a
question from out of the blue and let it fly: "So, Cory, you still smoking
as much pot as you did before, back when you were such a little dick-beater
hanging around my house all hours of the day?"

Jack couldn't suppress his short laugh, and he looked back briefly, just in
time to see Cory roll his eyes in a heartfelt and spontaneous commentary
upon the infinitely moronic ways of adults.  The boy shook his head in
disbelief and then shrugged, looking down at his Mountain Dew.  "Yeah,
dude.  Of course.  What-the-fuck, right?"

They dropped Cory off in front of his house, a modest beachfront frame home
built in the sixties, raised up on a small forest of twelve-foot wooden
pylons, each one as thick as Bruce's considerable chest.  The boy shrugged
his way out of the backseat and mumbled his thanks to them for the ride,
slowly threading his way through the pylons and out toward the darkened
beach, which lay out of sight over the slight dunes.  He was already
fishing in his pocket, pulling out a large joint, finding his lighter with
the other hand, the bottle of soda lidded and tucked beneath his arm.  As
Jack's car backed away, Bruce reached over and sharply slapped the horn.  A
short blare of noise shot all around the underside of the house, making
Jack jerk nervously despite himself.  Bruce laughed hard at him, but he
watched Cory too; and the boy never even flinched.

"What a burned-out little fuck he is now," chuckled Bruce, lighting up a
cigarette as Jack turned them back onto the road.  "We'll have to come down
and visit his snotty little ass later on.  I really think we will."

By the time Jack had killed the engine beneath Bruce's house, his fly was
unzipped and his cock was being tugged free.  Bruce was done with his
cigarette and bent over, slurping up and down his lengthening rod, mumbling
happy sounds to himself.  Jack lifted his ass off the seat and let Bruce
pull his pants and Jockey's all the way off, kicking free of his shoes in
the process.  He lay the seat all the way down so he could angle his ass
and legs a little better, and soon Bruce's finger slid wetly up Jack's
musky asshole.  Bruce poked at Jack's prostate in a delicious rhythm that
matched his sucking mouth perfectly.  Jack just closed his eyes and
listened to the dim boom of the waves in the distance.  There was nothing
as good in this world as sex at the beach.  Nothing.

The finger withdrew.  The sucking stopped.  Jack sat up, startled.  Bruce
was getting out of the car and heading toward the steps.  "Well, come on,"
Bruce chided quietly.  The sounds of partiers on a nearby condo balcony
echoed faintly among the pylons.  "Let's go get serious about it, why don't
we?"

"No fair!" whispered Jack, gathering his clothing and scampering up the
steps.  "You are a fucking cock tease, godammit!"

Bruce had the door open for him, and as soon as they were inside they
locked in a passionate kiss.  Jack tasted some of his own pre-cum in
Bruce's mouth, along with the flavor of cigarettes and a hint of their
gumbo and oysters.  His hands worked to get his lover fully undressed, as
Bruce did the same with him.  Soon they were both nude, pressed tightly
together, hips working to grind their cocks against each other's hard
belly.

Jack withdrew this time, dancing away toward the wall of sliding glass
doors that faced the darkened beach below.  He got down on the Berber
carpet on all fours, pressing his cheek to the rolled fibers and swaying
his back.  His ass was high in the air, and he knew how delicious his balls
must look.  The scant moonlight coming into the darkened room was plenty
for Bruce to see by, and Jack was rewarded with a low whistle.

"Mmmmmm, Jackie," murmured Bruce, "Lemme' have a lick of those sweet
nuts..."  And then Bruce's tongue was on his scrotum, licking, slurping,
tasting up and down on his sack, around each shaved globe over and over,
just delicately enough... just rough enough... and Jack could only tremble
and moan.  Then Bruce's tongue moved up his perineum, the delicious ridge
of skin that lead straight from the root of his balls to his asshole.  Over
and over, the tongue caressed his ridge up and down, until his sack was
dripping with Bruce's saliva.

And then his tongue found the hole.  Jack gasped and pushed his anus back
against Bruce's face, and his lover happily obliged by driving his tongue
even deeper into Jack's musky, loose hole.  Around and around the tongue
went, licking hard against the inside of Jack's tingling anal ring.
Bruce's hand came up and began to lightly stroke Jack's cock and balls.  An
agony of sweet strokes and subtle squeezes, a little tug timed just right
as his tongue stabbed deeper than ever... and Jack had to pull away.  He
fell forward upon his face, chest heaving, arms splayed out to his sides.

"Oh God!  Jesus!" Jack breathed.  "Too much!  Fuck!"

Bruce crawled on top of him, chuckling.  "You look like you're ready, eh,
bitch?"  His fat cock wedged between Jack's asscheeks like an enormous
crowbar.  It was huge and hard and slimy at its tip.  Jack's anus spasmed;
his ass humped reflexively against the weight of it lying in his crack.
His own cock plowed back and forth upon the springy, rolled carpet, crushed
beneath their combined weight, quickly getting raw.

Bruce's mouth was on Jack's ear, nibbling, licking, breathing hot against
him.  Bruce kissed his neck and bit his shoulders, his teeth going in hard,
chewing against his skin in time with their slow, hard humping.  Jack knew
he'd have marks all over him for a solid week, but he could find ways to
avoid his wife seeing.  It took some care and some luck, but the
inconvenience was worth it.  Between his cock scraping across the carpet,
Bruce's cock sliding up and down his asscrack, and the teeth gnawing
mercilessly at his skin, Jack was powerless to do anything but grunt and
buck and beg for more.

"Oh yeah, fucker, bite me!" Jack growled.  "That's it, fuckin' chew on me!"

