A Tale Both Oral and Anal: Kirk and Chris

- for dedicated reader Manymudges -

Fresh from his own bed, Kirk Landon made his way barefoot into the next room. With some stealth, he sneaked up, lubed his erection, crept over teen nakedness, calibrated the most efficient angle to use, silently cut through the sleep-relaxed sphincter, then lay heavy on, bored deeply against Christopher’s back while the boy woke.

The morning routine caused Kirk tense excitement. He prepared for the token struggle ahead. Christopher always made a pretext of protest at what lodged in his rectal canal, at the arms holding his shoulders. The feeling called for a response – a sigh usually before pushing out and complaining, “It’s too long.”

“Keep doing that,” the man’s voice warned, “and more will sink in, divine brat.”

“And you’ll cum too soon, won’t you?” A sleepy-voiced question.

“Let me ruminate on that.”

“No. Do the circling thing you like. You know, stir me.”

Kirk commenced first to undulate, then to rotate his pelvis, lips on the boy’s exposed ear. He recognized capitulation when little bugs seemed to be scurrying about the head of his penis as it was steered to sharp cries of rising pleasure. Powerful sensations gathered in Kirk’s crotch.

Practiced, his rump rose and fell.

Christopher’s unfettered hands wandered haphazardly over the rumpled sheet, wrinkling its fabric here, flattening it there. The tongue in his ear was an aggravation but Kirk’s bolts of hard cock roughing out and in every available inside inch would send them both into convulsions, unless…

Kirk changed from ramming to a pattern of oscillations designed to postpone the inevitable and prolong his control.

Christopher’s excited breaths grew faint. Then stronger, as he determined not to be so easily overwhelmed. But he was. The fun of pretended resistance gave way to the promise of what would come. Goodwill flooding his mind, he shot back his legs. To receive.

Broad sweeping circles narrowed for the drill, those power-driven thrusts inspired by teen willingness which sent them both soaring into nearly unbearable ecstasy.

Exhalations of breath mingled with comforting groans. Kirk looked down at his boy’s flexing shoulders, now free of his grip on them. Suddenly quieted within the darling boy’s butt cheeks, his cock throbbed, secreting pre-cum copiously. Reflection took over the man’s attention, stalling while his furnace re-stoked itself for their usual second, drawn-out fuck.

Good-mornings were exchanged as whispers.

*

A month before, Kirk Landon, fifty-two, went on-line seeking a blow job. He loved having his dick sucked. With reasonable good looks and a ready smile, he exchanged desires with other men, mostly in their forties, their thirties, some in their twenties. Back and forth. Nothing personal mattered to him beyond a guy’s willingness to go down on him. No ties were wanted. None at all.

Getting off was his goal, twice a week. If a nearly anonymous guy would allow or wanted his head held and his face fucked, the turn-on was greater. Touches of kink spurred the act – Kirk, for years, having found token submission abetted his erectile function.

An eighteen-year-old high school senior, Christopher Wand, dithered after making surprise contact, after having admitted he wanted to know what sucking a man was like. He had sucked only three other fellow students, so was a novice. One seeking experience with a person of maturity and, it surfaced, authority. But, honestly, he was afraid.

Nervous, the boy borrowed a friend’s car and arrived at Mr. Landon’s apartment. He needed assurances. Among them, no attempt would be made to fuck him. His ass was off limits. He just wanted to put his tongue on the man’s cock, the cock in his mouth. How would it feel? Taste?

To put him at ease, they sat on the sofa. “Listen to me, Chris. I will do nothing you don’t want. At any time, you can say ‘no.’ This works only if it pleases both of us. Now stand up and let’s hug.”

“I can say no?” he wanted to be sure, and got up to a friendly outreach.

Chris’ tense teen body relaxed in their embrace, his back rubbed for the first time by a man not his dad. Reassuring. Crotches contacting, the boy’s cock – substantial Kirk noticed – pressed vigorously forward. “It’s up to you, Chris, to make the first move. Why don’t you loosen my belt and unzip my fly? Good, now reach for what you want. Bring it out.”

