Moving back down, I lick his asshole with long strokes of my tongue, letting the tip tickle his pucker until he begins to groan. I know that this is torture for him, and I take my time. When his mancunt is good and wet, I slide into it, my lips pressing against his skin as I burrow deeply in his chute. His thighs close around my face as I push in, stretching him wider and wider. The harder I fuck his ass with my tongue the more he groans, until he is whimpering for me to stick my cock in him.
Instead I stand up and push two fingers into his shitter. He squirms as I spread them and loosen his hole, fisting his prick as I work my hand further into him. His face is contorted with pain and ecstasy, and by the time I have four fingers slipping in and out he is almost crying. I slap his ass sharply while I plow him, the sound mixing with his heavy moans as he writhes around.
“I’m going to shoot all over the fucking place,” he says.
Pushing his legs back, I ram my tool straight into his asshole until I slap forcefully against him and my balls are pressed tightly to his cheeks. His head is thrown back as he takes the pain, and his cock is standing stiffly up from his belly. I grip his dick tightly at the base to prevent him from shooting and feel it swell in my fingers as he almost comes. I twitch my prick inside him and watch him gasp, his lips parting slightly. His ass ring tightens around my shaft as spasms wrack his body.
I start to pump him, grinding in and out of his hole in long thrusts. Before long I am slamming into him again and again, my hips bucking furiously as I satisfy both of our needs. He is jerking his big crank with one hand, the tattoo around his arm twisting with each stroke while he pulls on one of his nipple rings with the other. I can smell the rich scent of his boots as they rub against my shoulders, and turn my head to lick the smooth leather. The metal rings of the eyes scrape my tongue as I run it along the length of his boot, his calf gripped tightly in my fingers.
As I increase my movements he stops playing with his tits and begins rubbing his balls, kneading them in his fingers as he pounds his cock. I can feel his touch on my shaft as it passes back and forth over his ass lips, and it’s too much. Yanking my prick out of him, I pull him to his feet and turn him around. I push him so that he is leaning against the wall and shove my dick back up his ass. Because he is shorter than I am, he has to rise up on his toes to take all of me as I ram my tool deep inside him.
Putting my arms around him, I twist his tits roughly, pulling on the metal rings and stretching his throbbing buds out. My mouth moves to his neck and I lick the vein at his throat, following it to the sensitive spot beneath his ear and biting his skin as I fuck him from behind. My belly rubs against his ass cheeks and back as I nail him mercilessly and I feel his hard-on jump with each slap of my body.
I clamp my hand around his cock and beat him off. After only a few dozen strokes he starts to breathe in long gasps. Cum explodes from his reddened dickhead and covers the wall in a pearly smear. The sight sends me, and I give one final wicked push into his ass before emptying my balls. I fall against him and press him to the wall as the jism rushes out of me and fills his depths. I feel like I did flying out over the mosh pit, completely alive. I stay there until the rush fades, my body pressed to his, my heart beating against his skin.
Sliding out of him, I wipe my cock on his thigh, leaving a wet streak on his skin. His chest hair is matted with his own cum from where he has been slammed against the wall, and his ass is red from all of my pounding. He smells wonderfully of piss and sweat and sex. Pulling him to me I kiss his mouth for the first time, tasting my cum and urine on his tongue. His skin is sticky in my hands as he wraps his arms around me. I lick his face clean while I hold him, my fingers probing his ravaged asshole. The sound of music leaks through the walls, and when I feel his cock rising between us I know I will be diving the pit again soon.
Memories of War
I was listening to the Andrews Sisters singing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” one afternoon and the image of two soldiers meeting in a USO came to me. I’m sure Patty, LaVerne, and Maxene would be horrified to know what they inspired, but there you are.
Under the best of conditions, the small town of Asherville, North Carolina, wouldn’t have much to offer a young man looking for excitement. This was especially true in 1943. With the war raging a continent away, most of the town had been put to military use, largely because of the airfield located there. In happier times it had been the sight of daredevil air shows, where reckless pilots dipped to only feet above the sea as the people on the beach enjoyed picnic lunches and pretty girls walked the wings of biplanes to the shrieks and delight of children with cotton candy–sticky faces. Now it was home to a small air base, where flyboys still wet behind the ears were trained to defend their country and then shipped off to do battle with the German Luftwaffe. My job was to teach them as much as I could and then hope they remembered it.
In the dog days of August, the heat that descended every evening at dusk made the sleepy town pull tighter into itself as people shut themselves inside, trying to cool off with rattling window fans and mason jars of iced tea thick with sugar and mint. For a lonely GI looking for some way to pass the time, the best answer was to head on down to the USO, where you could at least hear the latest songs by the Andrews Sisters or listen to a radio broadcast of DiMaggio slamming one home for the Yanks.
One Friday night after a day spent teaching the finer points of night navigation, I was feeling restless and decided to head down to the canteen for a drink. When I got there the place was packed, the floor crowded with men in their familiar light brown uniforms drinking and laughing. A number of the local girls were there as well, their high-pitched giggles bursting from the rumble of male conversation like tiny colored lights.
