After the four of us had climaxed, Joshua lazily ran one of his paint brushes over my body. The tiny bristles tickled my skin causing me to tingle all over. He ran the bristles over my hole before whispering:
‘Lay on your back.’
I did. He spread my legs and inserted the paintbrush inside me. The bristles hit every erogenous zone I had. My stomach quivered and I felt my eyes roll back in my head a second time as the three took turns fucking me with the brush.
‘I want to do something,’ Duda said picking up a long wooden paint stirrer. ‘I saw this in a porno once. Get on your hands and knees.
I did as I was told. Duda slapped my face with the stick. Once. Twice. Three Times. Each time the impact had a little bit more force. Moving down he slapped my chest, penis and balls. I moaned with each slap. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. He slapped my ass with the hard wooden stick, making my cheeks jiggle. He slapped my ass harder and harder. The loud thwacks bounced off the walls.
Joshua and Sug were kissing, fingers getting lost in the other’s chest hair. Their cocks, hard as granite, were pressed up against each other.
Duda spread my cheeks and inserted the long stirrer. I was on my hands and knees, rock hard, with a hard wooden tail anxiously wondering what Duda had in mind. I smiled with anticipation. The only time I ever got this kinky was in my books. It felt great to finally unleash my inner whore.
Glancing over my shoulder I watched the other end of the stirrer disappear inside him. Our cheeks touched and we rocked back and forth. Our balls slapped against each other. I had never felt such pleasure in my life.
‘Now that’s a beautiful sight,’ Sug whistled approvingly. ‘Those porno people had the right idea.’
Adjusting my crooked hat, Sug kissed me full on the lips. Joshua and Duda’s lips were locked as Joshua vigorously jerked his employee off.
Soon Sug found himself underneath me. Joshua was underneath Sug who was lying flat as a board on Joshua as he pumped in and out of Sug’s hole. I was riding Sug like a buckin’ fuckin’ bronco.
‘Oh yeah,’ Sug moaned. ‘You have a great ass,’ he grunted slapping it. ‘Ride my cock, cowboy!’
Grinding against his hardness I clutched the cowboy hat and let out a hardy yeehaw!
Duda’s head was buried in my lap, greedily feasting on my length. Pulling the young boy up I kissed him enjoying my taste on his full lips.
‘Hop on, handsome,’ I said with a wink.
Duda impaled himself on my penis. I gripped his meaty thickness in my fist. Our four moans became one. The bedsprings squealed out the rhythm of our fucking. We came as one, crying out at the intensity of the orgasm.
‘Happy anniversary,’ Sug said, kissing me.
‘Happy anniversary, Sug. I love you.’
‘I love you, Huston.’
After Duda and Joshua had cleaned up and left, Sug came into the bedroom with some paint and a huge grin on his face. We painted each other’s bodies ridiculous colours. I even drew a happy face with a huge purple polka-dotted Afro on his butt. Getting some ties he bound my hands and feet and tied one around my neck like a bridal. He took out one of my cigarettes, ran it temptingly between my lips – good Lord I wanted it so bad! – before sticking it in my hole.
‘Light it,’ he said after he had fucked me with it.
I did, enjoying the mixture of tobacco and my hole. Who knew a four-way was all it took to unleash Sug’s inner horny man. Taking my cigarette Sug took a puff and blew the smoke into my hole before burying first his face in there and then his hard-on. We made love for hours. Sug kept tight hold of the tie around my neck and he kept moaning my name …
‘Huston,’ Sug’s voice brought me back to reality. ‘Come to bed. It’s late. Plus it’s Wednesday. You know what Wednesday means. Hump day!’
I looked at the fantasy I had written. My deepest fantasy that I so wanted to come true. I looked at Sug, nude except for the tie that hung loosely around his neck.
‘New story?’ he asked. ‘May I?’
‘Always, Sug.’
I got up and Sug made himself comfortable. Placing my arms around him I kissed his neck and stroked his dark chest hair, wondering if life would ever imitate fiction ….
