The Fortunes of Fausto (Siren Publishing Allure ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  He glanced quickly at the alarm clock beside his bed. He really didn’t have to get up for at least another hour—more than enough time, he told himself excitedly, to give himself at least one self-induced ejaculation, the kind of relief that would—hopefully—keep his mind off sex for at least part of the day! His hand slid quickly down underneath the sheet, and as it made a loose fist around his cock, he lay back comfortably, spread his legs, and closed his eyes. In his mind, it was Gene’s handsome face, and that strange, enigmatic smile of his, which occupied Fausto’s thoughts as he began to masturbate.

  It took much less time and effort than he’d anticipated to bring himself to the brink. He had a big piss hard-on, and his dick seemed unusually responsive to the manual stimulation this morning. He pushed the sheet down to his knees, so he could manipulate his prick without impediment. No more than two minutes had elapsed before Fausto was too excited, too close to an explosive orgasm, to contain himself for a moment longer. As he thought about what Gene had done to him the day before, about what Fausto wished Gene could be there in the bedroom doing to him right now, his excitement peaked—to the point at which there could be no holding back to savor the sensations for even a second more!

  Gene Boudreau, the team’s star quarterback, the coolest guy in school, wanted to be his buddy. Gene thought he was hot. Gene liked his dick, his big fat P.R. dick. Gene had touched his cock—!

  Fausto gasped, and felt his cock begin to ejaculate helplessly. His hot sperm splashed up like a miniature geyser, and struck him on the belly in hot, thick spurts.

  Fausto’s well-muscled arm milked it until every drop had been shot, and then his fingers slowly relaxed their grip and dropped away.

  “Gene,” he moaned passionately under his breath, scarcely conscious of what he was saying. “Oh, Gene!”

  Chapter Six:

  Young Lust

  Fausto was understandably just a bit apprehensive when, a couple of nights later, he accepted Gene’s invitation to come on over to his house for a light workout. Fausto was curious—about what the two of them might end up doing together besides lifting weights—but he was also fearful. So he was on his guard as he parked his bike outside the Boudreau family’s roomy old frame house, which was located in the better part of town.

  Gene had told him to go around behind the house to the garage. Fausto found the other football player there, sitting on the garage doorsteps, smoking a forbidden cigarette.

  “Coach Carlyle would have your ass for that,” Fausto warned.

  “Yeah, for that—and for a lot of things,” Gene replied, enigmatically. He threw away the cigarette, took Fausto upstairs, and showed him around the place. It was a two-car garage, and Gene virtually lived in a small apartment, which his parents had built above it. There were two rooms and a bathroom. Gene slept in one room, and used the other as a home gym.

  “My folks can’t stand the sound of the heavy metal I like to play on my stereo,” Gene explained, laughing, as he showed Fausto around. “So I talked them into letting me have the apartment, instead of them renting it out.”

  “It’s great.”

  “I like the privacy,” Gene admitted—and Fausto was sure that he’d correctly interpreted the suggestive undertone in his host’s deceptively casual tone of voice.

  Gene had assembled a respectable collection of his own weightlifting equipment, and it was obvious that he used it on a regular basis to supplement his heavier workouts at the school’s weight room. He had a pressing bench, a squat rack, and a couple hundred pounds’ worth of iron plates. A large mirror fastened to the wall next to the bench allowed him to observe himself while he trained, and there was a heavy rubber exercise mat spread out in the center of the room. To provide decoration and inspiration, Gene had torn pages from bodybuilding magazines and taped them up on the walls, so that he could admire the photos of flexing, half-naked, muscle-bound brutes.

  Fausto couldn’t help noticing that in the adjacent room, the double bed wasn’t made. The windows were open on all four sides of the garage apartment, so that a steady, refreshing breeze flowed through the rooms.

  “This must be a fantastic place to work out in,” Fausto remarked.

  “It is. Come on, I’ll let you see for yourself. Strip down and we can get right to it.”

  Gene seemed to be all business tonight, as he matter-of-factly stripped naked and pulled on a fresh jockstrap and a pair of gym shorts. Fausto did the same, feeling more comfortable being practically nude in the other guy’s presence than he had previously.