“It’s so…long,” he searched for the word. Licked his lips.

“You’ll determine how much of it you want in your mouth. Don’t fear. Remember, you’re in charge. Keep hugging me, and play some with it. Run your hand along its length. Get the feel of what your mouth wants. It’s the cock of a real man, the cock of your dream.”

Heads remained cheek to cheek while fingers groped and sweat chilled Chris’ slightly hairy underarms.

“Want to give it a try? Just kneel right here. Look at it up close. I’ll stand still. Yes, Chris, like that. See how bright pink the head is? Waiting for you. Lick it. That’s a good boy. Purse your lips, let them nibble. Good. See? Take the head in your mouth, no further. Savor it. It’s what your tongue’s after.”

Kirk noticed the protrusion in Chris’ pants. That they should be naked occurred to him.

“While your mouth is there, take down my pants. I’m going to take off my shirt. You should see all of me to know who you’re dealing with, shouldn’t you?”

Confused, the boy fumbled. No way could he keep his mouth in place. Out popped the cock, wet tip springing away. His first man stripped, then surprised him with, “Get up. I’m going to undress you.”

“I…I’ve never been naked with a man. Gosh.”

In less than a minute, he was. Worry about what would happen deflated his sex. Frankly, he was scared.

A touch to his face and the compliment, “Nice,” helped some. He was being looked over. Appraised. Hands nudged his shoulders. Approved, he sank obediently to the carpet, mouth eager, watering at the thought he was about to gratify himself and the ready man.

“You look a little unsteady, Chris. Put a hand on my knee and the other around my balls.”

Balls. Hanging right there, within reach. If he sucked without holding them, would they slap his chin the way Ray’s had? Tommy’s? He had to know. Maybe Mr. Landon would not mind if he started sucking, hands on both knees.

From the tentative touches of two shaky eighteen-year-old palms and attached clasping fingers, Kirk was moved to smile. Lovely sight – a barely shaven face, eyes closed in anticipation, tongue a similar color to his cock’s head trying a lap upward, a lick around, lips pursed to open and nibble forward as they had moments ago.

When they did, it was heaven – and all Kirk Landon could do not to take the head and surrender to the strong urge to shove into its gullet. Better not terrify the kid and wreck the occasion. Patience, man, he told himself. Patience had to prevail. This could amount to something more special than the blow jobs he was accustomed to.

A wild idea took hold, one out of character for him. Down on his knees he settled in front of Chris, asking, his voice thick, “Has anyone ever blown you?” His heart kicked up at the voiceless head shaking no.

Thinking, Kirk cracked his knuckles, looked down, proud he had no paunch to obstruct his view of innocence not knowing what to do but wait for cock. “Lie back, Chris, on your back. I want a better look at you.” A few seconds elapsed. “Calm now. You’re not excited, I see. What makes you excited? You can tell me. Nobody else has to know.”

“When I think about sucking…” Hesitant, shy, he added, “When I think about a cock in my mouth.” His automatic nervous system ramped higher at a manly naked figure – balls directly overhead – standing like the Colossus of Rhodes he saw in history class.

“Want to try a sixty-nine?”

“What’s that?” came out as the long cock lowered close to his mouth and he saw Mr. Landon’s mouth opening over his personal floppy inches. Slurped up and mouthed! His own mouth’s gasp was stopped by more than had ever gone in there before.

Sputtering he would be gagged, desperate Chris pushed against the pelvis, “I’ll suck. I’ll suck, but don’t hurt me.” Would he be forced to take in more?

Vigorous fellation’s danger stimulated his will to perform as never before. Mr. Landon’s mouth was a distraction, though. Trying to confuse me? Not right for him to do that. Can’t concentrate.

