Short Spurts
Page 6
I smiled down at him, at the beautiful sight of muscle and flesh, as I rolled on the rubber and lubed myself up. I crouched in to him, my cock butting up against his pearly gate, his ankles atop my shoulders, his lips again pressed firmly to mine. He moaned, softly, sweetly, as I pushed my way in, a million tingles eddying through my crotch before shooting out to all four limbs and up my now sweat-soaked back.
“Fuck,” I groaned, the word carried on the breeze, my raging-hard prick gliding to his farthest reaches, my balls banging up against his hot ass, our lips mashed together, tongues lashing, coiling, snaking and slithering.
He bucked his rump into me, sending my cock into overdrive. I fucked him with everything I had, ramming, retracting, ramming, retracting, each time battering up against his insides. I then moved my lips away from his to watch the spectacle that was about to unfold.
“So fucking close, man,” he moaned, his head tilted back, his breathing fast and hard as he furiously jacked his cock.
I gave a final shove, my prick impaled up his hole, and I shot first, the entire length of my body quivering and quaking, drops of sweat cascading down onto his as I filled his ass with ounce after ounce of molten come, my moans and groans filling the space around us, with his quick to follow. I looked down, my breath now ragged as his cock spewed, sending a thick stream of jizz out across the void, landing splat, splat, splat on his chest and ripped belly, pooling in the center before spilling over his sides in a stream of spunk.
“I should crash into trees more often,” I panted, collapsing on top of him with a tender kiss and a suck on his mouth.
He laughed in between gasps. “Sure does make my job more enjoyable.”
I glanced up, the snow abating, the clouds now cleared and the sky a dazzling blue. The mountain reigned supreme, towering up as high as the eye could see, capped in a blanket of solid white. “Speaking of which, I need to get to mine. My job, that is.”
“Up here?” he asked.
“Writing retreat. Though I think I may extend it this year. Suddenly, my juices are, um, flowing.”
He swirled the come across his hairy tummy. “Yeah, I can see that,” he replied with that glorious wink of his. “And if I’m lucky, I’ll be seeing more of it.”
I again looked up at the acres of green that surrounded us. “Lots and lots of trees to plow into, Ben.”
He giggled. “Nah, save your plowing for my ass, Trent.”
“No problem there, Ben.” And, at last, it was my turn to offer up a wink. “No problem at all.”
Jockey Shorts
It was the morning before Saturday’s season opening, full-capacity crowds expected. In other words, for the lucky few, big fucking pay-offs. Hence my arrival the day earlier. The owners allowed the colts to be viewed by the heavy bettors. Good for business to spark some interest, they figured. Show off their wares. Get some major money riding on their investments.
Fine by me. Though it wasn’t the horses that were doing the sparking. Least not for me, anyway. Well now, not totally. Sure, I admired the animals for what they were. Top of the line, best of the best, and all. Still, it was the riders that really interested me, got me down to the stables at that ungodly hour, put a bulge in my shorts.
Yeah, truth be told, I dig short guys. Perfect miniatures. Pint-sized men. Guys that can bounce on daddy’s lap. Needless to say, this peculiar penchant of mine, plus my predilection for the ponies, makes a perfect fit.
And the early hour? Beat the rush. Ringside seats. Well, stallside, at any rate.
The jockeys arrive early, too. Checking out the next day’s racers. Making sure they’re in tip-top shape, giving them a good brushing-down so that they shine for the cameras. Strange sight to see, really, these elfin men alongside their relatively giant steeds. Strange and sexy, to be certain.
I strode along the earthen path, popping my head inside each of the cubicles as the colts got their rubdowns, their massive haunches quivering in apparent delight. My cock quivered right along with them as each diminutive jockey came into view, determined looks on their angular faces, sinewy arms pumping back and forth against satiny hides. Too fucking hot, despite the morning chill.
With each stall I past, my prick grew harder, steely against my cotton briefs. And then I reached the final one. I glanced down at the half-door. Jersey Boy, it read, printed across a wooden plank. I poked my peepers inside. The horse was a brilliant black save for a pair of white circles around the rump. It looked up at me, shaking its head in greeting.