Slash And Burn
by Michael Bracken
Slash rode goofy past the No Skateboarding on Sidewalk sign because he always rode on the sidewalk and he looked in the store windows as he passed.
I rode through the shopping centre parking lot, matching his speed but about five feet back. He darted among slow-moving shoppers still dressed in their church clothes and I dodged minivans and SUVs driven by soccer moms who paid more attention to the rug rats inside than the traffic outside their vehicles.
He wore baggy blue-jean board shorts, a tight-fitting black wife-beater that revealed the tat sleeves inked from his shoulders to his wrists, and he had his finger-length black hair spiked. I wasn’t nearly so brave, nor so fashionable. My blond hair hadn’t been combed in days, and I wore jeans, a long-sleeved black hoodie, and thin black leather gloves. I was nowhere near as good as Slash, and I’d slammed so many times I think the palms of my hands will forever have the texture of coarse-grain sandpaper. That’s why I’d started wearing the gloves.
As Slash approached the end of the shopping mall’s sidewalk, the old lady who owned the Sew-n-Sew at the south end of the mall stepped out of her store and yelled at him.
‘Can’t you read? How many times do I have to chase you hoodlums down? I’m going to call the police!’
She never did.
Slash smiled at her and did an acid drop off the curb at the end of the sidewalk. I kicked a little harder and caught up to him.
‘Why do you torment her like that?’ I yelled.
‘Why does she torment me?’ Slash yelled back. ‘Skateboarding’s not a crime!’
We’d spent the morning at the skatepark with Tall Tony and some of the other guys and were on our way to my garage apartment, where I had an unopened box of frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts on the kitchen counter and two quarts of Mountain Dew in the refrigerator. It wasn’t much, but it was more than Slash had offered me for dinner at his place two days earlier.
Slash and I had met at the skatepark and we’d been together almost two years. I was taking accounting classes at the junior college, lived over my grandparents’ garage, and relied on my parents for most of my pocket money, something they would only dole out if I maintained a B average. Slash, barely a year older than me, worked part-time at a bike shop and spent most of his available time at the skatepark perfecting his technique.
His uncle gave Slash his first skateboard, and as soon as he could nail some basic tricks Slash started entering contests. He wanted to turn pro, but he hadn’t been able to attract the attention of sponsors. They didn’t even comp him boards or other cool stuff. It wasn’t about boarding ability, they told him, it’s about attitude and marketability, and they didn’t see anything in Slash that they didn’t see in dozens of other boarders. Their attitude frustrated Slash because he didn’t know how to make himself stand out from the pack.
I kept telling him that his time would come. Maybe that’s why he hung with me even though I pretty much suck as a skateboarder. I might have been the only person in his life who believed in him.
We pounded up the stairs, parked our boards on the couch, and stepped into my kitchen, which was nothing more than the other half of my living room, with a counter, sink, fridge, and stove along the wall opposite the couch. Slash tore open the Pop-Tarts box while I retrieved the two bottles of Mountain Dew from the fridge. He handed me one of the foil-wrapped packs of Pop-Tarts and I handed him one of the two-litre bottles of Dew.
My apartment had only two rooms – the living room/kitchen and the bedroom – with a three-quarter bath accessible through the bedroom. I had decorated by taping posters of Tony Hawk and pictures of other boarders torn out of the skateboarding magazines to the living room walls. Some were pictures of famous skat
ers, and others were pictures of guys doing rad tricks. The bedroom contained a double bed and a desk where I did my homework, had more posters taped to the walls, and had a pile of dirty laundry in one corner because I was too lazy to carry everything downstairs for my grandmother to wash.
After we ate, Slash led me into the bedroom. He didn’t have to say anything; I knew what he wanted. He wanted what he always wanted after a morning of boarding. He wanted me to go down on him.
When I unfastened Slash’s belt, his oversized board shorts dropped off his slim hips and hit the floor, pooling around his ankles. He didn’t wear anything beneath the shorts except the snake tattooed on his lower abdomen, and his thick cock already stood erect.