Bruce bit down harder, grabbed Jack by the back of his hair and ground his
face into the carpet.  He lifted his cock just enough to reach in with his
other hand and jam the head straight into Jack's sloppy, wet asshole.  In
one searing thrust, Bruce's huge cock sank to the root.  Jack was powerless
to move.  He could feel a rug burn grind itself into his cheekbone as Bruce
continued to smear his face into the berber.  His shoulder felt like it was
bleeding.

"That's it, oh yeah, bitch," Bruce muttered, his hips twitching as he
settled his cock inside Jack as deeply as possible.  "Way down in that hot
ass.  Deep inside you, you goddamn faggot..."

Bruce then pumped his cock steadily inside Jack's ass, from head to root,
over and over, taking his time.  He chose different spot on Jack's flesh,
biting down hard and unexpectedly.  Sometimes he slapped him viciously on
his ass or the side of his head.  He then picked up his pace, reaching down
to wrench back one of Jack's arms, twisting it up brutally behind him in a
police hold.  Jack screamed in agony and wept freely like a child.  But his
cock at that moment spurted thick hot jets of come against his belly and
the carpet, and he couldn't help but choke out a strangled "YES!  FUCK!
FUCK!  FUCK!" even as his body writhed to get out of the painful hold,
despite his waist and ass spasming joyously through his orgasm.

Bruce laughed cruelly, "Yeah, little fucker, cry like a baby and come all
over my fuckin' rug..." And then he suddenly released Jack's arm and
grabbed his shaking waist in both hands, hammering his cock into Jack's wet
asshole with all his strength.  Jack's prostate felt nearly crushed, its
throbbing no longer rhythmic, but constant, a sensory overload that shot
straight through every nerve in his body, strangely enrapturing and
paralyzing him at the same time, his neck and head and arms alternately
stiff and flopping about of their own accord.  His cock continued to fire,
but no more jism was left; his gland shot off anyway, again and again and
again, painfully driving Jack even higher in his twisted heights of
pleasure.

As for Bruce, he jetted rope after rope of semen deep inside Jack's ass,
continuing to pound his cock to the full until every ounce of come was
spent.  He bent forward then, breathing heavily, and kissed Jack tenderly,
over and over and over, all over his back and shoulders and neck.  He
kissed the side of Jack's face and licked up his messy tears.  He kept his
cock inside until it was soft, and then he withdrew, still kissing and
petting Jack as the other lay there beneath him, exhausted, sore, and
euphoric.

For an hour the two of them slept there on the floor, wrapping arms and
legs together, still naked, unwashed, their sweat and semen drying slowly.
Jack had a dream that he was on a merry-go-round, tied with his upper body
hanging partly off the side, so that his head was only inches above the
rocky ground that spun by below him.  He was naked and his cock was
pointing straight up.  Bruce flashed by every second or so, his strong arms
flinging the playground wheel ever-faster around and around.  Beside him
stood the boy Cory, drinking a Mountain Dew.  "He's a dizzy bitch, ain't
he?"  Bruce said to Cory, but the boy only shrugged and rolled his eyes.
As Jack continued to spin, helpless, in the dream, he saw flashes of the
two like a zoetrope animation staggering rapidly across his vision, a
flipbook tweening of moments that he craved to see more of... Bruce still
spinning the wheel, but somehow also getting his cock out and letting Cory
kneel to suck it... Cory suddenly naked, so scrawny, but with a huge long
cock, squatting himself over the bottle of soda, fucking it slowly up into
his own pink asshole... Bruce pissing a fountain of golden rain from his
cock, all over Cory's upturned face and open mouth, the boy weeping in
humiliation and in need, his own cock spewing huge globs of come as he
jerked on it frantically...

"Hey, Jackie," Bruce whispered, and Jack was awake.  He still felt like he
was spinning, but already the dream was forgotten.  His body was softly
rocking as Bruce shook him tenderly from his sleep.  "Hullo, stud," Jack
mumbled, smiling.

Bruce found Jack's mouth and kissed him, soft at first, then with more
heat, more tongue.  Jack responded with his own rising passion, letting
Bruce roll over on top of him, lie full-length upon him as he held off his
weight with his gorgeous arms.  Each man felt the other's cock slowly
stiffen against his belly; each man groaned and kissed ever more deeply,
their crotches rocking back and forth, their cocks fucking hungrily against
each other, trapped inside the tight vise of their two hard abdomens, the
stickiness of dick-scum slicked and smoothed deliciously by the fresh
pre-cum that now leaked out of both slits, mingling, greasing.

Bruce broke off the kiss, though, and stilled his hips.  Jack whined a
little in his throat and looked pleadingly up at his lover.  Bruce couldn't
suppress his laugh.  "Jesus, Jack!  You really are a bitch!"  He bent and
kissed him once more, briefly, then stood up.  Jack, from his back on the
floor, watched in rapture as Bruce towered above him, all legs and cock and
balls.  And drippy!  A splotch of unidentified fluid landed messily on
Jack's throat, slowly sliding off onto the carpet, as he stared hungrily up
at his man.

"What?"  Jack asked thickly.  His hand went to his cock and gently stroked;
still a little sore from the carpet, but ready for more...

"Well, buddy, I gotta piss," Bruce said, hands on his hips.  His cock
bounced goofily as he talked, like it tried to mime the words but was
completely out of synch and utterly uncoordinated.  "But I'm too hard to
piss now, thank you very much."

Jack laughed and continued to stroke himself.  "Sorry, Bruce, but you
kissed me that time."

Bruce waved that off and looked away, through the sliding glass door at the
nearly pitch black Gulf of Mexico beyond.  "Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Listen,
what is it, like, midnight now?  You think anybody's still out there?"

