The Princess and his Prince

Adam Langdon paused appreciatively at his own reflection in the dining room mirror. Clad only in a kitchen apron, he had been up since 5.30 am, removing every last vestige of the noisy and only mildly riotous party that had marked his birthday,  the night before.

“I want everything so much in order that Mrs. Welles need only flick a duster.” These were his mother’s parting words as she and his father reluctantly decanted themselves to  friend’s house  for the night.

Adam sighed, his own beauty caught in his hazel eyes and dark brown hair, he always thought,- and today his 19th birthday and his final day at Thornberry Independent Grammar School, (fees £21000 pa,)- was no exception. He did a twirl, permitting himself a  modest gasp, as though the image of his muscular back and firm arse, reflected in the mirror, was a revelation to him. Sounds of post being pushed through the letter box heralded the arrival of a gratifying number birthday cards. The one from the ultra straight Graham Lee not only wished Adam a happy birthday and regretted  Graham’s inability to attend his birthday party, but was adorned with four large kisses on the bottom. A brief, but delicious reverie on the possible import of these kisses ended abruptly with sounds of someone entering the large, comfortable, house. Adam knew who that would be.

“That pinny suits you,” greeted Simon Crawford as they embraced and Simon savoured the view of Adam’s rear, as afforded by the mirror. “You are beautiful,” he added sincerely. “Happy birthday, princess.”

Adam made notional efforts to shake himself free of their embrace and to reproach Simon for having left his birthday party early. But they both knew his heart was not in it. In truth, each meant more to the other than any other living creature. Besides, ever since they first met at a very select infant and junior school in Beckenham and Simon had insisted that Adam should be princess to his prince in an otherwise long forgotten school play, the two had become inseparable.

“You left last night with Jon AND Suzi; I bet you fucked them both, didn’t you?”

“Adam, sweetheart, if I did, it does not matter? You know it doesn’t.”

Adam allowed himself to be drawn even closer into his beloved friend’s arms and they kissed. For a moment, he stroked Simon’s short dark hair with it’s sexy fringe. Those deep blue eyes held Adam’s gaze.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he agreed valiantly, before adding, “But you never let me feel you inside of me; not that way at least.”

“Shhh princess.” The words were gentle. “We have been through all of this so many times before. You know why I will not fuck you.” So saying he applied gentle pressure to his princess’s shoulders. “They were just a nice fuck,” he continued softly as the now kneeling Adam pulled down Simon’s matching black jeans and boxer’s. “It is you I love Adam.”

Simon’s cock was not the monster of gay fantasy, nor the creature of exaggerated hope, those not privileged with a carnal acquaintance, assumed it would be. However, it was a solid 18 centimetres in length and was met with appreciation by most who were called to have dealings with it. Most recent amongst this number were of course Jon and Suzi. But now, once again, it was in the hands of Adam, who loved it- and no less to the point, loved Simon,- with all his heart.

He kissed it reverently. Much as Adam tried not to appear too delighted by Simon using his manhood to smack against his up-turned face,-once, twice, three times, he was happy to lose count. His words and straining cock begged for it not to end.

Adam opened his mouth to receive globs of spit from Simon.

“Swallow my rod my sweet Adam; that’s it. All it. My cock belongs to you. Yes..Yes princess.” To be engulphed between those hot lips and pounding his demanding cock down Adam’s warm accepting throat was to Simon,  bliss to be alive. His trimmed dark pubes kept coming back to press against Adam’s nose. This, a small detail of their congresses, was particularly enjoyed by both Simon and Adam.

Perhaps it was the constant and passionate words from Simon, as his cock fucked his beloved’s face; but somehow Adam’s need to receive Simon’s load always fought a compelling desire that the blissful climax be held at bay for just a few moments more. That the thrusts down his throat might continue to command him needed no words from the one, to be understood by the other. Adam moved his hands up his beloved’s strong hairy legs. By now, it was clear that Simon, leaning at an awkward angle against the dining room wall and the much prized Second Empire coffee table as well, was in effect supporting the two of them in their joyous exertions.

Reluctantly, Adam disengaged from their oral copulation, leaving them both panting. Simon’s manhood swayed distractedly,- in the way, Adam thought to himself, of some champion stud stallion deprived of his principle objective in life. This thought sent an exquisite tingle through his body, as Simon bent to kiss him.

“you are out of this world, gorgeous,” he assured Adam and took Adam’s rampant penis in his right hand, “but I wasn’t far from giving you a 100% protein breakfast.”

“Never mind that,” came tones of deliberately theatrical butchness, “get back against that wall and mind that coffee table. If anything happens to it you know my parents will have us both shot by teatime.”
“As my princess commands,” grinned his prince.

 Moments later the coffee table had been moved. Simon undressing at lightning speed was leaning against the wall in a marginally more comfortable way and Adam was once again kneeling before him. Simon’s cock had resumed it’s hungry dimensions and Adam’s was all attention. Now, Adam began sucking the index and middle fingers of his right hand and proceeded to offer them to Simon’s lips. Between themselves and with each other, the two young men were entirely secure in their relationship and their gently expanding expectations of it. But still and all, Simon fell a slight blush as he ravenously sucked the proffered digits. He knew what was coming.

“Get busy on that cock you pretty slut,” he directed,- trying not to burble into his usual litany of endearments, as the fire of Adam’s sweet lips sucking up and down his straining shaft grew more intense by the minute.