I pushed my way through the crowd to the bar, waving at several of my buddies sitting at a table with their arms around their girlfriends for the evening. By the smiles on their faces I knew that Monday I’d be hearing all about their exploits and how well the girls had done their patriotic duty. The bartender, a young man who’d been kept out of the army because of a bum leg, was busy getting drinks for the dozen or so soldiers already waiting. I leaned against the bar and waited my turn, watching the crowd. Someone had put another record on, and the dancing was going fast and furious.
“This guy takes much longer and we’ll be toasting the end of the war.”
I turned to see who was speaking. Leaning against the bar next to me was a man about my height. Solidly built, he had wide shoulders and a broad chest. His hair, cut military short, was light brown, and his eyes were a startling shade of blue. He held out his hand and I took it, his fingers closing around mine tightly as he pumped my arm in a single gesture of introduction. “James Henry,” he said, a touch of Southern accent in his drawl, “but my friends all call me Hank.” His teeth when he smiled were even and very white.
“Name’s Tom,” I said. His sudden appearance had taken me by surprise, and I found myself uneased by his good looks.
“I was just getting a suds. Can I get you one?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Hank turned and waved the bartender over. “Hey, guy, how about a couple of beers for my buddy and me.”
The bartender fished two brews from out of the cooler behind him and set them on the bar. Hank took one of the bottles and placed the edge of the cap against the counter. Hitting the top with his fist, he sent the bottle cap sailing. A burst of foam poured out of the bottle, and Hank lifted it quickly to his lips, downing the escaping beer.
He handed me the bottle and repeated the procedure with the remaining one. Clinking his beer against mine, he said, “Here’s to the war,” and took a deep swallow.
We resumed our conversation, and I found out Hank was with the army infantry. I told him about my job at the airfield, and soon we were chatting like old friends. Hank was from Mississippi, the son of a Baptist preacher. He’d enlisted rather than take his chances with the draft, and he was in North Carolina finishing up his training. His
easy way of talking and frequent jokes were very appealing, and I found myself talking to him more than I’d talked with anyone since being stationed in North Carolina.
As Hank was telling me a story about the time his father had found him drunk on homemade moonshine, a girl came up and tapped him on the shoulder. She was a small thing with blond hair done up in a wave and she had bright red lips. “Hey there, soldier,” she said, smacking her gum and smiling at the same time. “How’d you and your friend like to take a turn on the dance floor with my girlfriend and me?”
Hank looked over at me and winked. Then, giving her a wide smile, he said, “Sure thing, hon. You lead.”
The girl took his hand and led him onto the dance floor. Her friend, a carbon copy of the first girl with dark hair instead of light, pulled me along behind them. The song was fast, and we were twirling the girls around quickly. Hank seemed to be enjoying himself, swinging the blond girl between his legs and lifting her up in the air like a paper doll, and I was feeling a little depressed at the thought that it would probably be her lips and not mine against his later in the evening. I tried to feign enthusiasm for my impromptu date, and she didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t thrilled with having her in my arms.
Finally the song ended, and the dance floor emptied. As the two girls disappeared into the powder room, Hank grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Let’s get out of here while we have the chance,” he said.
Outside the air was sticky with heat. Hank took out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. “Christ, that was a close one. What do you say we take a walk and cool off some.”
It sounded like a good idea to me. I was enjoying spending time with Hank and wasn’t anxious for the night to be over just yet. Even if I couldn’t have him, at least I could put off the inevitable moment when he’d head back to his room and leave me alone with my fantasies of what could have happened.
“We could head on over to my rooming house,” I suggested. “I think there’s some iced tea in the fridge.”
Hank agreed readily, and we set off up the street to the house where I’d found a small room to rent. I could have stayed at the base, but I liked the peace and quiet of being by myself. As we walked, Hank was quiet, saying only a word or two about how hot it was. He was acting very differently from the lively man I’d met in the bar, and I wondered if he was thinking about the girl he’d left behind.
We reached my rooming house and opened the front door. No one was around, and we walked up the stairs to my third-floor room in silence. Once we were in my room and the door was shut, Hank turned and kissed me on the mouth. When we parted, he stood and looked at me anxiously, as if waiting for my reaction. “I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he said. “But I wasn’t sure if you went in for guys or not. If you don’t, just tell me and I’ll get out of here.”
I answered him by kissing him back, my lips meeting his in an anxious embrace. Looking into his eyes, I saw the fear become joy as he realized that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. After a few seconds, Hank’s arms went around me and he began to kiss me passionately, his tongue exploring my mouth like wildfire. His hands on my back pulled me close, holding on fiercely as our mouths worked against each other.
Still kissing me, Hank unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, laying it on the arm of the chair by the radio. He had on an undershirt, and a spray of hair tumbled over the neck. His chest and arms were muscular, the ridges and curves outlined by the cotton of his T-shirt, which clung to him slightly from the heat. The sweat on his chest formed a damp shadow beneath the whiteness, and his nipples swelled against the material.