Jack laughed again, but he stopped stroking and manfully got to his feet.
He only groaned once from the pain that lanced up into his sore shoulder.
"Fuck, Bruce, but you did get drunk tonight!  How the hell should I know
who might still be out there?  You're the one who fucking lives here,
remember?  Not me!"  But he came up behind Bruce then and put his arms
around him, letting his rigid dick slide thickly against the hard crack of
the bigger man's ass.  They stood that way, hotly pressed together in the
warm room, for a long time, Jack kissing Bruce's back and shoulders just as
tenderly as he had been kissed before.  But then finally Bruce broke away
and turned.

"All right, that's long enough!  Let's go down there and let me piss on you
out in the open air, OK?"  Bruce nodded enthusiastically at his own plan
and immediately slid open the glass door and stepped onto the deck.  A
drying rack stood nearby with some swimming trunks clothes-pinned to it.
He pulled off a pair for himself and a pair for Jack, tossing them to him
and then stepping quickly into his own.  "We need some camouflage for the
walk down to the water's edge, eh?"  He grinned.  Jack grinned back and
stepped into his trunks.  His cock tented the front outrageously, but he
didn't care.  It was dark, he was horny.  What the fuck.

--2--

Cory knew the honk was coming.  If one thing never changed, it was Bruce.
Always with the horn, forever trying to get a laugh.  Fucking rich asshole,
but at least he was good for free booze or some pot whenever Cory ran out.
And he never cared much about closing his windows or locking things.  Made
it easy to get in and snoop around.  Spy.

Not that he needed to do that tonight.  He'd seen enough of the Jack and
Bruce show on other weekends.  It was all sweat and teeth and muscles.  A
lot of jackhammer stuff, and Cory honestly didn't know how Jack took it.
How the hell could he even like it that way?  But whatever.  Tonight was
just not the night for all that.  Cory took a nice long drag on his joint,
hitched up his pants a bit, and headed out for the beach.  He had other
shit on his mind.

Tyler was done with him.  After nearly a whole year of doing everything
right, or at least trying to, Cory's boyfriend had dropped him cold.  It
had been his first openly gay relationship; since he was so far away at
college, he felt like a completely different person, free to be himself at
last, and what he'd wanted above all else was to just find a guy and not
worry about any of the stupid hometown stuff.  No more talking in code on
the phone.  No more playing it so stone cold straight at school and at the
mall and on the weekends.  No more idiot girlfriends to drag around and
spend money on.  He could give and get blowjobs in his own room without
worrying about a fucking thing.  He could ride as much cock as his ass
could take, any time he wanted, any way he wanted, and he didn't have to
worry that some chatty bitch would find out and spread it all over town --
or worse, that his mom would stumble in and see her boy for what he really
was.  That could fucking well end the money, at the least.

He sucked again on the fat, sweet joint and suppressed a small shudder.
Thing was, Cory didn't really know how his mom might be about it.  Hell,
her best friend most of the time was Bruce, who didn't worry about anybody
knowing his preferences.  But, then again, Bruce was this huge muscular
rich guy who didn't need anybody's approval.  Plus, he could kick ass if
somebody gave him trouble about it.  At the very least, his money could
change a mind or a mouth pretty fast.  More than a few cops on the island
kept quiet the complaints about Bruce's beach adventures over the years.
But that was Bruce.  Cory could only sit back and dream about shit like
that.

The warm breeze swept across him over and over like an endlessly unfurling
bed sheet, fresh from the drier.  Waves murmured up and back, in and out,
across the shallow tidal sands, a pleasant sort of conversation that Cory
missed deeply when he was away at school.  The sound and the smell and the
softly moving air, the beach he'd grown up loving was in his blood too deep
to deny, and he couldn't help but like coming back home.  Even if it was
for no other reason than what he was doing just then: sitting on the sand,
smoking, settling into himself, just finding a minute or two with no seams
whatsoever.  Nothing but a sweet moment of unbroken solitude, surrounded
but serene, the sand and the waves and the stars keeping him company and
keeping everything else away.

So Tyler had a problem.  Big fucking deal.  Cory shuffled out of his slides
and let his toes dig a little in the sand beneath his house, then he set
off toward the water and his regular spot.  The fine powder was good and
cool and helped keep his anger down.  It was so hard to be pissed at
anything on a night like this.  So hard to find enough fault with Tyler to
truly miss him that much.  What was it worth anyway?  Had he really thought
his first real adult love would last forever?  He was a freshman, after
all!  Think of how many more years, how many more men there can still be
before some next big change.  Tyler's just the first, but think of the
next!  Think of anything else, at least, but Tyler's cock -- or Tyler's
balls resting on your tongue, or his ass when he danced, or his toes in
your mouth, his fingers so deep inside you...

"Fuck!" Cory exhaled, shaking his head a bit and reaching down to adjust
his pants again.  Damn things slid all crazy now, something he hadn't
expected, but he'd remember from now on and wear better-fitting jeans or
something.  He'd remember because he knew he would do it again.  Even
though it had crushed his life with Tyler, he had made a choice.  Tyler
could find someone else now, but Cory had to keep becoming the adult he
wanted to be.  The free man he deserved to be.

He sat in a weathered wooden beach chair, deepset, seat riding the sand,
with a high back and long armrests, his legs relaxed out straight on the
cool quartz powder of the shore just thirty feet off the waterline.  His
ass squirmed and scooted until everything felt just right.  He'd been in
that same chair hundreds of times in his life, of course, but he took an
especially long time to settle into it just then.  After all, it was the
first time he'd been in it wearing a diaper.

