Short Spurts

by Rob Rosen

  Jingle groaned as he entered, and then pulled his face away to stare down into two crystal-clear pools of blue. “Better?” he asked, noticing the smile grow impossibly broad.

  “Oh, much,” Tweeker replied, again stroking his cock as he leaned up for another magical kiss.

  They sighed in unison, rocking their sweat-soaked bodies in pitch perfect harmony, their tiny torsos flush together, their mouths locked as one. And then they heard the jarring bell, their break apparently over.

  Tweeker’s eyes popped open. “Hurry,” he said in alarm. “We have to get back; Santa doesn’t like us to go missing.”

  And so, hurry Jingle did, letting loose like a rocket, pummeling Tweeker’s ass with his rigid prick, pounding away at the farthest recesses. Pump, pump, pump, he went. And then his head tilted back as he finally shot, filling up the rubber with ounce after thick ounce of searing-hot come, enough to melt the very North Pole around them. And as to poles, Tweeker’s exploded a split second later, dousing their miniature bodies in a pungent, glorious mess before Jingle collapsed on top of him, giggling in a mix of both pleasure and exhaustion.

  “Merry fucking Christmas,” he whispered into Tweeker’s ear.

  “I must’ve been a good elf this year,” came the response, “because I just got the best present ever.”

  They hugged for the two seconds they had left, and then rushed to wash off, get dressed, and return to their work stations, the faint lingering aroma of come wafting over them, causing two well-deserved smiles to suddenly appear.

  The toys were made in record time, with Santa overseeing in obvious delight, stunned at the progress they’d made. And when Christmas Eve rolled around, enough presents for all the good boys and girls were loaded onto the sleigh, and jolly, old Saint Nicholas was off like a light.

  Tweeker returned to his tiny room and his teeny cot and stared glumly at the mistletoe left behind.

  And then there came a knocking on his door.

  “Come in,” he said.

  The door creaked open. “I already did,” came the giddy reply. “Inside of you, that is.”

  Tweeker lit up like a Christmas tree. “You’re still here,” he practically shouted. “But the season is over. And so, I thought, was your temp assignment.”

  Jingle skipped to his side and landed on the bed. “Santa liked my work. Fastest elf he’d ever seen. So, no more sweat shops for me, little one.” He grabbed the mistletoe and held it above Tweeker’s head. “Lucky me,” he said with a deep, perfect, wonderful kiss, before adding, “Oh, and Merry Christmas.” He handed him the gift he had hidden behind his back.

  Tweeker grabbed for it and joyfully ripped it open. “A new smile-maker,” he proclaimed, his shorts already tenting at the sight of it. “And a longer, thicker one at that.”

  “Double-headed,” Jingle informed, already shucking off his leather outfit. “To help ring in the New Year right.”

  “And what a good year it will be,” Tweeker moaned, sliding out of his shorts, his prick already hard as a candy cane.

  The smile-maker seemed to have its desired effect, causing two grins to beam like the moon that Santa was flying over at that very moment.

  Whip It Out

  Fuck buddies, that’s what we were. Well, something along those lines. Though that’s not what we did—fuck, that is.

  It all started innocently enough. We were at one of those work-related, team-building camps, somewhere out in the middle of the woods, amid the trees and all that fresh air that my city lungs couldn’t quite grow accustomed to.

  There were ten of us and one outhouse. Not a good ratio, not by a long shot. That first afternoon, I had to pee, and the hut was occupied, so I hightailed out into the woods to find a wide pine tree to hide behind. Only, I didn’t go far enough. Joe, a coworker of mine, had the same idea. He approached from my left and stood a few trees over from me.

  “This sucks, Spence,” he lamented. “I can think of a million things I’d rather be doing on my weekend than pissing in the woods.” I laughed and nodded my agreement, still with my fingers locked on my zipper. Joe waited and then asked, “What, are you pee shy? Go ahead, whip it out.”

  I wasn’t pee shy, actually; I just felt weird exposing myself to someone I worked with, especially Joe, who was, and this is a gross understatement, hot as all hell. He was tall and lean, dark and handsome, scruffy and wickedly sexy. In other words, whipping my dick out in front of him could prove, um, embarrassing.