Hank switched on the radio and the sounds of Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade” spilled out into the dusky room. He came over and put his arms around my waist, holding me so that our bodies rubbed together and I could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent as we made slow circles in the river of moonlight that slipped over the windowsill. He smelled of Burma-Shave lotion and soap, and the cotton of his undershirt was soft against my cheek.
As we danced, Hank hummed along with the song, his voice low in my ear. Having him in my arms filled me with a happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time, and I ran my hands over the muscles of his back, just enjoying the feeling of another man’s body, so hard and solid and familiar. When I raised my head, I saw that Hank was looking back at me, his eyes studying my face.
He kissed me again, his mouth warm and wet, my tongue slipping softly between his lips. He drew me in farther, his cheeks sucking gently as I kissed him. Breaking away, he began to unbutton my shirt, taking it off and laying it next to his on the chair. Then he grabbed the edge of my T-shirt and pulled it over my head, dropping it to the floor.
For a moment he simply stared at me. Then he smiled. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. “Like some kind of angel come out of the shadows.”
His hands ran over my naked torso, his fingers making me tremble as they danced over my skin. He touched the soft gold hair that rained down my chest and fell in a line to my crotch, tracing it with his finger. He brushed his fingertips over my nipples, making me catch my breath as he paused over them for a moment before moving on.
I helped him off with his undershirt as well, and we stood before each other. His chest was patterned with more of the hair I’d seen at his collar. It scattered out over his pecs and trickled down his belly in a thick, soft swatch. I embraced him and felt his chest rub against mine, the hair rough, the heat from our bodies forming a common skin between us where we touched.
Hank kissed my neck, running his tongue from my ear to my throat. My hands were in his hair as he moved over my chest, his lips surrounding my nipple and sucking. He slid to his knees slowly, letting his mouth linger on my tit before descending down my stomach to my navel, leaving behind a trail of desire.
Fumbling with my belt, Hank managed to undo the buckle and slide my pants down. His hands grasped my ass firmly as he buried his face in the crotch of my boxers. My cock, hard from his touch, was sticking out and he mouthed it through my shorts. His tongue licked at my shaft, wetting the cotton with spit as he worked from my tip to my balls, pushing his face between my thighs.
Tugging at the waistband, he yanked my boxers down to my feet, where they puddled with my pants. My prick swung free, sticking straight out from my body toward Hank’s face. He ran his hands over my legs and under my balls, squeezing them gently. Leaning forward, he ran his tongue in a line from just above my nuts up my shaft until he reached the head. Opening his mouth, he slipped the entire length of my prick into his throat in one slow, teasing stroke. I groaned as his lips passed over inch after inch until they met my sac, his nose pressed against my light bush.
Hank was an expert cocksucker, bringing me to the point of coming several times but slowing down just as I was about to spill my load in his hungry mouth. Every so often he would give me a rest by taking one of my nuts into his mouth and sucking it before resuming his work on my prick.
I wasn’t in a hurry to have it end, but I wanted to taste his body. I pulled out of his throat and brought him to his feet, dropping to my knees before him. Looking up at him, I unbuckled his pants and shoved them down his legs. My heart beat wildly as I waited to see what he’d been hiding beneath his uniform.
His boxers were stained with thick streaks of juice in the front, the head of his prick swelling tightly against them so that I could see its outline clearly. I pulled them down, too, and finally got a look at what was between his legs. His cock, longer and much thicker than mine, sprouted from an explosion of bush, the fat head pulling down over his low-hanging balls. A string of precum dripped from the tip, and I slurped it up, tasting the heady man scent that belonged to him, my tongue sliding against the smooth surface of his cockhead like hands over silk.
Hank’s cock barely fit in my mouth, and my lips stretched uncomfortably to accommodate his width. But I loved the feeling of his meat filling
my throat and got most of it down fueled by the sheer excitement of sucking his prick. Hank, seeing his big tool buried in me, pressed forward until the last few inches disappeared past my lips and his fat balls were swinging against my chin.
“Christ, Tom,” he said. “No one’s managed to get it all the way down before. Feels like slipping into a warm bath.”
He began to rock his hips, pulling his cock out and sliding it back in gently as I sucked on the delicious shaft. As his length became slick from my sucking, it was easier to take all of him in. Massaging his balls with my hand, I ran my mouth up the underside of his prick to the head, milking precum from the slit. Hank’s juice was musky and thick, and the taste of it intensified the need I had to have him in me.
After sucking on him for a few minutes, I stopped and pushed him into the big armchair. Hank leaned back in the soft cushions, putting his hands under his knees and pulling his legs back so that his feet were resting on the arms of the chair. His beautiful ass was spread before me, the thick globes of his cheeks inches from my face, his balls hanging deliciously down between his hairy thighs. Unlike his legs, his ass cheeks were smooth, the skin between them pink and bare.
I licked the crack of his ass, darting my tongue across his tight hole, running it in long strokes beginning behind his balls and moving down until it slipped into the wet pucker of his chute. Hank pushed against me, thrusting my tongue into his moist hole. I licked eagerly, kissing his hole and slicking it with my spit. Before long, I was exploring deep inside him, my tongue licking the walls of his tunnel as he writhed against my face.
Tangled Sheets Page 5