The mere thought of it stirred his cock, and he couldn't help but feel for
the dozenth time, at least, the outline of his penis beneath the puffy
layers of super-absorbent synthetic.  What a fucking miracle all of this
was!  How had he even thought he was really free -- really even alive at
all -- before realizing this amazing fact about adult life?  He could wear
a diaper, all day if he wanted, and nobody would notice, nobody would care.
Even if somebody did care, nobody ever had to know.  The stores sold them
to adults just the same as to kids!  And medical supply stores sold even
better kinds, and they didn't care at all if you came in and bought a whole
case at once.  Online stores were great, too, or so Cory had been told, but
he didn't want to wait for the shipping and he didn't want to pay extra for
the fast delivery.  So he'd tried Wal-Mart first, and their adult brands
had been OK.  But then he hit Tassler's Medical Equipment and Supply, Inc.,
and their store was enough for him.  He'd tried all three of their major
brands now and had finally settled on the diaper maker and style he liked
the best.  All that had been left were two things: wearing them 24/7 and
letting Tyler know.

It was the letting Tyler know part that he'd tried first, after his weeks
and weeks of covert experimentations were through, after he knew for
certain how important this new part of his life was going to be.  He was
ready to go toward wearing them full-time, but since he had a full-time
lover it would be impossible, and stupid, to try to hide this crazy thing
he now loved.  Tyler sat across from him for nearly an hour as Cory had
tried to explain.  Tyler had been there, after all, when it had all
started.  He'd gone with Tyler to that all-gay fetish party on Halloween in
the fall.  Tyler had already gotten quite drunk before they arrived (he was
dressed as Captain Morgan), and he more or less dozed the night away in a
wicker patio rocking chair while Cory in his "207-boned Skeleton" costume
had been free to roam, if not to romance.

A dozen or so of the guys had been wearing diapers; Cory, having never
thought about such a thing before, was thunderstruck.  He'd spent most of
the night hanging out with the diapered guys (who'd all sort of stuck
together, their respective "daddies" bringing them drinks or whatever
throughout the night), and he even got to watch several of them piss or
shit their diapers.  He felt the warmth from the outside as it spread and
filled the fibers.  He massaged the hot, heavy bulge as it sagged down
between a guy's thighs.  He even got to see a couple of them get changed --
wiped, powdered, the whole works.  It tripped him out harder than any drug
had ever done.  His entire perception of adulthood, of queerness, of
freedom, all of it changed.  The diapered guys talked about how they lived
their lives in diapers.  He learned what it took to keep things discrete,
to make it a real life's choice and not just some occasional horny thing.
He even learned brands of diapers to look for, how and where to buy, what
some web sites there were that could help him learn more.  And of course he
got their names and numbers, and he heard about their local chapter of the
GAB/DL Club.  He made it to their next party, the very next week, matter of
fact.

It had been his first moment of broken trust with Tyler.  He'd told him he
had to study, that he was hitting the library for an all-nighter.  What
happened all night, instead, was that Cory had gotten drunk, put on his
first ever adult diapers, and let nature happen.  A half-dozen Kendall
Wings later, there was no doubt.  He'd changed himself the first couple
times, of course, being shy; but the last several changes he had whomever
was near take care of him, and it only added to the thrill and the euphoric
rush of freedom that once again turned his perceptions inside out.  Not a
hand touched his cock but to clean it.  Not a finger neared his asshole but
to wipe it and powder it and keep it nice.  It was not cheating.

But that didn't matter to Tyler, of course.  Who knew that even gays could
be uptight, close-minded prudes?  Cory shook his head softly, breathing
more smoke into the night.  Whatever.  He was gone.  It would've happened
sooner or later, anyway.  Cory knew that about himself now.  He was always
going to be different, and shame - at least so far - wasn't a part of that
experience.  What he liked was what he liked.  He craved what he craved.
How could he help it?  He didn't go looking for his lusts, after all.  They
were already a part of him, and they felt as natural as his arms, his legs,
his beating heart.

As normal and as inevitable, in fact, as the urge to shit; Cory shifted his
ass slightly as the sweet sensation of fullness rattled up from his colon.
Then, with one long, gentle push, he let the first fat turd pass through
his pulsating sphincter and come to rest, firm and warm, inside the
snuggling safety of his diaper.  The kid took a deep drag on his joint,
closed his eyes, and pushed again... and again... until every turd was
squeezed out of his ass and squashed thickly inside his faithful Abena's,
with not a single seep into his jeans to worry about.

Sighing, truly happy for the first time in weeks, Cory gazed up at the
high, clear vault of stars and gently traced the outline of his cock as it
steadily hardened beneath the diaper.

--3--

The Gulf of Mexico was warm this time of year, even at night, so it felt a
lot like bathwater and less like ocean.  Jack was sure it would stimulate
Bruce's bladder tremendously once the two of them got down to the water's
edge.  Soon they were ankle-deep, still holding hands and enjoying the
rhythmic, muted scrape and slide of the night-time Gulf's calm wavelets,
the sound surrounding them there at the wet ocean shore and creating a
sense of absolute unity, privacy, solitude... as if the two of them were
alone on the earth, enfolded, protected.  Jack sighed and squeezed Bruce's
hand.

"Sentimental fucker," Bruce chuckled.  "You're not going to start quoting
Thoreau again, are you?"  He was enjoying the moment, too, smiling
serenely, gazing out across the dark waters at a distant buoy, its signal
light blinking in and out of sight with the rise and fall of the far-off
waves.

Jack shook his head.  "No, this time I was thinking more of Rembrandt."  He
could make out Bruce's profile in the midnight gleam off the water.  Bruce
was rolling his eyes.

"Choose only one master," Jack grinned, "Nature."

