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Watcher 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
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have the window closed, and if I don't, it's because I'm WORKING
Now that he thought of it, he _did_ remind himself not to pack so much this
time. At the curb, an army of bellpersons stormed him like so much smoke.
"I'm fine, really. I'll handle it myself. Thanks." In unison, the squadron
turned heel and scattered. Some of them didn't speak any English, but they
all knew "fuck off" when they heard it.
He liked to dress for travel. His trademark beat-up sweatshirt and jeans
didn't win him any compliments as he boarded in LA, but that was okay. But
this, this was different. Shlepping his (must be 200 pounds; did I pack an
anvil in here?) luggage across the threshold of the Grand Kempinski's
entrance doors left him feeling very slovenly indeed. His back spasmed
briefly as he lowered his bags. Use your knees, stupid.
He shrugged off the sneer from the counter help as he checked in. Against
his objections, she rang for a bellhop. No avoiding it now. A uniformed
mule snapped-to and shouldered the bags. A slight rolling of the bellman's
eyes said it all. Great. Now _everyone_ knows I brought too much shit.
The room was about as nice as a hotel gets; they all have a certain
claustrophobic squalor to them. He had flown out on a Friday to get the
super-saver fare. Better things to do with a Friday night than sit alone in
my hotel room, he thought. The parties and heavy drinking didn't start
until next week--what _would_ he do with himself?
Actually, there was no mystery here. He always worked from the same menu of
harmless vices when he traveled. Liquor was an absolute priority. Room
service booze is for idiots. A call to the front desk revealed the location
of a store nearby. While he was out, he thought he might indulge that
_other_ vice.
The clerk at the liquor store smiled broadly. Drinking was reserved for
trips, and only after all the business of the day was done. He had no fears
of drinking problems, even as he stuffed his three bottles into the paper
sack and headed out. He could put it away. Enough liquor and mixer to last
the week, for sure. Maybe even enough to share, if it came to that.
It never seemed to. He always traveled primed for that chance meeting he
read about in the Playboy fantasy pages all the time, but he never managed
to make so much as eye contact.
He had located a shop--it was a fair drive away--that offered up the tools
to satisfy the rest of his shopping list. The Marine behind the counter
silently filled his request for quarters, firing off a look of disgust that
had "I'm only doing this for the money, you scumbag" written all over it.
Pushing the curtain aside, an array of poorly-constructed booths lay before
him, with equipment whirring and a jumble of scratchy soundtracks filling
the room. There was plenty of eye contact to be had here, but all the wrong
kind. It was Friday night, and the hookers and pushers were cruising up a
storm. It was okay, even a little exciting; nobody ever said a word or got
pushy. He did notice that he was being tracked--at a discrete distance--by
an athletic blonde in a cut-off shirt. Those muscles were his business
card, and when he knew he was being looked at, he'd immediately lock eyes
with his examiner. Eyes that said, "I'll do you real good." Nice technique.
Left no doubt that the man knew his business.
Light moved the shadows for a moment as a squat, nervous man wobbled into
the room. Here was a man with a mission, he thought, watching the little
man scan quickly from booth to booth, looking for that familiar circular
hole between the booths. Finding one, he seemed greatly relieved. The man
shot a look around the room, locked onto Mr. Eyes, and hurried into the
booth. Quarters hit bottom, and moaning male voices came squawking through
the speaker. The hooker took the booth next to him, arching eyebrows at the
observer as he disappeared. "Could've been you," he intoned in a practiced
voice.
He suddenly felt self-conscious--how long have I been standing here
watching this? The wry smile on the pretty black woman clued him that it
had been long enough. Well, damn it, he was here to shop, but not for
_that_. He nodded politely at his would-be hostess, found a booth that
_didn't_ have the requisite glory hole, and stepped inside. The black woman
shuffled away as he did, muttering to herself. Shitty break, he thought,
but fucking a hooker wasn't his idea of fun.
The floor was soaked, and his nose wrinkled as he pushed some tissues over
to try to absorb a recently-expelled load. The musky smell was something he
had gotten used to, though, and even liked a little. All eight quarters
found their way into the coin box, and the screen came to life.
Of the 11 channels, six were rewinding, and four were so noisy that the
picture wasn't visible. He mashed the channel button repeatedly in
frustration. What a waste! He parked on channel 3 and waited for the others
to rewind.
The soundtrack synced with the one the little man had selected, and two
muscular men writhed around the screen. He was caught, for a moment, by the
shapely curve of one man's ass. They were both naked, and, by any
standards, both very attractive. On the screen, the men wrestled, laughing
and tumbling on the floor, muscles straining and sweat glistening. Finally,
the man with the nice ass (well, he had to admit, it _was_ nice) seemed to
lose, and the winner began running his hands over his prize.
