Boy Fun, Four Book Bundle

by Alex Jordaine

  I thrust my hands into the furry mass and clutched and squeezed his mounded pecs, pulled on his fine black coat. All the while tongue-lashing his nipples, licking them harder and fuller and higher, slathering them in hot saliva until they glistened with my ardour. Before sealing my lips around one and sucking on it, swallowing nipple and fur and tugging on both.

  ‘Yeah!’ Evan growled, tilting his head back and shuddering with pleasure.

  The boat rolled and pitched, but didn’t capsize, puttering along at two miles per hour as my lust for the big bear raged full-speed ahead, excitedly feeling up his hard, hairy chest and sucking on his hard, rubbery nipples. Before finally dropping lower, sinking to my knees on one of the aluminium bench seats and grabbing onto Evan’s belt and tearing it open. Popping the button on his jeans and yanking his zipper down, pulling the ass, leg, and cock-hugging garment down to fully expose the man.

  His cock sprang up into my face like a dancing lure must look like to a ravenous fish – big and meaty and bobbing. I grabbed onto his dong, to steady it and myself, cupping his heavy, hairy sack with my other hand.

  ‘Fuck, yeah!’ he roared, grabbing onto my blond head to steady himself.

  His cock pulsed in my hand, long and thick and ridged like a deep-water fishing pole. The swollen, beating shaft was as pink as the guy’s nipples, sharply-defined, mushroomed hood a purple shade. And the towering bear-stud was as hairy down below as up top, balls and legs thick with growth. I stroked his rugged man-appendage, from furry base to bloated cap, squeezing and juggling his weighty balls at the same time, breathing deep of his sweaty, musky crotch-scent.

  His fingernails bit into my scalp, as I lured his cock out even longer and harder with my hot, deft hand. Getting a real good feel for the guy’s pulsating rod and tightened tackle box, revelling in the heat and hardness and size, the scope of the power I wielded over the dancing bear in the boat.

  Then I kissed his cap, and licked his slit, sucked his hood into my mouth and quickly and briefly tugged on it. Before opening my mouth up wide and thrusting my head forward and consuming the man’s thunder-cock; my nose parting his bushy pubic hairs, his knob plumbing the back of my throat.

  ‘Jesus!’ he grunted, stunned by the rapidity and depth of my sexual strike. He stared, astonished, down at me staring up at him with my big, brown, watering eyes. His cock sunk to the fur-drenched balls in the wet-hot cauldron of my mouth and throat.

  I gripped his hairy, quivering ass cheeks and kept his meat locked down in the sultry confines of Davy Jones’ secret locker for a good ten seconds or so, sucking pubes up my flared nostrils, packed to the gills with pulsating cock. Then I pulled back, exhaling his pent-up dick in a gush of saliva and hot, humid air. Then I deep-throated the gleaming pike again. Getting a rhythm going. Playing the gasping guy out and then reeling him back in again. Over and over, faster and faster.

  ‘Fuck, I – I can’t take any more!’ he finally cried, clawing at my head, his tree-trunk hair-barked legs trembling out-of-control.

  The boat wobbled in tempo to his violent shaking, my wicked sucking pressure on his animal dong wet-vaccing a dribble of semen into the back of my throat; then a burst.

  ‘I’m coming!’ Evan bellowed, almost yanking the hair out of my frantically bobbing head.

  I pulled my hands off his jumping buttocks and shot them up onto his chest, grabbing onto his furry pecs and digging my fingers into the striated flesh. Pistoning my head back and forth, sailing my lips and mouth up and down the come-hard length of his cock, sucking hard and long and deep. And triumphantly, hot, salty semen spraying my throat and filling my mouth. Landing the man’s load and eagerly swallowing it down.

  Until the wicked aftershocks of all-out orgasm made Evan spasm so hard that the boat rolled over to one side and took on water: pitching the bear right over the side and into the lake – me on the end of his still-leaking cock joining him in the cool, blue waters.

  We splashed in and sunk down a few feet. Forcing me to finally release my grip on the guy’s hairy chest and hung cock, as I fought my way back to the surface.

  We bobbed together in the middle of the sun-drenched lake, in the wake of our white-hot lust, watching Evan’s outboard slowly sail away. And a Ministry of Natural Resources’ launch suddenly sped our way.