Puzzled that his ministrations weren’t raising the boy’s member, Kirk reached over to fondle his dangly balls. Instantly, a terror-stricken cry broke all connection, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”

Kirk moved, sat, pulled a reluctant Chris to him. “I was just playing with your testicles. Hasn’t anyone ever done that?”

Silence.

“C’mon, tell me.”

“No.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

“Then…tell you what, Chris. Roll to your knees and open your legs. I’ll show you how wonderful those teen-fresh eggs of yours can feel.”

“No…monkey business, okay?”

“Okay.”

Chris expected the touch of fingers – and got it. Not where they had been. Hands conformed to his back cheeks and something more delicate than he had ever felt touched first one ball, then the other. Touching again, with a slight upward movement. His vocabulary lacked a word for how the new touches made him feel.

Nor for Mr. Landon’s tongue licking his scrotum’s contents.

“Push back a little.”

He did – heating and chilling at the same time because Mr. Landon’s nose touched his – what was the proper word? – anus.

“You’re very sensitive, aren’t you, Chris? Shhh…don’t answer. Let me do this.” He drew both balls into his mouth and nudged his nose further.”

Lightning fast, the boy lurched, falling flat on his face – puffing for air – his mind crazed by what had happened.

“Lie there for a minute. Ignorance makes you afraid. Think how you crave to know more about yourself. Think about the tip of my nose and where it was. You liked my tongue on your balls, I know. How about if my tongue were tickling your ass.”

A groan, a moan – non-specific. Except that it did not mean ‘no.’ Not that it constituted precise consent but…

The boy’s skin was crawling peculiarly when Mr. London’s tongue circled his anus as if it had the right to do so. He shivered. The circling became insistent. The tongue slipped down to his perineum, the seam he had wondered about. A different sound escaped his throat, one tinged by desperation.

The caresser withdrew.

“Breathe deeply and let it out slowly as you relax. I’m going in.”

What was going in?

Mr. Landon’s tongue, pointed, went into the muscle’s center – and, as if triggered, Christopher Wand’s sphincter opened. The tongue slid freely in and out its submergible length.

“More. Give me more,” came in another voice. One born of need.

There was no more tongue to give. Kirk thought of his fingers, one in particular. His right hand’s middle finger, its longest. Wetting same, he drew its tip in tantalizing circles on the quivering rim before him. The boy’s ass hiked back, seemingly seeking penetration.

Kirk obliged, his nail’s length, then past the first knuckle, and waited.

“Well?”

His response, knuckle number two, which glided into place. For provocation, he resisted other movement. Awareness crept in that his second and fourth fingers were pressed along the boy’s perineum, ever so firm, clearly stimulated to a degree unnoticed before.

“More,” Chris said through a clenched jaw.

All of Kirk’s finger did not satisfy, for the strangely determined teen said, “More. I want more.”

Mental gears and cogs engaged with Kirk’s steely erect cock. “I’ve got something longer for you.”

Using a liberal deposit of saliva, Kirk Landon straddled, then entered full-length, single-stoke the boy who had said there was to be no effort to fuck him. A pause, with Kirk poised to proceed, produced no sound of rejection. His course reversed, he adopted a relaxed, casual pace, negotiating the novel teen butt with slow drives head to base, priding himself on control over the gluteal divide spread so attractively before him, burrowing into its lush, constitutionally receptive interior, scouring the channel as he discovered the vaster, mind-altering pleasures of anal-centric over phallo-centric sex, and transmitting his appreciation through greater inflections of hips, cock, and balls.

It did not hurt. His friends were wrong. It’s nice. The simple thoughts in Christopher’s mind could not be guessed. Amenable to what Mr. Landon was doing, he let himself be fucked. Amazement dawned when, with bolder impulse and speeding up, Mr. Landon’s balls began banging into his! What was that? Oh-my-god, it’s happening. It never happens. He’s driving me…

Orgasm shattered the train of teen thought into a thousand, overheated shards.