The watcher stared as the men caressed each other, very lovingly, and
exchanged kisses that seemed deep and real. This wasn't something he was
used to seeing in porno. He watched on, and hardly noticed that his heart
had begun to race.
The caressing continued, hands drifting over backs and inside thighs,
kneading and circling. The winner's hand inched, teasingly, up his
conquest's thigh. As the cocks on the screen began to rise, so did the
watcher's. He felt a little flush--this was new--but he remained fixed.
Finally, the winner's hand found its way to the stiffening cock, first
gently massaging the balls, then tracing lines up the staff. He then
grasped it firmly, causing his parter to raise his (yeah, nice!) ass off
the bed. The camera went to close-up to show the exquisite stiffness, the
purple head fully engorged thanks to the expert handling.
Several seconds of manipulation ensued, and both men became involved in
stroking and kissing, cocks at full mast, hips pushing into each stroke.
The loser began to kneel, but his bester shook his head and invoked the
privilege of collecting war spoils. He kneeled before his defeated foe,
never ceasing to pump slowly with one hand, and cupped the balls in his
other. He licked his lips, and let his target stand on its own, twitching
in anticipation as he approached it. His lips parted, and
SNAP! The screen went back to the title display, shaking him out of his
daze. He panicked for a moment, thinking he forgot what channel that was--
3, right? He memorized the title, and exited the booth. There were the
eyes, locking first with his, and then jumping south. The watcher's eyes
followed instinctively, and he was surprised by his own crazed erection. He
looked up to meet the eyes again, but this time they were no more than a
foot away. The watcher swallowed hard and feared for his life, and felt a
hand brush ever-so-slightly against his dick. "Twenty for everything you
saw in there." The eyes motioned toward the booth--he must have heard the
soundtrack. Something inside the watcher's head said "go for it!" as he
stood toe-to-toe with the smiling boy. But no. Shame and confusion overtook
him as he tossed the curtain aside and rushed into the parking lot. He
looked back nervously to see if he had been followed. No one.
A deep breath was called for, and taken. He sank into his car's seat,
fumbling for his keys. Got to think this one through. I watched two men
getting it on, and found it very exciting. They seemed so into it, I
couldn't help myself. What does that make me?
Wait a fucking minute. He stopped in mid-fumble, and mentally slapped
himself. What am I getting so shook up about? I got randy over two men
making out. I'm not some neanderthal. I can deal with it. Forget that, I
want to know more!
He was already back inside by the time that last thought was completed. He
marched purposefully up to the clerk, and asked to rent the title he had
seen on channel 3. The clerk winced ("great, a _faggot_ scumbag. I wish my
mom would let me move back in"), and the watcher rushed to pad the order
with the first hetero porn title his eyes came upon. The clerk handed over
the bag as if contaminated, and disappeared. "Probably washing his hands,"
thought the watcher.
An all-night "regular" video rental place handed over a rental VCR in
exchange for a $200 imprint of his credit card. He parked in the garage,
hoisted his booty, and headed for the doors of the hotel. The bellhops
converged, then dispersed again as they remembered that the fuck-off man
could handle his own bags, screw you very much.
Minutes later, the room was stocked with ice, a glass filled with liquid
sedative solution (and a twist of lime), and the VCR cabled to the TV. He
reached for a video, and grabbed the channel 3 title. Not yet, he thought.
A little too much to deal with in such short time. The hetero porn tape
went into the VCR, and he carried his drink to the bed.
The tape went exactly as every other porno tape he'd ever seen: bad acting,
superfluous plots, limp dicks and overdubbed soundtracks. It was that or
Oprah reruns, and it was as good a background as any for the drinks. Oddly,
he viewed the humping and sucking on screen with a detachment he hadn't
experienced before; there was no burning need to unbutton his fly, in fact,
no hard-on at all.
Partway through the third stiff drink, the film faded to black. Hallelujah,
he thought. It wasn't until he came to his feet that he remembered how much
he had to drink. He liked that slightly off-balance sensation. He wasn't
bombed, but was clearly inebriated. Cruising altitude.
Any embarassment or shame he felt earlier was gone now, drowned or just
plain gone. The "other" tape threaded and whirred away, and the watcher
settled back onto the bed with a fresh (and considerably less alcoholic)
drink in hand. The titles rolled, complete with cheesy music, and the
watcher noticed an erection coming on before any skin was visible on
screen.
In an opening scene, two somewhat less attractive men had gotten down to
serious sucking, but the watcher was similarly enraptured. They knew just
what to do, taking the shaft deep for a few strokes, then backing off and
swirling around the tip. As he studied, he felt the same flush he'd felt
earlier, and found that his cockskin seemed about ready to split. He'd
never been this excited, and he reached for the snap on his jeans.