  ‘Dammit!’ I gasped, spitting out and treading water.

  ‘Hey, don’t sweat it,’ Evan said, grinning lovingly at me, his black hair plastered to his head, and shoulders. ‘We’ll get the boat back.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I spluttered. ‘I don’t have a fishing licence!’

  The conservation officer fished us out of the water and into his boat, a 25-foot Sportcraft, sporting a whole lot more stability, room, and power than Evan’s simple pleasure craft. The name tag on the man’s broad chest read, Officer Sugg, a big, burly guy with a shaved skull, cement-mixer face, and pair of hard, brown eyes. His powerhouse arms and legs on display in his stretched-tight khaki tunic and olive shorts were every bit as hairy as Evan’s (except the hair was brown in colour).

  And it turned out that I didn’t have to worry about Mother Nature’s enforcer checking up on my fishing credentials, because the hard-man was too busy checking up on Evan’s physique – with his hands – and Evan’s tonsils – with his tongue. The two massive bears embracing and kissing and frenching like they were greeting each other for the first time after a long hibernation.

  ‘Greg, this is Brendan – the fishing fanatic with the bear hunting fetish I was telling you about,’ Evan said, by way of introducing me to his “friend”. ‘Brendan, Greg. He and I used to share a cabin on this lake.’

  ‘Among other things, I see,’ I commented dryly, folding my dripping arms over my dripping chest.

  ‘Hey, you aren’t mad, are you?’ Evan said, throwing a beefy arm around Greg’s cinder-block shoulders. He looked at his fur buddy and winked. ‘Maybe we can cheer him up, huh, Greg?’

  The brown bear flashed a row of sharp, white teeth. And then the two muscle-studs quickly stripped away their skimpy clothing, heavy-handedly helped me off with my sopping jeans and Jockeys. We all exchanged a three-way kiss by way of real introduction, our tongues flapping, my eyes straining to take in the horny guys’ hard, hairy bodies. Greg was built very similar to Evan, only a little taller and a lot tanner, and even more furry. His uncut cock hung huge and gung-ho from a nest of brownish-red pubes.

  They double-teamed me: Evan in front, roughly feeling up my tingling chest while he kissed me, a hand straying down to grip and squeeze my jutting cock, sending a shower of sparks all through me; Greg in behind, paws mauling my shimmering butt cheeks, tongue marauding up and down my neck and wetly in behind my ears.

  ‘Look out!’ Greg suddenly yelled, almost blowing the top of my spinning head off, pointing to starboard.

  There was another boat slowly trolling our way, the waters taking on more fishers as the sun rose higher and hotter in the sky. This craft’s cargo consisted of a pair of fat guys and two little kids, not 100 yards away, and closing leisurely.

  ‘We’d better take things down to the waterline,’ Greg suggested. ‘This isn’t family entertainment.’

  He and Evan pulled me down onto the black waterproof carpeting at the bottom of the boat, so that the gunwales protected us from any prying eyes and fishy stares. And I became the meat in a bear sandwich, all three of us lying on our sides, Evan in back of me now, Greg in front – cock-to-ass-to-cock-to-ass. Resourceful Greg coming up with the necessary lubrication that got us all even more primed for anal action.

  I felt Evan’s swollen cockhead press in between my butt cheeks. He pushed back a cheek with one hand, fed his beefy hood into my restraining pucker with the other. I swallowed hard and tried to get loose. And the man’s cap shoved through my brown-eye, his shaft gliding into my chute.

  ‘Now you do Greg,’ he gritted in my ear, his thighs pressing hotly against my trembling buttocks, meat swelling my ass with feeling.

  Greg’
s round, rugged butt cheeks were hairy, his crack even more so, as he reached back and lifted a flap with one hand, exposing his fur-lined glory hole. I admired his ass-works briefly, before tentatively poking my hood at his opening. Then clenching my teeth and pushing forward and popping his hairy ring, plunging into the man’s hot, tight, gripping bung; careful not to dislodge Evan’s cock from my ass. Greg pushed backwards, putting me balls-deep and boiling in his tendril-topped chute, loaded with bear.