“Morning,” I said to it, a smile now wide on my face.
“Morning,” came the surprising reply, just as the jockey emerged from around the other side, wearing little more than a pair of denim shorts and knee-high boots. I gulped at the sight of him, at his muscle-tight, tiny frame, coated with a dense matting of curly, black hair that trailed down before disappearing inside his shorts, only to reappear along his equally hairy, sinewy legs.
“Oh, hi. Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
He smirked, revealing a glorious set of pearly whites. “Yeah,” he replied. “I get that a lot.”
A red flush crept up my neck and spread across both cheeks. “Oh, um, I…I didn’t mean—”
He cut me off. “Don’t fret it, friend.” He spoke with a strange accent, Slavic-sounding, all wide vowels and truncated consonants. “Name’s Gustav,” he told me, reaching out and up with his hand, before quickly adding, “but my friends call me Gus.”
I leaned in and down. “Stu,” I replied. “Nice to meet you. And Jersey Boy.”
We shook, my big hand engulfing his little one, though his grip was like a vise, probably from years of holding on to the reins so tightly. The shake lingered, flesh on warm, pulsing flesh. He locked eyes with mine. His were a startling blue, laser-intense, drawing me in like a pool on a sweltering August day. The grin widened.
“You betting on the two of us tomorrow, Stu?”
I released his hand and grabbed for the program in my back pocket. Jersey Boy was running in the last race of the day. Ten to one odds. Not a hell of a lot of wins in his short racing career. “Not exactly money in the bank, Gus,” I told him as nicely as possible.
He moved in even closer, his small frame now leaning up against the door, allowing the sun to hit his face, causing his beautiful orbs to sparkle like the heavens above. “Now, now, Stu. Just between you and me, Jersey Boy here is gonna win tomorrow. Make us both some money.”
I moved in, too, leaning on the door, just to the right of him. My elbow bumped against his, causing a spark to race up and down my spine. “And what do I get if you lose?”
He smiled up at me, lewdly, and with a wink, he replied, “Ah, you want a side bet then, my friend? Make it worth your while?” My heart began to race at the sound of the tone of his voice, which was suddenly gravelly, husky.
“What did you have in mind, Gus?” I moved in closer, closer still, so that our arms were now touching. “To make it worth my while, I mean.”
He paused, his eyes taking me in as he seemed to think carefully about his response. “Well now, Stu, how about, if I lose, I fuck you silly until you don’t care about losing your money.”
I coughed, the red now returning to my face for a second time. “And if you win?”
He wasted no time in answering that one. “Stands to reason, Stu, you fuck me.”
I reached out and ran my hand through all that dense hair, soft as it was wiry, stopping at an eraser-tipped nipple, which I gently tugged and tweaked on. His eyes fluttered. He sighed. “Well now,” I said, echoing his grin with one of my own. “Do you think little, old you can take on big, old me?”
He backed away, the smile still very much there. Pointing to Jersey Boy, he answered with, “Stu, if I can ride this big guy, I think I can handle you. Besides,” he added, now reaching for the button on his shorts before sliding them down and around his boots, “I’m not exactly small everywhere.”
I gulped. He wasn’t just whistling Dixie.
“A thousand on you to win,” I relented. “You lose, I’m in for one hell of a fucking. You win, and, man, I hope you win, you’re in for the ride of your life.”
He slapped his cock, sending it springing from side to side. “Sounds like we win either way, my friend. A sure bet. This I like.”
“Still, it would be nicer if you won. Icing on the cake. And then icing on that great chest of yours, and belly, and chin.” My iron-hard cock was now pushing up against the stable door. “And if you win, do you think you can take what I’ve got in my shorts?”
He laughed and turned around, revealing the cutest little ass this side of the Mississippi—plus most of the other side, too. It was covered in the now-familiar matting that blanketed the rest of his tight body. I groaned at the sight of it. “See for yourself,” he said, backing toward me, his cheeks splayed and his beautiful, pink asshole puckering my way.