His slump keyed the odd reaction that Kirk Landon’s efforts to ferret more pleasure with every move slowed – as if with curiosity – and lost their bearing. The man extracted his organ and watched it wilt. Pondering the lost cause, he cleaned himself with soap and water. Sat on the bed. Patted Chris’s bottom.

Not knowing what the pats meant, Chris turned over. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t stop what happened.” He did not want to put a name to it. Nor did he want to feel responsible for a failed blow job. Yet, Mr. Landon had interrupted him by offering a blow job in return, finding his balls’ acute sensitivity, and going from there to fuck him. Until he saw the beautiful, freshly washed cock waiting where it was in a nest of pubic hair, Chris’s head teemed confusedly. The sight vanquished concern. Mouth watering, he asked, “Can I suck you, please?”

“Kiss me first.”

“I don’t kiss.”

“You will – now.” Mr. Landon positioned himself and delved, tongue first, where a cock was wanted. Borne forward by the conviction that his was the right to show this deserving ad answerer another use for his mouth, for its untrained tongue, Kirk relished the resistance. He murmured sloppily, teeth against teeth, “Give it up to me…or…I’ll…pull your nuts off.”

Swallows of tongue-stuffed mouths, capitulating arms, osculating lips, and escalating passion turned the tryst to the goals of each. Kirk managed Chris’s head off the bed, his cock running over brows, nose, the right cheek, the left. The gape, tongue out, took possession of the puffed up glans and treated it initially as a lollipop, licked by a rapturous kid, then sucked fervently for the flavor ahead.

To alleviate his growing urgency to blast into the kid’s suctioning mouth, Kirk eyed what lay stiff only a couple of feet away. Should he upset his youthful fellator again? Such fun before. What if, in excitement, he crammed too deep – choked the boy? Cocksucker’s making slobbering sounds. Loves my dick. Taking more length than he first did. Maybe his throat’s ready.

Calling on strength he wasn’t certain he had, Kirk reached across Chris, grabbing his hips and hoisting his lithe body up and off the bed. Picture this: an upside-down teen, suspended in the arms of the man whose cock was joyously in his mouth. His mind topsy-turvy in surprise, Chris gasped and got cock where it had not been before.

An uneasy step or two established purchase on their position. But, it shook the boy into exercising more of his oral instincts than he knew he had: he swallowed and swallowed, and received several inches of throbby meat into his clutching throat. At the same time, Kirk sniffed pheromonal crotch fumes as he gobbled tasty teen morsel. He staggered a bit, not daring to move far from the bed in case his arms wore out before sending the kid into orbit again.

Wrong. Kid’s throat unconsciously won the battle. Kirk’s cum flooded gagging reflexes almost suffocating Chris. As one spasming entity, they landed on the mattress, boy cum firing ecstatically under the chin of the man whose abrupt mouth had taken command of his balls as they fell.

Although wheezing, Kirk lifted off, roughly turned Chris around on his back, twisting the bed clothes into a disorderly spiral, and, to satisfy his desire to make the boy accept more kissing, began rubbing lips on lips. In the subtle attack, he tasted his own cum’s remainder, not minding the shock.

Lifting comely, almost hairless legs, he exclaimed grandly, “You tempt me so! I’ve got to have you again.” With his announcement, Kirk slid his still-erect cock full length – as he thought – where it now had to be. Spontaneous closure of rectum around cock quickly claimed his attention and sealed his suspicion – the best place.

Elation rose. Buttocks, too, before becoming a blur of ins-and-outs. The old verb “to roger” fluttered through Kirk’s memory as he plowed and drilled, pumped and screwed, spirits winging high that a simple, promised blow job had led to moments as glorious as these.

I must fuck more often. This boy. Would any other be as good? No. I’ll waste no time sending feelers elsewhere when this one’s mine to claim. Can I? How? He’s shaped exactly now to my length, takes it like a trooper. Came here solely to give oral, accepts anal as if born to. Slow down. No rush needed. Say something nice to him.