I still wore my gloves and I wiped my palms on my pants to rid them of dirt from my frequent slams. Then I dropped to my knees, wrapped one gloved fist around Slash’s turgid cock, and began pistoning my fist up and down. As I jerked off my skateboarding partner, I leaned forward and took the head of his cock in my mouth, hooked my teeth behind his glans, and painted his cockhead with my saliva.
Then, while still pumping my leather-clad hand up and down Slash’s fat phallus, I leaned forward, slowing taking in half his length before drawing back. His cock meat tasted salty and sweaty and I licked the underside of his shaft as I moved forward and back. I did the same thing twice more before I reached around Slash, grabbed the firm cheeks of his ass, and pulled his crotch tight against my face, accepting his entire length into my oral cavity for the first time. Slash’s heavy ball sack pressed against my chin and his dark, curly hair tickled my nose. I sucked and sucked hard.
My cock grew rigid in my jeans, but I couldn’t do anything about it right then. I was concentrating on pleasing my skateboarding partner.
Slash’s slim hips began to move as he drew his cock back. Then he pushed forward and drew back, his ass muscles tightening in my hands as he pushed forward. He grabbed the back of my head, wrapping his fingers in my hair, and fucked my face hard and fast, his heavy ball sack slapping against my chin with every thrust. Then Slash’s cock exploded and he shot wad after wad of hot come against the back of my throat.
I eagerly swallowed every drop of Slash’s come before licking his cock clean. When I finished, Slash stepped backward. His flaccid cock dropped from my mouth and slapped against his thigh.
He stepped out of the blue-jean board shorts, pooled at his ankles and dropped backward on my bed. I admired his slim, muscular body for a moment, but something else demanded my attention. I had an erection, and it was tangled in my boxers. I reached into my pants to untangle my cock before standing. Then I stepped into the bathroom, dropped my pants, and settled onto the toilet seat. After I removed my gloves, I took my cock in my fist and quickly polished my knob.
Then I joined Slash on the bed and we talked about nothing in particular.
Later, we headed back to the skatepark so that Slash could spend Sunday evening practicing, and we returned by backtracking along the same route that had taken us from the park to my garage apartment. I was half a block behind Slash as we approached the shopping mall because I had face-planted two blocks earlier, and I was trying hard to catch up. Many of the stores had already closed for the evening, leaving only the Dollar General open and the Sew-n-Sew turning out its lights as we approached.
Slash walled the curb and continued onto the sidewalk. As he passed the front door of the Sew-n-Sew, several things seemed to happen at once.
A minivan with a soccer mom at the wheel and a prepubescent girl playing with a cell phone in the front passenger seat nosed into a parking space in front of the Sew-n-Sew, the minivan’s headlights illuminating the front of the darkened store.
The old lady who owned the place, a bulky purse slung on one arm and heavy key ring in her free hand, stepped out of her shop and turned to lock the door.
A big guy in dark clothing ran around the end of the building, grabbed the old lady’s purse, and ran away from me, going the same direction as Slash and gaining ground on him.
I yelled.
The old lady yelled.
The woman and the girl in the minivan yelled.
Slash glanced over his shoulder, saw what was happening, and did something I’d never seen him or any other skateboarder do. He stomped on his board’s kickback as he dismounted, flipping his board into the air. He landed flatfoot on the sidewalk, grabbed his board out of the air with both hands and, holding it straight out in front of him with the deck perpendicular to the ground, spun almost 90 degrees and slammed the deck into the purse-snatcher’s face, smashing the bigger man’s nose and knocking him smooth out.
I reached the two of them at the same time the old lady did. She jerked her purse out of the unconscious man’s hand and cursed him with that antiquated language she used when she yelled at Slash for skateboarding on the sidewalk.
‘You going to call the police?’ I asked.
‘I’ll call them,’ said the soccer mom, who had hurried to where we stood and already had her cell phone out. Her daughter walked behind her, holding her cell phone in front of her as if she was capturing everything with the video function.
I checked the purse-snatcher to ensure that he was breathing, but I didn’t do anything about the blood pouring from his nose. I was more concerned with Slash’s board, and he assured me that it was fine. Then three of us stood over the unconscious purse-snatcher while the girl started talking on her cell phone and Slash paced back and forth.