  We started rocking together, rocking that drifting launch together, cocking each other’s anuses. Evan pumping my stretched-out chute with sensual, measured strokes, as I plundered his buddy’s butt to the same beat. The feeling was exquisite, fucking that fine ass, hairs stroking my shaft almost as sweetly as the man’s silken chute walls; my own bung getting stoked to burning by Evan’s fiery poker. I grabbed onto Greg’s hairy chest and fondled his pumped-up pecs, strummed his hardened nipples, Evan’s caressing and clutching hands all over my downy chest.

  ‘Your friend knows how to dish it out,’ Greg groaned, pulling on his prong.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Evan rasped in my ear, pumping my ass.

  I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but I took them. Churning my cock back and forth in Greg’s big furry ass, erotically hemmed in on both sides, inside and out, by those two wonderfully playful bears.

  Evan increased the tempo, and I picked up the pace, the pair of us sawing our cocks in and out of anuses faster and faster, with more purpose. Greg moaning and fisting his prick, getting shunted to and fro by the power of my plunger, the even more powerful thrusting of his buddy up my backside.

  The boat pitched and yawed like we’d hit a squall – a storm of sexual frenzy. The sun and the fun bathing our humping bodies in sweat, greasing the frantic action even more, our breath coming in ragged gasps. The smacking sounds of hot flesh against flesh, the sucking sounds of hard cocks slamming bungs, filled the overheated air and rolled across the placid waters.

  ‘Oh … fuck!’ Greg yelled, the first to come. His bristling body jerked in my arms, on the end of my pistoning dick, as he jacked ropes of sperm out of his cranked cock.

  ‘Unnh!’ Evan grunted, wildly pumping my ass, splashing sizzling jizz up against my bowels.

  It was all too much for this pocket fisherman to withstand. The line on my sexual control snapped and my thrusting cock let loose, exploding in the superheated vice of Greg’s ass and blasting the bear full of my juice. Over and over, the three of us flopping around on the bottom of the boat like gaffed fish, orgasm frying the lot of us.

  Unfortunately, I had to throw Evan overboard, toss him back into the teeming ocean of men. I’m a sucker for bears, all right, but I do prefer monogamy in my wild life relationships.

  He called me a couple of times, but I wouldn’t take the bait. And eventually, he just had to call me the one that got away!

  Beach Challenge

  by Elizabeth Coldwell

  I’m halfway along the beach before I hear the sound of running footsteps behind me. Putting on an extra burst of speed, even though my side aches and my lungs are burning, I still reckon I can get to the far end of the bay before them. For a moment, the moon comes out from behind a cloud. Glancing round, I see them; two shadowy figures splashing through the surf. I don’t think they’re actually gaining on me, but it’s difficult to tell in this light.

  The towel around my waist slips a little, and I hitch it up. I’d like to stop and tie it more securely, but I don’t have the time. Not if I want to get away from my pursuers. I have no idea what they might do to me if they catch me.

  I’ve found myself in some strange positions in my time, but never anything like this, sprinting along a deserted beach wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel and a pair of scuffed old training shoes. I suppose it’ll make a good story to tell when I get back to London. But London seems so far away at this moment.

  I stumble over a pebble the size of my fist, manage to keep from falling over entirely, and head for the gently zig-zagging path that leads up the cliff and back to the house. So close now, so close ...

  And then I feel a hand grab my bare thigh and I go sprawling in the sand. There’s a triumphant, mocking laugh as I lie there, winded. I close my eyes and wonder what my forfeit will be.

  When Jeff invites me to his stag night, I know it’s going to involve something exotic. After all, the days of hiring a room over a pub and a peroxide stripper dressed as a policewoman, who’ll rub her tits in the groom’s face to the delight of his leering mates, are long gone. Now it’s a weekend in Prague or Tallinn or wherever the pound’s strong and the beer is cheap. A bloke who used to work in our sales department claimed when his old boss got married, he took his three best salesmen, him included, to Amsterdam and paid for them all to have sex with whichever of the window girls took their fancy.

  Fun as that may sound, I hope Jeff isn’t planning anything too expensive: we might have been mates for eight years, since we first met at university, but I’ve never moved in the same exalted financial circles as him and the rest of his close friends and never will.