“Chris, you’re a phenomenon, your ass is Paradise. Do you want to be loved – regularly – the way we have been carrying on today?” Not waiting for an answer, “I’ve never loved anybody, but I could love you.”

Hectic activity passing from over-regulated alacrity to soothing tranquility, the fuck’s growing emotional quality made its path to the boy. His praised passage undulated with a life of its own. Though there was residual soreness in his throat, none compromised the area where Mr. Landon poled cunningly, comfortingly, convincingly. He was not unduly surprised by the notion that he was born for this. For unparalleled pleasure.

When he heard, “I think you are congenitally disposed for this man’s love,” eighteen-year-old Christopher Wand’s body and soul gathered responses which were expressed in surges through his cock. It spouted, spurted, geysered. His ass convulsed, wrestling the man for supremacy – the two crashing into climax.

Whooshing for air’s refreshment, they recovered.

His voice filled with awe, Chris asked, “Will you really love me like this every day?”

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Wand listened to their son’s request to be allowed to rent a room by himself while attending community college. Sympathetic to his reasoning that one his age needs to be on his own, they concurred with the proviso that he find something affordable.

“I already know of one,” Chris hastened to say. “I saw an ad on-line. It’s a room with its own bath in the home of a man only six blocks from the college. I’ll have my own key and everything.”

“How much?” Mr. Wand wanted to know.

The answer was hard to believe: fifty dollars a month, if Chris was willing to do some of the housework. He could keep his own food in the fridge and use the kitchen, provided he cleaned up after himself.

Mrs. Wand asked, “Who is this person? Can we meet him?”

“Yes, ma’am, he’s waiting outside. I’ll bring him in.”

The suddenness was alleviated by Kirk Landon’s gentlemanly manner. Soft-spoken and friendly, he won them over, complimenting their son on his good manners. The clencher was Mr. Landon’s assurance, when Chris absented the room for a brief moment, that he would “keep an eye” on him and see that he “doesn’t stray from the straight and narrow or get into any trouble.”

Also appreciated was the fact that their son’s prospective landlord “worked from home” and was always around.

Thus mollified, Christopher Wand’s parents consented and prepaid their fifty dollars (!) for a month.

The speed with which clothes were stuffed in a suitcase, laptop and course materials jammed in a backpack, and his mother’s cheek kissed and his father’s hand shaken raised no red flag in the Wand household. Both watched from their picture window as Chris was driven off in Mr. Landon’s spiffy Land Rover, after promising to “keep in touch.”

* * *

To celebrate their settling in, Chris went face forward for Kirk’s cock the moment their clothes had been shucked to the floor. Strong hands to his cheeks restrained while a question was posed, “Whose house is this?”

“Huh? Yours.”

“Whose cock do you want to suck?”

“Yours. Right here,” so near he looked cross-eyed.

“Why?”

With a blink of understanding, Chris organized his reasons and smiled. “It’s delicious. It makes my mouth happy and my cock hard. Just thinking about it does both. See how upstanding it is even now. And I’m wiping my mouth which already is about to spill over just thinking about the pleasure which it will give the man who loves me.”

“If I let you gnaw my knob, how else will you reward me?”

With equal crudity, Chris answered, “You can fuck my skinny butt with every inch you’ve got, that is, if my mouth doesn’t take all its starch out.”

“Sass will get you a deep throating or a hard spanking, young man.”

“I’ve never been spanked. What good does it do?”

“Depends on how good you are” – Kirk, challenged, felt cunning – “at being spanked.”

Disarmingly innocent, Chris listened to a description of the position over a lap, of his privates being caught between the spanker’s legs, of a hand either holding his wrists crossed behind his back or securing his neck, of the stinging smacks to come, and said, “That doesn’t sound sexy. Can a spank be sexy?”

