The Spare Room

Our daughter, the oldest, had finally moved out of our home to go to college at the end of the summer, and our son was not far behind, leaving my wife with her first taste of empty-nest syndrome. He and I were out shopping, as we usually do together, when he told me about the situation with his best friend. Though they had been friends for many years, circumstances had made it so that I had never really gotten to know him. They had played football together for a few years when they were in junior-high, and I had always driven them to and from practices and games, his parents being too busy or something along those lines. As a result, I'd never really known much about his family or home life either, but according to my son his situation was bad enough that my son wanted his friend to stay in our spare bedroom until he could find a better arrangement. I trusted my son's judgement, asking him only that he was sure that this step was necessary, to which he reaffirmed.

That evening I talked the matter over with my wife. I started the conversation with a portrait of the boy, in as best a light as I could muster (having very little material to work with). When I brought up the concerns my son had told me of, much to my surprise my wife exclaimed 'well he should come stay with us!'

I had always liked to kid, in the times I'd talked with him. He was very respectful, and he seemed to really appreciate the home I had created for our kids. And not that I was especially concerned, but he seemed from everything I'd heard to be a very strong, positive influence on my son also. So I was very glad to hear that my wife was as supportive of the idea as I now realized that I was. I had been piecing the bits I knew of this boy's home-life together and began to imagine what might be at the root of my son's concerns, and it bothered me more and more as the day went on.

Over the next few days, the kid had spent most of the evenings at our place but hadn't brought any of his stuff over. On the third night, I decided to drive him home so that I could talk with him alone. I just wanted to make sure that he was certain that this was what he wanted to do. I asked him if he wanted me to talk with his parents about it, and he didn't want that but I could if I wanted to. I told him that I would leave it up to him, as long as he promised me that he would tell them the situation and didn't just run away.

As he approached his house, the front door opened and his (step)father came onto the front porch. As the boy walked past with his head quite low, the man grabbed the shoulder of his jacket and held him in place as he said something to him that I couldn't make out from inside the car. The kid didn't say anything and tried to pull himself free. The man grabbed more of his jacket while pushing him against the banister on the porch, setting the boy off balance.

I opened the door of my car and stepped outside. 'Are you alright?' I asked, firmly but calmly. The man did not let go of his jacket but turned his attention to me. He showed no sign of letting him go, so I approached the house.

'I think you should let the kid go.'

'I don't think it's any of your business, pal!'

'He's coming to stay with us. I'm sorry that he didn't get to discuss this with you himself, but it's apparent that you're not much for talking things out.' I maintained my composure and turned to the boy while stepping between the two of them. 'Go grab some clothes and whatever you'll need for a few days.'

'You better get into the house you little shit. And you...!'

I felt a hand pull on my shoulder to turn me around and out of the corner of my eye I could see his other arm raised in a fist, winding up for a swing. Without hesitation a distant memory of high-school wrestling came to mind, I lowered my self and hooked my leg behind his, throwing my weight into his chest, dropping him to the deck. I handily outweighed this fellow and proceeded to sit up on his chest, left arm across his neck, elbow pinning his right arm, my right leg on top of his other arm, and my other arm free. 'You don't feel so tough right now I bet?' My face was pounding with excitement. I even began to feel a stir down below. He stared up at me with complete fear for only a moment and then simply closed his eyes. A woman's voice shouted from inside the house.

'Stay inside, Marg!'

'No, I think you should come out here.'

In a moment she was there, panickingly muttering. All the while I kept my eyes locked on my victim. 'Your boy is coming to stay with us for a while. I'm sure you can figure how to get ahold of us if you need to talk with him or us.' Then the sound of the boy coming down the stairs and out the door, past his mother and to the car without a word. 'You stay down,' quietly I warned as I lifted off of the man. Making as if to tuck in my shirt, I used the opportunity to tuck my now full hard-on under my belt.

That drive back to our house we sat in silence. I felt fantastic, coursing with energy, and a stiffy that wouldn't quit. When we got back to the house and met one another in the drive way, the boy came close to me and said simply 'thank you' and wrapped his arms around my chest, placing his head against my chest, my hard-on poking obviously into his belly. But he simply pulled his body tightly against mine, rested his head against my chest and rested. I placed my chin on top of his head and returned the hug.

The change of the atmosphere in our household was obvious. My son snapped out of the typical distant teenager mode and was simply happy all of the time, like he was at a much younger age. My wife was relaxed and looked at me with a renewed twinkle in her eye. And the kid never allowed his appreciation for what I had done for him to go unnoticed. I soon concluded that this was not going to be a temporary situation.

I often get up to have a snack in the night, usually if I've been woken up by some noise. With our new housemate, it frequently happened that my son and the kid would stay up quite a bit after my wife and I have gone to bed. When they do finally go to sleep, the sound of one moving across the hall to their appropriate room is enough to wake me.