  “Let’s help each other do some forced reps,” Gene suggested, and Fausto happily took him up on the proposal.

  Despite the steady stream of fresh air around their bodies, both boys were breathing hard, flushed red, and sweating within the first fifteen minutes of their intense workout. They kept at it uninterruptedly for about an hour, though, and then Gene called a halt, taking two cold beers out of his small refrigerator.

  “You can even cook up here, I see,” Fausto said, as he noticed Gene’s hot plate.

  “Yeah.” The other guy grinned at him. “Sometimes my parents don’t see me for days on end. They don’t worry about me, though. They trust me.”

  Fausto had to laugh. “They just don’t know what goes on up here—that’s all.”

  Gene flashed him an even broader, more seductive grin. “Who said anything out of the ordinary ever goes on up here?”

  Fausto shrugged, wishing he hadn’t brought up the topic. “I don’t know. I just sort of assumed…” He let his voice trail off, feeling awkward and tongue-tied.

  Gene wasn’t at all embarrassed. “You mean, you’re not the first guy I’ve brought up here to fool around with? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “I guess so,” Fausto muttered, uneasily.

  “Jesus! I like to have fun, man, but I’m not exactly a whore or anything. Shit, the way you talk, you’d think I’ve sucked off every guy on the team, or something!” Gene laughed heartily. Fausto couldn’t get over his bluntness! Abashed, he averted his eyes.

  “Finish your beer,” Gene added suddenly, his voice much softer. “Finish your beer, and then why don’t you go into the bedroom and—lie down for a minute? You can relax a little before we finish our workout.”

  Excited, his heartbeat rapidly accelerating within his heaving chest, Fausto swigged down the remainder of the cold beer in the bottle he clutched in his sweaty hand. Then he set the empty container down and walked quickly into Gene’s bedroom. Gene followed him, and turned out the single lamp, so that only the faint light of the sunset penetrated the bedroom from outside.

  “Take off your shorts and your jock and lie down,” Gene urged him, quietly but insistently. “I’ll give you a rubdown.”

  Fausto knew that Gene was lying about his intentions, but he didn’t say anything to call the other boy’s bluff as Gene got naked, too. Gene, to do him justice, did go through the motions of massaging his guest’s tired arms and shoulders and legs and back, before he allowed his warm hands to linger on the flat, hard-muscled surface of Fausto’s belly. Gene was squatting beside him on the mattress, and Fausto could see that the quarterback had already sprung a hefty hard-on.

  As he waited impatiently for Gene to make his move, Fausto could feel a stirring in his own cock. And, when Gene slid his hands slightly upward on his bare torso, so that the tips of his exploring fingers brushed against both of Fausto’s nipples, the Latino boy was startled to feel his tits twitch and swell out from his pecs, stiffening quite spontaneously at the stimulation of the other young stud’s light touch.

  It was getting quite dark outside, and it was delightfully cool in the bedroom. Fausto was tense, admittedly, but—paradoxically—he felt as though he might fall asleep at any moment while Gene’s hands gently caressed his chest, the stroking an oddly soothing sensation. Gene rubbed his hard nipples, and Fausto couldn’t help letting out a low-pitched moan of pleasure at the lewd response that rippled through his body, and�
�especially—through his crotch.

  "Do you like to have your tits played with?” Gene whispered.

  “I don’t know. Not as much as I like to play with my prick, cabrón,” Fausto admitted nervously.

  “What does cabrón mean?”

  “Well, technically it means ‘goat.’ We use it in different ways—sometimes it’s an insult, sometimes it means something is really neat or cool—but usually guys call their friends cabrón.”

  “Am I your cabrón, Fausto?”

  “I guess you just about have to be, after some of the stuff we’ve already done together.”

  Gene chuckled. His hands were already sliding back down Fausto’s torso, toward his groin. “Why don’t I jerk you,” he whispered excitedly.

  “Yeah, why don’t you.”

  “Oh, man, your dick is getting big and hard inside my hand already!”

  “Squeeze it, Gene. Squeeze the motherfucker for me! Oh—yeah—I like that!” Fausto gasped, as the other boy began expertly to manipulate him.