“I’ll show you. Stand up.” Kirk, who had been researching older/younger sex relationships, took the lad over to a leather armchair. “Important to any spank is access to the buttocks. Bend over the arm of this chair.”

The pretty sight quickened the man’s blood rate. Its ass crack and creases where upper legs met buns drew attention – like an arrow pointing down. A hand to the smooth back’s vertebrae above, the other tracing every curve below, it was time to demonstrate. “A hand such as mine can swat one at the time or strike directly on the center.”

Three times the hand came down smartly. Hurt was not the purpose. “You can tell that twenty or thirty of those in rapid succession could start a process of tenderization that would impress a miscreant. And render him malleable. Thus lessons have been taught for generations…sexlessly. But if, as you are, you spread your legs – ah, yes, that way – and I cup my hand when striking there, you feel the impact on your hole. A little wider, your balls can be targets, too.”

“Sexy, how?”

“Stay put.” A finger placed in and taken from his mouth went straight into Chris’s back passage. “I can diddle your sphincter, agitate your prostate between spanks.”

“Not sexy for me. I know your dick fits me there, but that’s best for you after it’s turned me on by being in my mouth.”

“Your mouth’s great but nothing compared to your throat – where a man my size wants to be fucking for real.” Before further argument, Kirk grabbed the boy by the nape of his neck, flung him over his lap and began whaling tensed buttocks. At the count of twelve, he rammed his finger in and began frigging the hole. As he resumed spanking his other hand reached for Chris’s yelping mouth and crammed three of its fingers between the teeth depressing the frantic tongue. Fifteen loud pops later, he sent two fingers into his victim, frigging harder between the two now bright pink orbs.

“I’m hot,” Chris yelled, “for your cock. I’ve got to have it. Let me have it now, not back there but where – please, please – where it belongs. Please!

“If I let you up, you know I’m going to send it deep in your throat, then fuck you senseless.”

Complete relaxation rendered Christopher Wand compliant. Impossible to tell whether it resulted from resignation or inevitability or – could it be? – desire. From Kirk’s lap, he was stood to his feet, pushed to kneel anew on the floor, and his face mounted on the end of Kirk Landon’s over-long tube of hard-throbbing hose.

Guided this time by the situation in concert with his instinct, mouth took proffered cock, accepted it on protectively raised tongue, allowed it to push down on hyper-sensitive buds, to flatten lingual muscle and protesting uvula, reach gag point, and to go again where once before it had been with startling effect.

Retreat, long enough for Chris to hear, “Deep breath. Let it out. Another. Let it out as I go in – and swallow. Swallow, dammit!” The harsh instruction repeated, cock buried in throat.

At first terrified he would strangle or regurgitate, Chris struggled, tears flooding his eyes. He was allowed to breathe – briefly. Kirk plunged his cock to epiglottis depth, held there – it seemed forever (actually, only two or three seconds) – pulled to tongue tip, told the boy again, “Breathe brat and swallow my cock.”

This time, Chris’s head was directed forward as he swallowed. “You’ve almost got the timing,” Kirk declared, feeling the constriction on his driving cock as progress. “You’ll get it. I won’t stop until you do,” he said, letting his brat take in air and swallow his drool. The depth he achieved next bulged in Chris’s danger-tense throat briefly, propelling Kirk’s ego at the sight of his pubes covering unblemished teen nose. What a view! Noted were the tears streaming from hard-closed eyes. He slapped one side of the boy’s head, “Open your eyes. Look up. At me. Open wide. Really!” He slapped the other side, “Pay attention, and swallow me, boy. I’m fucking your head.”

The punishing force did something Chris could not understand. It quickened responses of inexplicable strangeness. A tremor in his surrendered throat traveled between his legs. Neck and loins linked. A deep, erotic trance took over. Sexual electricity, perhaps, caused his body’s cells to shimmer. Transference from man to boy which fused them.