I reached down and ran my palm across both cheeks and then to the crack before tracing my fingers around his hairy halo. Like the rest of him, it was small and perfect, aching to be rode like the horse to his side. “Great hole, Gus. But I think I got more than it can take.”
He laughed. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, my friend. Take it for a test drive, if you like.”
I looked around. The stables were still fairly empty. Quickly, I ducked inside Jersey Boy’s. Gus turned around and melted into my waiting embrace. I bent down and brushed my lips against his, feeling the stubble that ran along his narrow face. He darted his tongue out and mashed his mouth into mine, swapping spit, coiling tongues. My hand instinctively grabbed his thick prick, now leaking copious amounts of sticky jizz. He groaned and sucked on my mouth. “Yum,” I exhaled.
“The bottom hole tastes even better,” he whispered as he stepped away and kicked off his shorts, so that he was now naked, save for the boots and raging hard-on. Then he turned and got on all fours, looking much like a smaller version of the horse that stood to the left, who was eating his hay as he ignored the shenanigans going on around him.
I crouched down, ass to face, my eyes meandering across the length of his hirsute, slim back before coming to rest on his pink, satiny hole. I leaned my face in and took a deep whiff. He smelled of stable and sweat, a heady mixture that pulled me ever forward, until my tongue took a sample lick and then a slide inside.
He moaned as I entered him and pushed his heavy cock between his legs, allowing me to jack him off as I ate him out. “Now for that test drive,” I told him, hocking a lugie at his asshole, slicking him up but good, and then gliding a spit-soaked finger up and in and back, feeling the smooth, muscled interior of his tight, little, hairy ass. It was a vision forever etched in my memory.
He moaned again, lower and deeper, the sound filling the small space around us as I added a second digit to the mix and craned my neck down for an eager suck and slurp on his long, hard tool.
“Three’s the charm,” he wisely suggested.
I doubted his tiny tush could take it, but did as he asked, prodding and pushing until he was getting triple-finger-fucked. His groaning grew louder as he bucked his compact ass into my hand, as I sped up the stroke on his spit-slick cock. “Drives just perfect,” I told him, now pistoning his ass with my fist.
“Oh yeah, Stu. Ride it; ride it hard then.”
Naturally, I did, until I felt the familiar hardening at the farthest reaches of his hole. With a furious final pump on his fat dick, he exploded, sending a stream of white-hot come down to the ground below, his cock shooting and shooting and shooting, his solid, diminutive body quaking all the while.
Slowly, gently, I retracted my fingers from his tight, little rump. He sighed, contentedly and sunk to the ground, rolling over to stare up at me. “Still don’t think I can take it, friend?” he asked, the devilish smirk returning to his impossibly handsome face, a wink added for good measure.
“I stand corrected,” I told him, and then joined him on the ground. “Make that, I lay corrected.” And then I kissed him, soft and tender and perfect on his beautiful, full lips, running my hand down his amazingly tight, hair-covered body as I did so. “If you ride anywhere near as good as you kiss, I’m going to be a very rich man tomorrow.”
He laughed, a rumble that ran over me like an avalanche. “I ride even better, my friend. Just you wait and see.”
And wait I did. Thankfully, not for long.
As betting days went, I faired pretty well. Still, my mind raced at the thought of what was to come next. Or whom. Eventually, the announcer proclaimed the final event. The crowd rose, shouting, cheering, the sound nearly deafening all around me. Then absolute silence as the horses lined up behind their gates. A gunshot. They were off. Running. Hard. The jockeys perched atop their steeds, their legs braced tightly against thickly muscled flanks. Like a herd of wild animals pressed up side by side, impossibly close, the horses tore around the track.
All, that is, save Jersey Boy.