What Simon was expecting did not take long to arrive. First one finger began a gentle knowing probe of his arse. Before long what had been gentle became no less knowing as it transformed into an insistent demanding fuck.

“Oh Christ Yes! Yes!” cried Simon. His joy became even more vocal when Adam’s second finger joined the first and entered him. His thrusts into Adam throat and Adam’s determined thrusts into his arse assumed a rhythm and a momentum of their own causing the comfortably sedate room to reverberate to sounds entirely different from it’s more costmary intimations of prosperous restraint and good manners.

Somewhere in his brain Simon was vaguely aware of trying to assemble an injunction in tones he knew Adam would relish obeying, ‘Get your tongue round my fucking balls,’ it was going to be. But at that moment, the finger fucking tormenting his hole became deliciously unendurable and Simon came before his words did. His body shook: calling out Adam’s name, he volleyed ropes of hot desire down his princess’s throat. Not seconds later, Adam groaned in deep satisfaction, his thick vibrant cum depositing itself thankfully on Simon’s feet and legs rather than the expensively tasteful shag pile carpet.

“I didn’t even have to touch my cock,” exclaimed a beaming Adam.

Ever attentive, it took Adam little time between kisses and expressions of mutual devotion that always followed any coupling between Simon and he, to  lead them both to his shower. Simon did not demur as  their respective 19 years and their devotion each to the other, gave them remarkable recuperative powers. Adam led the way to his bedroom.

“I want to eat your bottom,” he all but whispered.

“I don’t call you my slut for nothing Adam, You are insatiable.”

“I know my prince, but will you?” Arms were draped encouragingly around the prince’s neck, his left ear nibbled… “and will you be Gareth for me this time…? Please Simon.”

 Seconds of heavy stillness filled Adam’s bedroom, before at last the reply came.

“Oh sweetheart, you know this is just a lovely dream in your head. You don’t even know whether he is straight, gay, bi, or sexually anything, for that matter.”    

 “Anyone as handsome and clever and brave as Gareth is bound to be sexually something,” replied Adam. “Besides, the kind way he looks at people and treats people…”

“But that’s the point, Adam. He is genuinely one of the good guys. He treats everyone like that”

Adam lay on his back. How lucky to have Simon as his most trusted and beloved friend. He kissed Simon’s legs and as Simon knelt astride him, facing his feet, his arse only centimetres from his face, Adam could not wait to begin the worship of Gareth.

“Your bum is beautiful too Simon,” he said in earnest as he felt the symphony of his prince’s lips and hand on his heavy balls and cock. It had only been in the last few weeks, in the middle of their ‘A’ Level examinations, that Adam was struck,-stricken almost,- by the realization that he felt more than lust and desire for Gareth Robinson. Adam felt giddiness and desire in a strange cocktail that he had never experienced before during his flirtations,- and more,- with any number of guys at Thornberry Independent Grammar School, or further afield. Simon listened with feeling and close attention as he always did. He was though was less headstrong, more discerning than his princess. Indeed one or two residents of glass houses at Thornberry Independent Grammar, thought Adam Langdon worse than that, not discrete at all, never mind discerning. This in turn causing someone to write ‘The Princess is a tart,’ across a classroom whiteboard. To whom this referred was not lost on even the dimmest of the school’s privileged students. Two days later, Simon Crawford found the culprit and beat him up.

“Your bum is beautiful,” repeated Adam as his consciousness left Simon and Simon became Gareth.

Adam gave himself up completely to the devotion of Gareth’s rear. For long minutes he kissed it; parted those manful cheeks, inhaled reverently and thrust his tongue deeply and enthusiastically into Gareth’s hole. All Adam’s anilingual skills were summoned. Urged on by Gareth wanking him and whose  determined hot lips began engulphing his cock with an almost magical momentum, wonderous need  sent more vibrations through Adam’s body.

He bit and kissed Gareth’s arse in a frenzy of need and an unspoken desire to slavishly devour Gareth’s shit, if only he were ordered by Gareth to do so.  Closer and closer the need to shoot his load came. More and more he pressed his tongue into Gareth’s hole. More determined with each moment, Adam craved to have yet more of his face as deep as possible in Gareth’s bottom.

In the  transports of the moment, it was Gareth’s much desired manhole. But it was Simon who understood. It was he who rose slightly, silently maneuvered his beloved friend, parted his arse cheeks and sat on Adam’s smiling face.

The impromptu school lessons in Fiorentine had never quite reached, “eat my arse out,” but whatever it was that Simon cobbled together, captured Adam’s moment and imagination. As Simon wanked both of them to a noisy, flowing orgasm, Adam was rimming the imagined Gareth with a mind blowing fervour.

Together, Adam and Simon gazed up at the bedroom ceiling as they recovered.

“You were just wonderful, Simon.”

“I know,” grinned his friend.

The room was as familiar to Simon as his own. To his left and behind Adam was the bed in which Simon sometimes slept. Between the two beds was a bedside cabinet. Upon it was a rectangular, varnished wooden ornamental box. Glass circles, one blue and the other pink, decorated one side. Simon had its companion in his bedroom, three detached houses along Hartington Avenue. Simon had made Adam’s box. Adam had made Simon’s box.

“We should have another shower and shake a leg,” he said, kissing Adam.