Impulses gathered in his crotch, nervous with intensity. His penis never had been as hard. Seemingly independent of his hopelessly blurred mind, it erupted in little jets of cum to dot the floor. Kirk, too, sent his thick expulsion cascading on a mucosal flow into the boy’s stomach. Shared orgasm froze them in the transcendence of rictus.

Their conflagration tapered to embers and ashes before Kirk freed himself from inside Chris’s mouth. He stood, drew Chris to his feet, clutched him tightly, and confessed, “My boy, you have turned me on like no one – and you loved it, I can tell. We’re going to have a great life together.”

Dabbing at his eyes, Chris, a wrung-out eighteen-year old on the verge of new existence, asked only, “Will you love me?”

“Every day that I can – by way of your mouth, throat, and ass – every night, on weekends and holidays. Think you can handle that much of a man’s love?”

* * *

Young Chris’s nod soon inspired further forms of oral experimentation. The first happened when, cautiously with one hand, Kirk reached out, stopped to find the right place, slowly moved his finger’s to the boy’s mouth, touching its soft, lower lip with his fingertips, exploring it with his forefinger, then squeezing it with his thumb and middle finger until it outed at him. Chris’s tongue glistened protruded just enough that Kirk’s fingertip could flirt with it, could sweep across it so that, thus moistened, it could slip more easily over the lips.

Chris tilted back his head back to be kissed, he hoped. With the touch of his man’s tongue, his breath escaped. The embrace, tenderly romantic, lasted long and turned the boy on. Blood flooded Kirk’s cock, raising it from a heavy droop to full-standing assault weapon. Too good to not pursue further, Kirk’s teasing kisses turned serious. He nibbled provocatively on, then bit the lower lip until the pain registered as sound and arms pushed at him.

That he liked. Token resistance. Using his tongue like a battering ram, he speared it into and over Chris’s tongue. Without breaking thrusting rhythm, he jockeyed into position between the legs he raised and, with nothing more than pre-cum, skidded home – the boy’s interior. Locked together, he moved a hand slowly to his other half’s stomach, then down, to take the measure of Chris’s erection and to titillate his ever-stimulatable balls.

Hips began to grind at each other, cock with ass, tongues twining, teen passion in urgent ascent. Chris crashed instantly, a paroxysmal response. Cum splattered. The fuck went on.

* * *

Oral before anal prevailed, when placid Chris had his preference satisfied. Randy Kirk found that he could short-circuit the process merely infiltrating a hand prior to stuffing it in Chris’s mouth. The suddenness to the boy fired manly libido. Shortening the time he needed to penetrate from the rear by stages, Kirk tried to groom his roommate into wanting to be fucked for itself.

“I want to suck, Kirk, more than anything. I’ve even become used to having you in my throat. It makes me feel like you belong to me, not me to you.”

But occasionally, Kirk enjoyed withholding his cock from the desirous mouth. Depriving the passive teen and taking him from behind exceeded the reward of troubling himself to deliver a stern spanking with attendant fuck. He prevailed by realizing he could launch an attack when Chris slept. Best time was during the deep sleep which followed a busy day with college classes and academic assignments.

There was the marvel of the little butt hole, so readily pierced. Magic was its unresistant outer sphincter, a phenomenon to be cherished – on-line sources claimed – in itself. Another, the acquiescent inner sphincter which ringed the furthest limits of Kirk’s abnormal length. Its involuntary, massage-like contractions were sorcery unaccounted for on-line.

“Sounds like fiction to me,” an e-mail correspondent, self-dubbed Ass Boss, wrote. “My circle’s never heard of even a slave in whose body that happens.” Ass Bandit claimed, “I’ve been screwing boys of ages even younger than your roomie for decades. Ain’t never had none squeeze me that far in. How long is your dick – nine or ten inches?”