Bruce snorted with derision, then spit the ensuing loogie far out into the
shallows.  He squeezed Jack's hand, though, and looked him dead in the
eyes.  "Who the hell gave you permission to choose?" he sneered, all
fuck-devil Top.  His hand let go of Jack's and went instead to the crown of
Jack's head and pushed.  "Get on your knees, Jackie," and Jack quickly did,
mouth open and ready.  Bruce's other hand was tugging his swim trunks down,
freeing his thick, piss-ready cock.

"All right, baby..." Bruce grunted, as much to Jack as to his own penis,
encouraging them both; then he sighed as the urine finally came, a heavy,
smelly, salty torrent that blasted Jack squarely between his eyes.  Bruce
growled and played his piss-spray all over Jack's face, the eager mouth of
his lover straining back and forth to catch it.  Jack couldn't help
himself, he mewled like a lovestruck tomcat caught behind a fence.  He
wanted that warm, strong drink; he craved to taste it, to swallow it, to
bathe in it.  Finally, unable to stand being teased any longer, Jack rose
up and put his mouth around Bruce's cockhead, chugging as much piss as he
could, his cheeks distended, his mouth leaking urine all around.

"Goddamn, I love how you want that so bad," murmured Bruce, and he grasped
Jack's ears as the last few spurts went down his lover's throat.  "You are
such a nasty, nasty bitch, Jackie..." Bruce moved his hips, fucking Jack's
captive mouth as his cock began to stiffen.  Soon he was fully hard and
happily ramming himself down Jack's throat.  It was usually a fifty-fifty
deal with Jack, as far as face-fucking went.  Sometimes he could handle it,
sometimes not.  And just then it was not.

Jack convulsed, shoved himself away from Bruce's crotch, but not quickly
enough.  Before the tip of Bruce's cock even cleared Jack's lips, he puked.
A giant froth of piss, beer, and seafood exploded from Jack's mouth,
splattering Bruce from waist-to-toes and back-splashing all over Jack's own
face, neck, and chest.  Whimpering, beyond all control, Jack bent double
and vomited again; then again.  The sand was thick with the chunky, rancid
remnants of Jack's appetite.  His mouth was dripping as he shuddered, bent
over on his hands and knees, light-headed from convulsing, his throat raw
and sore.

"Aw, fuck it all!" Bruce flicked a small piece of Jack's puke off his
abdomen.  Then he stroked his still-hard cock, cleaning off a large blob of
vomit in the process.  He examined his messy fingers, then flicked wet
little bits at Jack's sagging head.  "You had too much to drink tonight,
baby."  Bruce, barely considerate - but trying - managed to keep his
chuckling mostly suppressed.  He did ask with complete sincerity, "Are you
going to be all right?"  And then he went back to stroking his engorged
penis, expecting only one answer from his lover.

Jack nodded, still gasping for breath, and came back up to the large, slick
cock.  It smelled like rotted cheese, fermented orange juice, dead fish.
Jack choked down another convulsion, closed his eyes, and drove his mouth
onto Bruce's throbbing dick.  He couldn't breathe anymore, though, since
vomit had backed up into his sinuses, too, packing in the mucous and
sending a sticky mess out his nostrils as he tried to catch his breath.  He
had to pull off, once again, and went back down on all-fours.

"Sorry!  Jesus, I'm sorry!" coughed Jack, waving a hand weakly a few inches
above the sand.  "Just gimme a minute, Bruce, just hold on..." and Jack
spasmed again as a new fit of coughing nearly had him retching once more.
Bruce smoothed the back of Jack's hair with his large, strong hand, bending
down to him tenderly.

"Hey, c'mon Jackie, let's just walk it off for a little bit.  I don't
mind."  He grabbed Jack beneath the arms and lifted him to his feet,
keeping a steadying arm around his lover's waist.  "You need some air,
that's all."  He kissed the top of Jack head, and Jack, despite his
puke-induced delirium, got yet another strong jolt, deep in his heart, a
pounding in his chest that marched him even farther down the road of love
than he'd already gone.  Bruce was his true mate - his one, deep, lasting
love.  Not Angela.  Never Angela.  He thought she felt the same about him,
in fact, so it didn't really worry him.  Theirs had never been a marriage
for love.  It was something else.  For show, perhaps.  For fun, maybe.
They were steadfast friends, after all.  Never fought, laughed a lot, threw
great parties.  But nothing electric, nothing primal and terrifying and
absolute - nothing like the way Bruce made him feel.

"Thanks, Bruce," Jack muttered, leaning into the larger man's strong side,
throwing both his arms around Bruce's still-naked waist.  "I'll be OK in a
little bit, I promise."  Jack's head spun from alcohol and sickness and
lust, and he felt nothing but Bruce's warm, sticky body against his.  There
was the constant reminder, too, that Bruce's cock was still out and ready;
its semi-hard length slapped rhythmically against his thighs as they
walked, a sound that finally stirred Jack's own dick, once again.  He
turned his head, kissed Bruce's sweaty neck, and whispered, "You don't
happen to need to piss again, do you?  I'd like to wash this nasty taste
out of my mouth..."

Bruce, who'd been looking inland, laughed softly and steered them both to a
stop.  "As a matter of fact, I do."  He grinned down at Jack with a wicked
hunger, "And I think I'd like to do it with a little audience this time!"
Bruce jerked his head inland, toward a dark row of stilt-houses, and Jack
strained to see something that looked like people.  There was a whole lot
of varying darks against dark, shadows upon shadows, moonlight not doing
much, starlight even less.  But then he saw it: the cigarette.  Someone was
about halfway between them and the houses, smoking.  He continued to stare,
and finally he could make out the lean, slouchy outline of a young man,
casually puffing away and staring straight up in the air, lost in his own
private world.