  Gene twisted his hips around on the bed, thrusting his own erection toward Fausto’s hands. “Jerk mine, too,” he begged. “Let’s do it to each other, buddy. Fuck, that workout got me excited! I’m just about ready to pop my nuts already!”

  They lay side by side on the bed in the growing darkness, playing with each other, for several feverishly exciting minutes, until Gene let out a loud moan and—suddenly—stopped moving his hand on his partner’s cock. He sat up and looked into Fausto’s lust-glazed eyes.

  “Hey, Fausto?” he murmured. “Do you—want to try something different? Instead of just jerking off, I mean?”

  Fausto instinctively stopped moving his hand on the other boy’s big dick. “Like what?” he demanded eagerly.

  “I’ll show you!” was Gene’s only reply. “Roll over on your back and keep your legs apart!”

  As Fausto got into the position Gene wanted him to assume, Gene got onto his knees in front of him, between his open thighs. He reached for Fausto’s cock and bent his head quickly down toward it, licking his lips with depraved, hungry anticipation.

  Fausto watched him, fascinated. He knew what Gene was going to do to him, and he almost couldn’t believe that it was happening. Gene was going to blow him! He was getting ready to suck his cock!

  He continued to stare down the length of his own torso, at the handsome, well-built young athlete who was kneeling between his legs, his own cock sticking straight up from his crotch—watching as Gene wet his lips quickly with his extended tongue. A moment later, Gene had lowered his head all the way and had slipped the head of Fausto’s thick, stiff penis inside his mouth—and the other boy instantly felt a hot wave of pure erotic sensation wash over his flesh!

  “Oh, God!” he moaned, shuddering from head to foot at the sudden, unexpected pressure of Gene’s warm, wet mouth around the shaft of his cock. He reached down and tried to push the other guy’s head away, but, grunting in protest, Gene brushed his hands aside and began to lick his dick with his agile tongue. His lips closed even more snugly around the circumference of the shaft, and he began the actual suction, exerting a steady, confident pressure on the fuck tool with his lips and tongue and throat, caressing Fausto’s cock with his mouth from its base to its tip in long, rapid strokes.

  As he sucked, his disheveled head pushed down lower on Fausto’s prickshaft, swallowing it all the way to its thick root—where it merged with Fausto’s swollen balls. As he blew him, his hand cupped Fausto’s nuts and stroked and teased them from their hypersensitive underside. His tongue lashed uninterruptedly, wetting the flesh of Fausto’s throbbing hard-on from every possible angle. His saliva flowed steadily, soaking the dick in a warm, slippery bath of soothing fluid.

  Fausto lay there motionless, except for the helpless spasms of lust that occasionally shot through his sturdy young frame, while the other boy blew him. He felt as though he was stoned, or asleep—enjoying a wet dream. His body felt numb except for his cock and balls, which seemed unusually sensitive and responsive, jerking and twitching and pulsating heatedly every time Gene’s fingers, lips, or tongue stimulated them.

  After the first couple of minutes of this exquisite pleasure, Fausto raised his head from the bed, grabbed both of the pillows, and stuffed them under his neck, elevating his torso slightly so that he could watch the blow job as well as feel it—his eyes staring down fixedly at the other guy’s steadily bobbing head. His cock was rock-hard inside Gene’s ravenous mouth. Every time he felt the stud’s warm, wet tongue stroking his dick, licking it from top to bottom, then back up again, Fausto moaned with lewd delight—until he was actually gasping for breath, and was as flushed and sweaty as though he were still pumping iron.

  After what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, Fausto felt his prick swelling larger within the firm, wet clasp of his cocksucker’s mouth. His cockshaft throbbed with hot, fierce response, his balls tensed, and then—shuddering—he knew that he was going to come! Gene’s expert sucking had coaxed what promised to be a tremendous eruption out of his loins!

  “You’d better—oh, hell!—you’d better stop,” he warned, his voice a husky rasp, as he buried his fingers in Gene’s sweaty hair and tried to pull that frantically pistoning head away from his crotch. Once again, though, Gene resisted him, and only began to suck him harder—and faster! “You’d better stop, man, unless you want to get a load of my fucking cum in your mouth!” Fausto gasped.