Offers to rent Chris were rejected with vehemence. He’s mine – all mine, Kirk thought. Aware that his was the best sex life of anyone in his age group, there formed in his mind the determination to convince the boy of his love. His thinking: That’s what matters to Chris.

Roses. A box of fine chocolates and a bottle of champagne. Secreted for the perfect moment.

Over supper of the boy’s favorites – baked chicken, creamed potatoes, and corn niblets – Kirk asked, “Where would you like to live, with your parents or with me?”

“Here, with you.”

“Are you happy here?”

“Mostly,” he was honest.

“Tell me what would make you happier?”

“Um, that’s tough. I’m not sure I should say…”

Kirk ventured a word foreign to his lips, “Sweetheart, everything about you pleases me. This is about you.”

Again, hesitancy.

“Tell you what, let’s go into my study where I want to surprise you.”

“Me?”

In a bucket of ice with a white towel around it lay a bottle like those in swanky ads. Next to it, two slender-stem glasses. Near, a gold foil box of chocolates, and a vase of red roses.

“Wow. Is this a special occasion?”

“Very. It’s all for you – for us. You’ve proven yourself to me from the start.” As he waxed on, the boy’s host poured the demi-sec champagne into both flutes and offered the choice of chocolates.

How the champagne flowed! Chris loved its flavor mingled with chocolate creams’ deliciousness, mindless of the effect stealing over him. His host partook of none of the candy and sipped at his glass, lifting it ceremoniously while repeating, “To your very good health.”

Feted, bleary-eyed and euphoric, the teen reveled in his intoxication. The room spun. His face flushed. He slurred his words, “I think I need to go to the bathroom.”

Kirk took charge of the wobbly-footed efforts and helped Chris to stand before the toilet. “Let’s drop your pants, sweetheart, so you don’t risk wetting them. “Your hand’s unsteady. I’ll point you.” With a hand around abdomen and the other directing flow, Kirk oversaw the yellow discharge and flushed it away.

As intended, the boy was hobbled by pants at his ankles. Kirk lifted him into his arms, “I’ll take care of my baby.”

In the bedroom, with Chris denuded completely, Kirk whispered directly into his ear, “Take it easy, sweet thing, while I prepare another surprise for you.”

The surprise followed Kirks’ spit-enabled, primal spearing into giving softness that melted around him. He sank by degrees, pushing himself down and forward until they joined intimately. It was not enough. He pushed himself further, making Chris softly cry out. Champagne-numbed nerve endings in the boy cooperated with Kirk’s increased carnality. He rooted that ass, reaching high velocity to indulge in sensations of new excitement. Teeth marked the nape of the teen’s neck – not drawing blood but close to it. When he came with intense release, he wrapped his arms around the source of moans and laid his fevered cheek on its shoulder, the while groaning his own inarticulate, supreme ecstasy.

Once out of the humid mystery of Chris’s sublime ass – How he can take it! – and again the possessor of ability to breathe, Kirk scrambled for the surprise. Fumbling with its wrapping, he wetted in his mouth the slender, seven-inch-long butt plug bought on-line and slipped it leisurely into the naked youth lying stationery before him.

Aroused from his stupor, Chris tried to ask what it was. Wiggled. Tried contractions. Managed, “Huhhmm?”

“Your surprise, my love. You’ll sleep with it to spur your dreams of me. Not all of me but enough. You’ll wear it to your classes so that, if I can’t be in your mind, you’ll have the comfort of my interior encouragement to do well, to merit my love.”

To himself, Kris considered this a step toward direct access. A throat cannot withstand being fucked longer than breath can be suspended. An ass – one as nubile as his – can be fucked for as long as I want without breaking stride for air.

Morning fucks – before breakfast – when Chris, asleep on his stomach, paralleled his once-champagne-and-chocolate-induced, memorable position and became a norm for the relationship. Alleviation of youthful desire to suck was provided either after the morning meal or upon return from classes, to achieve balance and continuity in the relationship.

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