--4--

Cory was halfway through his second joint when he finally gave up on
teasing himself.  His long hand slid underneath the front of his diaper,
down over the length of his cock, and onto his balls, where the first thick
clumps of shit could be felt.  Listening to the exquisite squishing of his
fingers as he flexed them against one another and against his sack, the
turds gone to paste and squirting wherever the pressure sent them, Cory
closed his eyes and moaned.  He put the tip of his middle finger just
inside his asshole, which was still rather loose and easy from the large
turds it had just expelled.  Fucking just the tip of his finger in and out,
Cory's sphincter began to quiver, and his cock jumped repeatedly, straining
against the bonds of diaper that held it.

He soon pulled his hand back up to his cock, groaning, relishing the
sensation of his own slippery shit as he stroked it up and down his gland,
the stink wafting up to his face in wave after wave, the filth of it all
filling him with more lust than he knew he could take.  It would only be
maybe another half a minute, then he'd come.  Cory leaned back, stroking
with one soiled hand, smoking with his joint in the clean one, his eyes
squeezed tight and his nose and nerves working overtime.

He had no clue that Bruce and Jack were walking up from the water.  Cory
hadn't noticed them at all.  Bruce waited to speak until he was sure Cory
wouldn't accidentally drop his joint and burn himself, but he almost did
anyway, he was so startled.  "Mind if we join you?" Bruce calmly asked.
Cory yelped involuntarily, just like a scolded puppy, and immediately held
his hand still inside the stinking disaster of his diaper.  His cock
throbbed in his grip, nearly ready to burst, but Cory clamped off the urge
with a mighty pincering of forefinger and thumb.  "Oh fuck!" he gasped.
"Oh my fucking GOD!"

Bruce, of course, laughed.  Jack, holding onto his lover like he was the
last buoy in some threatening sea, just seemed to smile a little in the
darkness, but he said nothing.  Cory could see Bruce's cock swinging
between his legs, in silhouette against the barely-lighter sand.  As usual,
the sight of it made Cory catch his breath.  "W-what, I mean - aw... Jesus
Fuck!  Aw, man!"  Cory was a stammering, embarrassed little kid; it was a
nightmare.  He'd been caught masturbating in his own shit, in a diaper no
less, by the only man in the entire world that he actually could say he
loved.  He'd wanted Bruce as his father and as his lover for as long as he
could remember, and now Cory'd be nothing but a sad, sick little kid, and
Bruce would never have anything to do with him again.

"Relax, kid," Bruce quickly said, hearing Cory's strangled sobs of
embarrassment and frustration.  "I'm fucking naked on the beach in front of
you, OK?  I'm covered in this sick faggot's puke, and I'm about to piss
down his throat for a second time tonight.  I think that makes us all
equals here, right?"  Jack laughed quietly and turned to chew on Bruce's
closest nipple.  Cory caught his breath and simply stared back at the two
horny men, his shitty hand still around his aching cock, his heart still
smashed to atoms and scattered with the wind.  He couldn't think - or do -
anything.

"Hmm," Bruce pondered, one hand coming up to idly stroke the top of Jack's
head as he continued to suck and nibble at his chest.  "Well, son, can I at
least have a hit of that fine-smelling stuff?"  He held out his hand for
the joint, and Cory automatically passed it up to him.  Bruce drew on it,
long and deep, then passed it to Jack, who did the same.  They shared it
around three more times before Bruce flicked the last pinch off into the
night, it's tiny flame arcing away like some hopeless signal flare
swallowed by the vastness of the night.  Cory watched its progress through
the void until it disappeared, and then he swallowed hard, bolstered by the
pot, and dared to voice a thought.

"You got any idea what I've really been doing here?" he asked the two older
men, "I mean, besides smoking?  Besides just jacking off?"  His heart
roared its every beat, hot and loud up through his chest and throat and
into his ears, so that he could barely hear anything else.  He was going to
tell them.  He might as well.  They were going to figure it out soon,
anyway, if their noses worked properly.

But Jack already knew.  "You shit yourself, obviously," he said calmly,
"and you've been playing in it.  And in a diaper, no less."  Cory heard
Jack click his tongue emphatically, while Bruce was straining to see what
Jack apparently already could.  "I was wondering what was so odd about your
crotch when you were in the backseat earlier..."

"Oh, you little cheating bitch!  Looking at some other guy's junk!" Bruce
declared, mock-outraged.  But Jack went on.

"...since it looked like the thickest underwear I'd ever seen.  I should
have put two-and-two together and just brought you straight home with us."
Jack broke off then and chuckled.  Bruce grunted, nodding his agreement.
Cory sat silently, still mostly stunned, but no longer as scared.  What the
hell were they trying to say?  He was nothing but the weird skater kid down
the beach, right?  The one who spied on them and stole lighters and loose
cash from the glove compartments of their cars and who was gone off to
college and good riddance and all that, right?

Bruce had the answer, in the form of a command.  "Pull that hand out of
your pants, kid.  I want to see what it is I'm smelling."

Cory, shocked and reeling, could do nothing but obey.  He pulled out his
hand, smearing shit halfway up his stomach in the process, and held it up
for the two of them to see.  In the dimness of the night there were but
darker splotches and irregular lumps and bumps upon his palm and fingers,
but it was proof enough.  The smell hit all three at the same time, the
ocean breeze merely a faint swirl at that moment, enshrouding them in a
heady cloud of stench that dizzied them for several moments.  They were all
still, all inhaling steadily, all staring at that filthy, anxious hand.

Then, without warning, Bruce pushed Jack forward; the smaller man fell to
his knees beside Cory, grasped his wrist in both hands, and stuck all four
shit-covered fingers into his mouth.  The kid snapped his head around to
stare at Jack's mouth as it moved up and down on his filthy digits, his
head reeling, nothing but a roar of blood and confusion.  All he could do
was to stare and to feel.