  He had expected that Gene would stop, immediately, in response to this threat—because he couldn’t imagine that the other guy actually wanted to taste his sperm—let alone swallow it. But, to his amazement, Gene now seemed to go wild with hunger for his jism!

  His hands gripped Fausto’s spread thighs with steely strength to steady him as he sucked, taking Fausto’s cock all the way into his mouth, and even partway down his throat, with each stroke! Fausto watched him incredulously. Gene’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut in concentration as his mouth plunged up and down with that lewd, mechanical force, his nose stabbing into Fausto’s pubic thatch with each wet, smacking thrust of his suctioning lips. Inside his mouth, his tongue raced back and forth across the flesh of Fausto’s hot, horny prick. The sensation of mounting pressure inside Fausto’s cock and balls, the premonition that his genitals were about to explode, built in intensity with each bob of the other boy’s head!

  “Christ!” Fausto yelled. He felt his balls tightening—churning inside, like two cement mixers rotating with their heavy loads. His butt rose a couple of inches from the mattress, and he closed his legs, using his powerfully developed thigh muscles to keep Gene’s torso trapped against his crotch. Gene’s fingertips only dug into the flesh of his thighs harder, painfully hard this time, and he opened his eyes and glanced up at Fausto’s face—his mouth stuffed with the Latino guy’s cock.

  “I’m close!” Fausto warned, panting. “You’re going to get it, if you keep that up!” Gene’s eyes flashed like lightning and he closed one of them in an obscene wink, then squeezed them both closed again and began to suck Fausto even faster, exerting a steady pressure upon his cockhead from deep in his throat. Fausto’s guts twisted and he was convinced that the head of his dick was going to pop off the shaft and fly down the other guy’s open throat like a bullet shot from a gun!

  Then, without any further warning, his cock burst inside Gene’s mouth. Fausto shot off, hard and fast and thick. Creamy spurts of his cum squirted again and again and again, bathing the back of Gene’s throat with slime, and Gene made a deep, groaning sound of pleasure and acceptance in his throat as he took it all, swallowing frantically to keep up with the flow.

  As he swallowed the cum, his mouth continued to pull on the shaft of Fausto’s erupting prick, his tongue continuing to stroke and tickle and rub the flesh of his cock as it emptied its full load into his mouth. He stayed down on it for a long time after Fausto had stopped coming, too, and only then—very slowly and reluctantly—did he pull his lips away.

  Looking do
wn, gasping for breath after his violent orgasm, Fausto could see the thick, clear trickle of his own jism dribbling from the corner of Gene’s lips and running like a milky-white stream of lukewarm lava down his chin. Gene only grinned at him, with his usual insolent self-possession, then pushed his tongue out of his mouth to lick the outside of his mouth and catch the salty trickle of sperm which had—only momentarily—escaped him.

  “Hell!” he exclaimed breathlessly, sitting up on the bed and keeping his hands on Fausto’s trembling thighs. “I can't remember the last time I got a mouthful of hot jism like that! You really let me have it, didn’t you, you horny bastard?”

  “I–I couldn’t help it, Gene. I never felt anything like that in my life, man! I thought I’d never stop shooting off!”

  “Do you always come that hard?” Gene demanded. “That much, I mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Fausto replied, flustered.

  “Want me to suck it some more?” Gene asked, shocking him.

  “No,” Fausto said, pushing his hand away when Gene began to toy with his prick again.

  “Do you want to…do me?”

  “No!” Fausto said quickly. He stared at Gene’s grossly swollen cock, which was within easy reach, and felt a shudder of revulsion go through him. How could Gene have put it in his mouth? he wondered with disgust.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure!” Fausto said, just as quickly as before.

  “Okay.” Gene grinned. “So you’re the macho kind who doesn’t reciprocate, huh? It figures. Just my luck. But I’m willing to wait—because I know you’ll come around, big guy—sooner or later.”

  Chapter Seven:

  A Reunion

  “Are we going to have enough books?” Fausto heard the bookstore manager ask one of his employees. The question jolted Fausto out of his reverie, bringing him back to the present.