  In any case, he started to pull his out, so I did the same, trying hard not to stare. Trying, naturally, and failing. We both sent a stream out against our respective trees at the same time, filling the otherwise silent forest with the sound of our mutual pissing.

  I coughed. Joe looked over. “Hey, Spence, you getting a chubby over there? A woody in the woods?”

  My cheeks burnt a painful red. I looked up and over. “No, I, um…” I stopped cold. Yes, my cock was semi stiff, but his was as thick and hard as the tree he was pissing on. “Oh,” was all I could think to say.

  “Yeah, oh,” he replied. “Something about being out in the open like this, kind of gets my juices flowing, so to speak.”

  “So I see,” I managed.

  “Same for you, I guess.” Then he upped the ante. He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down to his sneakers, revealing well-muscled, hairy legs and a giant set of balls beneath all that thick meat. “Mind if I, you know, pull the pud?” he asked.

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “You can whack one off, too, if you like,” he interrupted.

  The thought was appealing. Actually, his mammoth cock jutting out was appealing, but I didn’t say as much. Instead, I walked over to his tree, my cock still dangling out of my zipper, and said, “Well, we are supposed to be strengthening our relationships this weekend. I suppose this is better than climbing a tree and walking across an inch-wide strip of wood.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he said, spitting into his mitt of a hand and lubing up his rather impressive eight inches.

  My jeans were down in a flash and my own thick slab was already dripping and eager. He watched, intently, as I began my slow stroke. He, however, liked it fast and furious, pounding hard on all that glorious flesh, which rocked and shook his heavy, hairy nutsack. Two methods, same result, I figured.

  Then he let go of his prick, which stood up and out like a fifth limb, an entity unto itself. He turned his waist from side to side, which sent the beast rocking back and forth—a memorable image, to be sure. “I’ll do you, if you do me,” he offered with an impish grin and a sparkle to his already stunning brown eyes, which looked like melted chocolate.

  I didn’t have time to respond; his fist was already reaching out and grabbing at my shaft, sending a jolt through my crotch and down my nearly quaking legs before reversing up my spine.

  I sucked in my breath as he nudged closer. Then I reached out and tentatively, though gladly, wrapped my fist around his thick cock. It was smooth to the touch and hard as stone, with a wide leaking head.

  In silence, we continued, matching each other’s rhythms, though always speeding up, building to the inevitable. He stared at my cock, I at his, waiting for the eruption. Soon enough, I saw his balls begin to tighten and lift. “Close,” he moaned, his throaty voice reverberating up and down my body like a train over its tracks.

  Moments later, his legs bent and his head jerked back. With a growl, he spewed, sending thick ropes of come flying across the void and onto the tree. My own cock shot a split second later, my hot, sticky load melding with his before sliding down the rough bark in a waterfall of jizz.

  He shook my cock one final time and quipped, “Now that’s teamwork.”

  I laughed, releasing his still-solid cock, and lifted my jeans and underwear back up. And that was that. We didn’t say anything more about it, just walked back to our cabins and to the rest of the seminar. No harm, no foul, I figured. Plus, it made for a great memory to flash back on.

  If i
t had ended there, I mean. Which, clearly, it hadn’t.

  A week later, back in our dreary offices, with its unnatural lighting and piped-in air, I was making my way down the hall to the men’s room. Fortunately, it was a private room: one stall and one urinal behind a locked door. Joe was walking down the same hall in the opposite direction, heading directly for me.

  “Great minds think alike,” he said. “Going to take a leak?”

  “Um, yep,” I replied, slightly blushing at the personal nature of the question—and at the person asking it.

  “Me, too. Can we share the room?” he offered.

  I looked around. We were the only ones in the hall. Plus, it was late; most everyone had already gone home for the day. “Sure,” I said, my voice suddenly thick and raspy.