Two patrol cars arrived a few minutes later with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Two burly cops with more attitude than brains saw the bleeding scratches on my forehead from my face plant earlier that evening, and they rushed toward Slash before the old lady caught their attention and directed them toward the purse-snatcher, who was conscious but still laying flat on his back.
One cop called an ambulance and stood guard over the purse-snatcher while the other took statements from each of us. The old lady – Mrs Winston – had the Sew-n-Sew’s weekend receipts in her purse and was planning to drop them in her bank’s night deposit on her way home, so she was grateful that her purse had not been successfully snatched. After the police left, she thanked Slash and then reopened the Sew-n-Sew so the soccer mom could purchase fabric to make something her daughter needed at school Monday morning. Slash and I sat on the curb until the soccer mom and her daughter finally left and Mrs Winston was safely in her car and headed toward the bank.
Slash was amped up when we returned to my apartment. As soon as we had the door closed behind us and had dumped our boards on my couch, he pulled me into his arms and planted his lips on mine. Then he buried his tongue in my mouth.
His kiss was deep, hard, and aggressive. He practically tore my clothes off as we moved to the bedroom, and by the time we were naked we both had erections. I grabbed a half-used tube of lube from my desk, squeezed a dollop onto my palm, and wrapped my hand around Slash’s cock. I pumped up and down a couple of time to ensure that his shaft was completed covered. Then I wiped away the glistening drop of pre-come from the tip of his cock and covered his cockhead with lube.
He spun me around and I climbed onto the bed, kneeling on the edge for a moment before dropping to all fours. Slash stepped between my legs, grabbed my hips, and pulled my ass toward him as he thrust his cock into my ass crack. The lube-slick head of his cock pressed against my sphincter and then, with one firm thrust, he buried his cock deep inside me.
Slash drew back and then plunged forward again, his strong fingers gripping my hips so tight I was afraid I might be left with bruises. He fucked me hard and fast, and when he came, he came hard. He slammed into me one last time and then held my ass tight against his groin while he filled me with his come.
Then he did something he didn’t usually do. While still holding my hip with one hand, he reached around with the other and grabbed my turgid cock. I braced myself on one hand like a tripod and covered his fist with my free hand. I was so turned on by Slash’s aggression and sudd
en interest in my satisfaction that I came quickly, spewing come over our hands.
When my cock stopped spasming, I pulled away from Slash and rolled onto my back. I still held his hand, so I pulled it to my mouth, wrapped my lips around his fingers, and licked them clean.
By the time I finished licking his fingers, Slash had another erection.
We fucked twice more that night before we finished off the Pop-Tarts and the Mountain Dew and fell asleep watching some really gay horror movie.
Slash went to the skatepark the next morning and I went to class at the junior college. I was sitting in the middle of the quad, a copy of one of the Norton Anthologies open in my lap and my skateboard on the bench next to me, when Tall Tony, a journalism major who boarded with us, did a wheel-slide and came to a halt in front of me.
‘Dude,’ he said as he stepped off his board, ‘did you see Slash’s video on YouTube?’
I looked up. Tony stands well over six feet tall and he’s thin as a rail. ‘What video?’
‘The one where he jumps off his board and smashes a guy in the face,’ he said.
‘When did you see that?’
‘This morning. I was killing time before class when I saw it.’ He dropped onto the bench next to me, opened his backpack, and pulled out his Apple laptop. ‘Let me show you.’
Tony booted up his computer and logged onto the junior college’s wireless network. He had bookmarked a video labelled, Skateboarder knocks out purse-snatcher, and a moment later I watched a replay of the previous evening.
I’d been right: the prepubescent girl in the minivan had been recording everything with her cell phone’s camera, but someone had edited the video so that it started with the purse snatching and ended with the snatcher laying flat on his back. The girl had gotten excellent footage of Slash kicking his board up, catching it, and swinging it, so that I could see exactly what he did even though I knew I would never be able to duplicate the move.
Boy Fun, Four Book Bundle Page 17