Bruce was talking then, directing Jack with a coolness and certainty that
hit Cory like a splash of frigid water.  Whatever Bruce said, he realized,
Jack would do.  Bruce had complete control and not one smidge of doubt
about anything.  Likewise, Jack was relaxed and happy to be active, like a
dog put to work for a good master, sure of his reward, eager to please.
Cory admired and envied them both; he couldn't decide -- even later on,
when he'd masturbate again and again to the memory of that night -- which
way he'd like best, the top or the bottom.  What he did know, for sure, was
that the middle was a truly wonderful place to be.  That was where Bruce
put him.  That was how Bruce skewered him.

"Jackie, baby, pull him out of those jeans... let's see that diaper on his
scrawny little ass."  Jack immediately let go of Cory's
shit-and-slobber-sloppy hand to grasp at the kid's jeans, tugging gently
while Cory obligingly raised his ass a little and reached down to hold onto
the heavy, reeking Abena, to keep it from sliding off as well.  The slight
coolness of the breeze on his naked thighs stood his hairs on end, and his
cock hardened more than ever.

Bruce towered over them both, leering down at Cory's exposed infantile
state while Jack lovingly ran a hand over the bulky surface of the
saturated synthetic.  Close up now, Cory could make out the remnants of
food or slobber or something around the edges of Jack's mouth and on his
chin.  There were flecks of the same stuff on his chest and arms, too.
Dried and indistinguishable, but evidence of something rancid, nonetheless.
Intermingled with the powerful odor of his own turds, Cory now caught a
whiff something sharper, more spoiled, the closer Jack's face got to his
own.

Cory threw his head back, nearly gagging.  "Oh, God!" he moaned, kicking
his legs reflexively, swallowing hard, trying to breathe.  The two older
men laughed.

"Settle down, kid," chided Bruce, "or else you won't enjoy it."  Then Cory
felt hands moving his own away from the diaper.  Hands were ripping open
the Velcro, pulling down the front to expose his rigid cock, slimed in
shit, glistening in the dim midnight, bouncing up and down rapidly as Cory
panted for breath.  He forgot all about puking.

Jack's mouth hungrily sank onto Cory's filthy dick, sucking and licking and
scraping at his length with more expertise than the kid could've ever
imagined.  It was the blowjob of the gods, the best he'd ever have, the one
he could never, ever forget.  Over and over, Jack's face lowered until his
nose was buried deep in Cory's shit-clogged pubic hair, the entire length
of his long penis sliding perfectly down Jack's well-used throat.

Cory's shock overcame his primal need, and he couldn't come right away -- a
surprise to all three of them, but not a problem.  As Jack realized that
Cory was going to last, he began to run his hands over the kid's filthy ass
and over the insides of the diaper he still sat on, which contained a
seamless coating of thick, brown shit-sludge.  The man's hands methodically
came up, over and again, to rub on Cory's exposed stomach and thighs; up
and down and around went the shit-slicked hands, pasting the kid with his
own stinking crap.  Cory's cock strained more than ever as he tilted his
head to watch himself get painted with shit.  The stench was so strong, he
could even seem to taste it now, the sickness that roiled his stomach just
a few moments earlier now simply felt like butterflies, like the nervous,
childish anxiety of a first date.  A first fuck.  A first shit bath.

Bruce abruptly pulled off Cory's shirt, and soon the kid was covered in
shit up to his neck.  Jack pulled off his cock then, and, with a sly nod
from Bruce, he brought up both hands and slid them all around over Cory's
throat, and then his face.  Three, four, five times Jack's hands went back
down to scrape up more shit, spackling his cheeks and forehead with blob
after blob of Cory's own nasty, reeking waste.

Cory's eyes -- squeezed shut throughout Jack's work on his face -- finally
flew open as he felt the man's fingers spread shit over his lips; then Jack
sloughed some off a few fingers into each nostril, and he sat back,
glancing up at Bruce.  The large, powerfully-built man had been slowly
stroking his hardness, standing just behind Jack as he'd knelt there on the
sand.  Cory could see vast evidence of puke-stuff all over Bruce's thighs,
but he thought nothing of it now.  That wasn't strange at all!

"You ever tasted it, kid?" Bruce asked, nodding at Jack, who held up one
thickly-coated shitty finger in front of Cory's face.  Cory didn't do
anything but stare.  He'd tasted his own shit a lot in the past several
months, but only a little lick or suck here and there.  Only to clean a
tiny smear of it off his finger or off a dildo he'd ridden really well.
Only a few times off Tyler's cock, his lover going to pains to pretend he
didn't know that his dick was slimed in shit and being cleaned by his
supposed one true love.  It all flashed through Corey's mind in an instant,
along with the thought that, no matter what he answered, he was going to
get a substantial taste of his own shit right then and there.

So he simply opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue a little, moaned with a
lust he couldn't possibly contain.

With a catch in his breath, Jack wiped the first finger-full of crap across
Cory's tongue, then both men paused, still as stone, to watch the kid close
his mouth and slowly swallow.  Cory managed to swill enough saliva in with
it to get it down somewhat easily, and he proudly opened his mouth and
stuck his tongue back out, not even close to choking.  Jack gave him
another finger covered thickly in shit, then another, then another.  Cory
put his filthy hand back on his cock and steadily stroked it as Jack fed
him the smashed-up turds.

Eventually, Bruce said, "Let's do it now, gentlemen," and Jack stood up and
backed away from Corey in order to pull off his own swim trunks.  Bruce
took Jack by the shoulder and gently pushed him down toward Corey.  "You
lay on your back where Corey is, Jackie, and raise your legs and ass like a
good little bitch."  Corey scrambled to get up without getting sand stuck
all over his shit-covered parts.  The world spun as he stood, trembling,
beside Bruce, trying to focus in the dim light on Jack's sand-crusted feet
rising toward him, his hands pulling apart his ass-cheeks to hold open his
loose, moist hole.