  We entered together. I locked the door behind us, the sound pinging in the small enclosure. We approached the urinal at the same time and my stomach did a back-flip. “Whip it out,” he said, and I did, the comment now having a Pavlovian effect on me. We both watched as my released prick grew, inch by hardening inch, arcing upward as it did so. “Impressive,” he said, unbuttoning his fly and releasing the beast from within. I watched in awe as his cock also began a gradual lift. Up, up, up it went, throbbing and pulsing as it did so, until it reached its mighty full length and girth. He clenched his ass, and it bobbed in response. “Ta da!” he said with a flourish.

  I turned and looked at him. He was grinning from ear to ear, those majestic blue eyes of his beaming under the florescent light. We were only a few inches apart. “Um, Joe,” I whispered. “I think I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

  His smile widened. “Sure. I brushed after lunch, so you’re in luck.”

  I leaned in, eyes locked on his, lips gliding and sliding. They were surprisingly soft. He met my mouth with his, which he opened to allow me inside, swirling his tongue around my own. At first the kiss was tender, tentative, but it soon grew hard and eager. His hand reached for my cock and mine for his. We stood there like that, jerking and kissing, swapping some heavy spit, until finally he said, “Get naked for me, Spence.”

  I grinned, as did he. I unbuttoned my shirt, pulled it out of my slacks, opened it, and removed it. He watched intently. I bade him to do the same, which he did. His broad chest was covered in a dense black spray of hair, which spread down his flat, ripped tummy. I reached out to touch it. It was soft and fine, like down. I tweaked his nipple, which hardened beneath my touch. He sighed, happy for the attention.

  “Pants,” he commanded. “Off.”

  I nodded, kicked off my shoes, removed my socks, and slid out of my slacks and paisley boxers. I’d never been naked at work, even in the bathroom. It was strangely exhilarating, even more so than when we’d been out in the woods. My cock throbbed in anticipation. “Your turn,” I said, eyes on the prize.

  And then he, too, was stark naked, hairy and ripped in all his glory. He sat down against one tiled wall. I followed suit and sat down against the facing wall. He spread his legs; I did the same, with the souls of our feet touching, rubbing against each other. He grabbed his cock and began to stroke it. My hand played with the precome dripping down my head. Then he sunk down a bit, his legs bending at the knee, revealing the area beneath his massive balls. His ass cheeks were hairy, like the rest of him. He then reached under his leg and began to caress his hole, prodding it, all the while maintaining the pace on his huge, fat tool.

  “You’ve got a great cock,” I moaned, my words echoing back at me.

  He smiled, wetting his fingers and then gliding one then two up his ass. “As do you,” he replied. “Now, show me your hole while I beat off.”

  I lifted my legs in the air and spread my cheeks for him. He groaned, glad for the show. Then I, too, finger-fucked my hole as I pumped my cock, with each of us staring at the other as we worked our rods.

  “Come with me,” he said, quickening his pace.

  “Okay,” I panted, matching him stroke for stroke.

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I repeated.

  Then we shot. Up and out the white come flew, pooling on the cold tile in front of us, ounce after glorious ounce, as our moans and groans filled the small space around us. He smiled and winked at me. I gazed at his cock as it slowly, gradually shrunk back to normal, a lone drop of come dribbling off the pink head. I leaned in and kissed it, licking it off. He rubbed my neck and chuckled.

  “What’s next on the menu?” he whispered into my ear, biting down on my tender lobe as he did so.

  “You tell me,” I replied.

  He paused, pondering this. “I’ll pick you up on Friday. We have a meeting at nine about a half hour from here. Might as well take one car instead of two, save on gas.”

  It was a strange come-on, but I agreed, got dressed, kissed him goodbye, and went home.

  Three days later, wondering what he had up his sleeve, I waited on my doorstep as he pulled up. Apparently, it wasn’t his sleeve I should have been wondering about; it was his pants—or lack thereof.

  I opened the passenger door of his SUV. He was naked from the waist down. I grinned and got in. “Whip it out,” he said, using the standard opening line. I kicked off my shoes and then did as he asked, getting completely naked and reclining backward on the seat so that I was nearly supine. He pulled away from my house, one hand on the steering wheel, the other caressing my chest and stomach.