One night in particular this happened. I sat in bed for a few minutes, deciding if I wanted to actually get up. After a few minutes I decided that that was what I was going to do. As I began down the hallway, I notice that the kid's door was left open about a foot from the street light shining in his window and casting a shadow into the hallway. For no conscious reason I made extra effort to be quiet. As I neared the door, I could hear the rhythmic noise that any man can recognize. I stopped short of the door and leaned forward to glimpse into the room. The outside light exposed perfectly the hairy chest and hard cock of the kid. Confirming what I heard, he was jerking himself furiously, and his other hand was pulling on his balls. I slid my own hand down my underwear to my now hard cock and gently began stroking my own meat. I guess I must have shifted my weight at this time, because a floorboard creaked under my foot and I leaned back to hide myself. The sounds in the room stopped for only a moment and then resumed.

I silently reprimanded myself for peering in on this kid. I waited for a moment out of site then made one large step past the door and continued onto the kitchen. I poured myself then drank a glass of milk. I made sure bang around a bit in the kitchen: clanging my glass on the sink, clearing my throat a few times. When I made my way back to his door I walked just past then stopped. I turned around peered once more into the room. What I saw was a sheen of liquid all over the kids chest and his hand slowly stroking his cock, pulling his foreskin back and then releasing it with each stroke. I watched him lie there, his spunk all over his chest, for a few minutes, stroking my own meat until the head of my cock was oozing all down my shaft. But before I finished I simply stopped and returned to bed.

This sort of event happened nearly every night, his door left obviously open, the light shining down on his bare loins. I began to watch him right until he finished and he would simply lay there, displaying his mess. After a few weeks, I got to the point that his blowing would trigger my blowing. I'd clean my hands on my underwear and watch him until he and I both went soft then I'd go back to bed.

Another evening, I was watching from outside his door when he slowed from his usual rapid stroke and then turned his head towards the door. I pulled back some but I could still see him entirely. He took his other hand from his balls and rubbed his finger across the tip of his cock and pulled it slowly away, pulling a string of precum into the air some distance. He continued stroking his long, slow strokes, foreskin pulling back and forth, as if waiting. I lost my nerve and turned back to my room and got back into bed.

My heart was racing and my cock stayed rock hard for a very long time. My wife was breathing very heavily, obviously in a deep sleep. I laid awake, staring at the ceiling, hoping my cock would lay down and I could fall asleep. But then, our bedroom door made the slightest creek and my eyes darted to see it slowly open and then partially close. I could not see anyone enter through the door, but I could hear movement, like that of a dog, in the room then along my side of the bed. I did not move to look over the side of the bed, but it was obvious that the kid had followed me. I simply froze, out of options as to how to deal with the situation. It was in this helpless state that I felt the first signs that the blankets that covered me were moving. After a moment, I felt a cool breeze on a very small area of my hip and then a hand touching me. My arms were resting on top of the blankets and, while my wife is a fairly deep sleeper, I decided not to tempt fate by change my position or otherwise act. So instead I simply allowed things to develop as they would.

The hand under the blanket then moved up to my still hard cock and the fingers wrapped around my shaft. I then felt a second hand move in along side of the first and lift the blankets gently away from my prick, while the first began to stroke. This continued for about a minute or so, and I was getting very close to blowing, when my wife beside me made a grunting noise and rolled to face me. The hands under the covers stopped and pulled back. I took that opportunity to roll at the same time to face away from her. Once all had settled down and the room was again silent the one hand returned and grabbed my balls, pulling them firmly. I once again felt the blankets being disturbed, this time more than before, and then I felt a warm mouth slide over my cock. The near miss had scared away my climax some but I was still hard as a bullet. I then felt the other hand against my free-er wrist and it gently guided my hand over the side of the bed and against a smooth body. First the chest, then lower, across his ass. The hand then let go, free to explore. I liked the feel of his ass, and I slid my rough hands across his smooth skin, eventually finding his crack filled with coarse hair. My middle finger slid right down the crack and onto his tight hole. As my finger met it, it puckered and then released and I poked the tip of my finger in a small amount. He let out the faintest of moans, stifled by the blankets and my cock deep down his throat. We kept at this for a few moments, his enthusiasm for sucking my cock never waning, his appreciation recurring for playing with his hole. Then his free hand grabbed my wrist and moved it onto his shaft. I quickly took his lead, moving my fingers to the tip to feel the juice exploding from his cock all over my hands and arm. And this just set me off, shooting my load deep down his throat. He held my wrist so my hand remained on his cock for some time, his warm load on my hands cooling in the night air until when he released my hand I quickly brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked and licked them clean. The sweetness filled my mouth like nothing I'd ever tasted before and brought me even higher. His mouth was gently caressing my cock, milking every last drop. So I placed my hand gently on top of the blanket where his head was, pulling him against me and pushing out the final drops of my load. Then I pulled the blanket back from his head and exposed his face in the faint light of my alarm clock and he said, simply, 'thank you'.