The ebony colt fell back, trailing one then two body lengths behind the pack. My stomach sank. Not that sticking it to Gus would be a bad consolation prize but losing was not what it was cracked up to be. Especially the wad of cash I had riding on this race. I sat my ass in the seat, my eyes glumly downcast. Then the announcer hollered that Jersey Boy was shooting around the outside. Again, I looked up, stood up, shouted my obvious approval. Gus was pushing him on, fast, faster still, like a bolt of lightning. Little by little, he was gaining ground, passing each horse in kind, quickly moving into fourth, then third, then second place, running even, neck and neck with a brown colt, their bodies pressed up tight.
“Go, Jersey Boy! Go, Jersey Boy!” I hollered, willing him forward. “Go, go, go fucking go.”
The finish line drew nearer, and still they were dead even. Too damn close. Impossible to call.
The race ended. The crowd looked up expectantly at the megaphones. A photo finish was announced. Seconds ticked by like hours as my heart beat furiously in my chest and my stomach did a gastric samba.
Then the announcer wailed, “It’s Jersey Boy by a nose!”
Half the crowd booed, the other wildly cheered. I, however, was already out of my seat, running to collect my winnings. All of them.
I met him outside the stall. In his shiny purple and gold suit, he led the triumphant Jersey Boy inside, smiling at me as he did so. “Told you we were going to win,” he said as he heroically strode by.
“Seems to me, you had an extra good reason.”
He returned, locked the stall, and replied, “Seems to me, you’re right. Had to make the race a quick one so I could get back here and get good and fucked. If you still want to, I mean.” He looked up at me coyly. Too damned fucking adorable.
“Hey, a bet’s a bet. Where do I collect?”
The mischievous grin returned, as did the twinkle in his magnificent sapphire orbs. “Trailer’s out back. Let’s go before my cock explodes.”
We rushed there, and he led me inside. I instantly lifted him up and held on tight, smothering him with kisses, our eyes open, watching intently, not wanting to miss a moment. “I can’t wait to be inside of you,” I groaned into his mouth.
He laughed as I set him down. “Then you better hurry and undress me.”
“Music to my ears,” I told him, crouching down to untie his riding boots before pulling them off, then his long nylon socks, revealing his small feet, the knuckles of which were smattered with the ever-present curly black hair, which I stroked with my fingertips. Then I stood back up and leaned down, kissing him softly, repeatedly, as I unbuttoned his satiny jersey, dropping it to the floor before yanking his undershirt off. He giggled as I ran my fingers across
his densely muscled abs, small and hard as oyster shells, though covered in that soft down of his. I bent lower, taking a thick nipple in between my lips and teeth, biting down as I unbuttoned his trousers and slid down the zipper. He moaned, loudly, and shimmied out of his slacks, standing before me in nothing but a hard protective cup, and then that, too, was off.
I stood back and appraised my work. “Damn,” I said with an appreciative sigh, “you are one beautiful, hard, hairy man.”
“Speaking of hard,” he said, pointing at the obvious tenting in my pants. “I think it’s your turn now.”
He watched intently as I shucked off my shoes, my slacks, my dress shirt and socks, and then my boxers, seeing me naked at last, for the first time. He gave me an approving whistle. “Better than a garland of roses any day. Now fuck me. Quick.”
Needless to say, he didn’t have to tell me twice. And I had come prepared.
I reached into my pants pocket and removed a Trojan and a little tube of lube. I slid on the rubber, slicked up my prick, and hopped on his cot. “On your marks, get set,” I said, smiling at him.
“Go,” he practically purred, jumping on the cot and straddling my lap, perching his perfect ass just above my steely rod. I reached for the tube again, lubed up my fingers, and spread it around his chute.
I held him by his side as he eased down, pressing his hole against the tip of my cock, pushing down, down, down, engulfing my prick in all that tight warmth, sending a million tingles from one end of my body to the other. When he was fully impaled on my dick, my balls lapping up against his hairy shores, he exhaled sharply, his eyes rolling to the back of his head before opening again, to stare into mine. “God, I’m glad I won that race.”
“Ditto,” I agreed, leaning up to kiss him, sucking on his mouth like a veritable Hoover as I reached down to stroke his swollen prick, which was already slick and sticky with precome, leaking up and over his mushroomed head.