  “When did you get so sexy?” he asked with a laugh, while he teased my nipple.

  “Pot, kettle, black,” I replied, moaning softly to myself as I worked my rod up to par. I glanced over at him. His cock was already rock-solid and sticking straight up. I licked my lips and leaned over. His crotch smelled like soap and sweat, musky and clean at the same time. He caressed my back as I slapped his cock against my lips and began a slow suck on the fat, wet head.

  Fortunately, we didn’t need to travel on any major highways. Then again, considering I finally had his porn star cock in my mouth, I didn’t really care. I downed it hungrily, working my way as far as was possible, gagging only intermittently.

  “Yeah, baby, suck it,” he coaxed while I stroked my cock and he managed to keep us safely on the road. “Suck that big dick.”

  And suck it I did, relishing the thickness of it as it poked and prodded the inside of my mouth. All the while, I pulled his hairy balls as he filled the SUV with sighs and grunts. When we reached our destination, he pulled to a far corner of the parking lot and we both worked our respective cocks while kissing each other just above the stick shift.

  “Come with me, baby,” he said in between kisses.

  And, oh man, how I came. Round after round of hot come spewed from my quivering cock and into my waiting hand. I watched as his fat tool did the same, shooting and shooting and shooting. When he was done, he lifted his hand to show me the efforts of his labor.

  “Breakfast of champions,” he quipped, gobbling it down.

  “I think I’d rather have a coffee. Or a paper towel.” He had the latter on hand and gave me a roll. Then we cleaned up, got dressed, and hightailed it to our meeting, smelling only faintly of come and Purell.

  Weeks passed. Our little get-togethers continued: hand jobs at restaurants, blow jobs on the way to meetings, quick encounters in the basement of our building, on the roof, in the stairways. In fact, I whipped it out on just about every floor of our high-rise, which was no mean feat, mind you, considering there were eighteen stories. We were fuck buddies, as I said, without the fucking. Or anything else, for that matter. Which, all things considered, was starting to wear thin on me. You see, I had, somewhere along the line, become quite fond of him, and not just his prize-winning peter.

  Meaning, things had come, no pun intended, to a head.

  So, I scheduled a meeting for that Friday at the end of the day. Needless to say, he was the only one invited. “Whip it out,” I said when he walked into the conference room and closed the door behind him. I was already sitting in a chair faci
ng him.

  “Oh, um, huh?” he managed, clearly unused to being the recipient of that line.

  “You heard me; whip it out. Lock the door and do it.” I smiled and slid down my fly. I was going commando and my cock sprang out. I was hard in a matter of seconds.

  “Nice,” he commented, quickly revealing his own soft prick.

  I watched in anticipation as it grew, thickening as it sprang out and then up. He stroked it for me with a grin and a wink. “Shoes off,” I commanded. “Then socks, slacks, boxers, and shirt. Naked. Now.” He did as I asked, revealing all that glorious body hair and ripped, lean muscle. His body never failed to impress me.

  “Now what?” he asked, ready for my next command.

  I smiled wide as I put my turgid cock, as best I could, back inside my pants. “That’s up to you, Joe. I just wanted to see you naked one last time before you gave me your decision. Just in case.”

  “I don’t follow.” The smile briefly wavered from his handsome face.

  “It’s simple; no more friends with privileges. Ask me out on a date. Take me home. Fuck me. Or let me fuck you. Cuddle and wake up with me in the morning.”

  He paused, but at least his dick remained solid and hard. “Ah,” he finally said. “I think I get it now.” He leaned in and down, until we were face to face, his brilliant blue eyes right in front of my brown ones, his magnificent cock just above my hands. He brushed his lips against mine. The familiar jolt coursed down my spine and burst through my crotch. “Spence,” he whispered, “would you like to go on a date with me tonight?”

  I pulled on his heavy nuts. “I’d be delighted,” I said.

  “And will you fuck the hell out of me afterward? And then when we wake up in the morning, I’ll do the same to you?”

  I reached for his dick and gave it a soft, gentle stroke. “Deal.”

  “Deal, huh?” he said. “Then let’s seal it with a kiss.”