  Fortunately, it turns out one of those friends, Reuben – who is also going to be Jeff’s best man – belongs to a family which appears to own a considerable chunk of Cornwall. His old man’s going to be away on business in Hong Kong for a couple of weeks, which means we’ll have the run of his house for the weekend. Actually, the way Jeff describes it, it sounds more like a country seat than a humble house. All I know is it means sorting out a cheap rail fare to Liskeard, then Reuben will pick me up at the station. No need for a passport, no queuing for hours at Heathrow, no cut-price airfare that actually ends up costing you a fortune once they’ve added on the cost of checking in, stowing your baggage and selling you an in-flight sandwich. Just sun, sea and the contents of Reuben’s dad’s drinks cabinet. My idea of bliss.

  Reuben is waiting for me at Liskeard station when the train pulls in. He and Jeff became best friends at boarding school, but when Jeff went to university, Reuben spent a year backpacking round Australia and the Far East before getting a job with an investment bank. So far, so much the stereotype. But as he hefts my rucksack into the boot of his sporty little Mini and flashes me a broad smile, I find myself unexpectedly warming to him. He has the lean, athletic build of a surfer – which is, apparently, how he spends most of his weekends, riding the waves off the Cornish coast – and dark, floppy hair which he brushes out of his eyes as he talks.

  Reuben drives fast and a little recklessly, as only someone who is completely familiar with these twisting high-hedged country roads could feel confident in doing. He’s blasting out heavy rock music over the Mini’s speakers, raising his voice to ask me questions over the rumbling beat.

  ‘Jeff tells me you’re a teacher?’ he says, twisting slightly in his seat to address me.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ I reply, wishing he’d keep those surprisingly long-lashed hazel eyes of his on the road. ‘A-level Spanish. Not particularly glamorous.’

  ‘But necessary. All I can manage in Spanish is “una cerveza, por favor”. I try and make it a rule that wherever I am in the world, I know how to order beer.’ He laughs. ‘Now all I need to learn is how to say, “Fancy a fuck?” and I’ve got it sorted.’

  I’m about to enlighten him, but he takes a sharp right, pulling the car up in front of a set of heavy iron security gates. He gets out of the car for long enough to punch in the code that opens the gates, then hops back in and guns the Mini up a drive which is easily half a mile in length. The house at the end of it looks like something my parents, who are both card-carrying members of the National Trust, pay money to traipse round every summer. I try not to let my jaw drop. This really is how the other half live.

  ‘Am I the last to arrive?’ I ask, as Reuben presents me with my luggage.

  ‘Not quite,’ he replies. ‘Craig’s still on his way over from Bristol. I got a text from him to say the traffic on the A38’s murder.’ He slams the boot s
hut. ‘But then it is Friday night, what does he expect? Everyone else is getting ready for dinner. Come on, I’ll show you to your room.’

  It’s another 40 minutes before the errant Craig arrives, flustered and apologising for his lateness. The rest of us are lounging in the antique-strewn living room, glugging beer and getting to know each other a little better if we don’t already. Dinner’s almost ready, so Craig dumps his bag and comes to join us.

  After a meal of coq au vin and crusty French bread, prepared by Reuben’s father’s housekeeper before she left for the weekend, we retire to the drawing room. This is all so alien to me – housekeepers and drawing rooms aren’t exactly commonplace in the suburb of Sheffield where I grew up – but I somehow feel relaxed in this environment. Perhaps it’s the fact Reuben is so welcoming. More likely, it’s the excellent Burgundy he’s been plying us with throughout dinner. Whatever, Jeff and I have fallen back into our old, easy groove of friendship and I’m starting to feel comfortable with his other friends, too.

  Which is when Reuben suggests we start doing tequila shots. He insists on drinking it in what he calls “the traditional way”: lick salt off the back of your hand; down the tequila; then bite on a slice of lime. It’s hardly my favourite drink – I find the oily texture of the liqueur slightly off-putting – but the mood I’m in I’m game for anything. A couple of shots apiece drains the bottle.

  ‘And you know what that means,’ Reuben says, clutching the empty bottle. ‘It’s time for a little game.’

  He grabs a sheet of paper, starts tearing off strips and scribbling on them as we watch. The strips he folds and places in an empty ice bucket.