Then Bruce's rough, hard paw was pushing on Corey's shoulder.  "Now, kid,
you get down there and fuck my bitch.  Go on.  Put your shitty self right
on top of him and let him have it.  He won't mind getting just as dirty as
you, so don't worry about all that.  Just fuck him."  Corey let himself get
shoved steadily down, until he was crouched, catcher-style over Jack's
haunch.

Bruce was leaning down, his breath hot on Corey's neck.  "Now put that long
cock of yours in that hot ass, boy," Bruce whispered, "and lean into it."
Corey brought his cockhead up against Jack's willing sphincter, pushed
steadily, and buried himself to the balls inside the older man.  Jack let
out an "ooof!" of approval, then brought up his hands to clasp at Cory's
neck, pulling him down and nearly over-balancing him -- except that Jack's
legs were raised so that his calves rested on Cory's shoulders, keeping him
from falling completely off.

It took just a moment for Cory to get accustomed to the position.  It took
only slightly longer to adjust to smelling his shit even more strongly, now
that he was squishing it between himself and Jack all along his entire
front.  He was about a dozen good, deep strokes into rutting when he felt
what he should've been expecting all along: Bruce's cock pushing steadily
against his asshole.

"Come on, kid," Bruce breathed into his hair, "give me your sweet little
hole."  The man's teeth were sliding across Cory's shoulder, his tongue was
licking at his earlobe, he sucked hard on the kid's neck.  "I've let you
spy on me and jack off for a dozen years now, boy, and I know you've wanted
my cock all along...  And now you're off at college, coming back here like
a man, fucking yourself in your own shit right here on my beach.  You know
you're gonna goddamn get it now!"  Cory moaned at the truth of Bruce's
words, and he slowed his thrusts until he was dead still, jammed fully
inside Jack and arching his back, trying to turn his face and kiss the man
about to fuck him.  Bruce leaned over and gave him his tongue; Cory sucked
on it and groaned, willing his anus to relax and give way to the dick
already nosing its way in.

"That's it, yeah..." Bruce murmured into Cory's mouth.  "Let your pretty
little whore ass open up for me, go on... relax and take it... yeah... Feel
how thick a man's cock is?  Feel how it splits your little-boy ass in two?
...You want it all the way in?  ...You do?  You little whore.... Well, here
it is!"

Cory cried out with pain and fathomless need as Bruce finally thrust his
entire length and girth up the kid's rectum.  The man's cock was a heavy,
thick log inside him; bigger than the biggest turd he'd ever had; it filled
his ass completely, impossibly, and rattled every nerve in the kid's body.
All he could do was hold onto Jack as the man below him panted beneath
their combined weight.  Cory's prostate was absolutely crushed, and as soon
as Bruce began to pump his cock in and out, the kid's dick let loose a
torrent of semen inside Jack's ass, filling the older man with his hot
juice again and again.

It was a seemingly endless agony of pleasures, for even after all his semen
was pumped out of Cory's cock, Bruce's thrusts were nevertheless continuing
to prime and launch the kid's prostate into action.  It was the most
torturous bliss Cory could've ever imagined.  Certainly nothing in high
school or college -- and definitely nothing with Tyler -- had ever been
half as intense as this.  In the end, he simply buried his shit-covered
face in Jack's sweaty chest and sobbed, weeping, pitiful, while Bruce
stroked his way to completion.

And Jack, jism trickling out around the still-hard cock lodged deeply in
his ass, groaned lustfully and watched Bruce tower over them, his face
savage, triumphant.  His lover's brutal thrusts echoed through Cory into
his own ass, and his own gland was soon overpowered and pumped rope after
rope of semen over his shit-streaked chest and face.

Finally, when Bruce was done, in a growling, bruising mash of orgasm that
left Cory crushed down hard against Jack, there was but one thing left for
them to do.  As the kid continued to whimper and cling reflexively to his
lover below, Jack clasped his ankles around the kid's neck to hold him
steady; then he winked up through the darkness at Bruce, hugely looming
above, his entire form shrouded in the shadows of the night.

His cock was obviously, and entirely, still held out and ready, even if it
was not quite so hard as before.

As the first jets of piss thundered down across Cory's ass and balls, the
kid stiffened and gasped in shock.  But Jack held him there strongly, ready
for the struggle, so Cory quickly relented and closed his eyes.  Soon, as
the torrent of hot urine reached his matted hair, soaking him utterly, the
piss running down around his face to mingle in the still-moist shit upon
his cheeks and lips, dripping into the open mouth of the ecstatic man below
him... Cory realized he was lost.  Finally, fully gone.

Happily, crazily, laughing in great sobbing bursts, the kid leaned down and
kissed the pissy, shitty mouth that waited below him.  Surprised, Jack
hungrily kissed his new rival right back, deciding to worry about love
later and lust now.  Soon Cory was thrusting in him again, and soon after
that Bruce was back to it inside Cory.  It was, after all, a beautiful,
perfect Florida night; and under the warm blanket of darkness they could
risk a few moments of raw truth with one another, and share their needs.
They'd chalk up the consequences later.

But first they'd careful clean up the mess.  Or, at least in Bruce's case,
he'd clean up the mess and pay off the witnesses.  Because sound carries a
long way across a beach in the soft summer night.  And a sweaty knot of
grown men smeared with puke, piss, and shit does, truly, stink out loud.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 2006, 2007 by bluepervina.

Feedback welcomed!

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