The phone rang. Shit! He considered not answering, but he was there on
business. Could be some client with an emergency.
"Hello?"
"Larry?"
"What?" The soundtrack seemed much louder now.
"Is this Larry?"
"No. Nobody here by that..."
"Look, I'm in the lobby. 1714, right? I'm on my way up to get those drinks
you promised me."
"But..."
Click. The stranger was on his way up. Did I make an appointment I forgot
about? Or is this the guy from the adult bookstore? There wasn't time to
think. The elevator chimed, and the door rattled with a powerful knock only
seconds later. Might as well open it and figure this thing out. Besides, he
was at least one sheet to the wind, and not thinking clearly enough to
formulate a strategy.
He opened the door. A tall, well-formed man with wavy brown hair stood in
the doorway, but not for long. "Hey, nice room. I wound up at the Holiday
Inn. What a shithole." The stranger was inside, and made a beeline straight
for the liquor. "Ahhh. Booze. You can't know how happy I am to see this."
The stranger's eyes settled on the TV, where two scantily-clad men were
wrestling furiously and pulling at each other's clothes. The mixer he was
pouring overflowed the glass and spilled out onto the counter as his eyes
and mouth widened simultaneously.
Geez! The watcher sprinted to the VCR and fumbled for the STOP button.
Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit! as he pressed one button after another. The
men were tearing clothes off each other in fast motion now, the first pair
of briefs coming off just as the cord was pulled from the wall. "Video
store fucked up" was the only explanation he offered. "Help yourself to a
drink and have a seat." He moved briskly to the bathroom to see just how
red his face was. A few deep breaths, a splash of cold water, and a flush
of the toilet left him feeling a bit less rattled. He listened intently at
the bathroom door to see if he could figure out what the stranger was up
to, and swore he heard the crappy soundtrack music very low. He opened the
door slowly, to find the stranger eyeing the description on the box of the
evening's first tape. "She's cute. But she isn't in the movie, right?"
Good, no reason to be ashamed of a liking for porn. Wait--where is the
other box? I left it...
His eyes shot to the counter where he remembered laying the box down; it
wasn't there. It had been moved to the table, or had it? Maybe he was
drunker than he thought.
"No, the great-looking women on the boxes are _never_ in the movies, or, at
least, not looking as good as that." The stranger chuckled and eased back
in his chair. There. Crisis averted. Now to find out who the hell this guy
is.
"You have me at a disadvantage; I must confess that I don't know who you
are."
"That's okay," the stranger said as he waved off any significance to the
question. "We met at this show last year. We rested our feet in the bar
after a particularly long day. You left after one drink, telling me you
preferred to drink in your room. Cheaper, and better atmosphere, you said.
That's when I invited myself to share a drunk with you sometime, and you
said "sure." Maybe you didn't mean it, you know, like "let's do lunch." If
you want me to leave..."
"No, no, if I said "sure," I meant "sure." But how did you come to call me
Larry?"
"Wrong one, huh? I'm lousy with names. Look, it seems like I'm not welcome
here, so I'll just go."
The stranger stood, but the watcher was determined. If his mood was to be
ruined, at least he could have a drinking companion for a while. Besides,
he had a nice...
Stop that! Stupid asshole. Don't let your liquor and libido gang up on you.
Jerking off to tapes and smiling at gigolos are one thing, but get that
_other_ thought out of your mind. The block was in place. It was shaky, but
it held. He poured a mild drink for himself, bade his guest to remain, and
resumed his station on the bed, propped up by pillows.
The unidentifiable sitcom was pre-empted by the stranger's hand on the
volume knob. The TV was the only light in the room, so he didn't turn it
off, but obviously wanted to talk and didn't wish to shout.
"You sure know how to travel."
The watcher remembered the elephantoid load of luggage and sneered. "Yeah,
right. I fucked up my back lugging the entire contents of my closet into
this place. I definitely do _not_ travel well."
"Oh, but you do where it counts. Liquor and porn, in the comfort of your
own room. Porno might be bad, but it's always better than whatever's on
regular TV." The stranger picked up a videotape box, eyeing the revealing
photo again. "You're sure she's not in that movie?"
"See for yourself." The stranger rose to turn on the VCR, and the watcher
remembered that the other tape was still loaded. He sprinted across the
room--"I'll take care of it"--and practically knocked the stranger out of
his seat. He hunched over the VCR to conceal the label of the tape as it
came out. He had already pressed "eject" (found it easy enough this time)
before he realized--"I thought I unplugged this thing."
The other tape was tucked away in preparation for a good hiding place.
Under the blankets on the bed seemed passable, but his stride was broken by
the rattle of plastic. Oh, no. Just as it was about to be swept under the
bed, the stranger piped up. "What's that? Hey, it's not fair to keep the
good stuff for yourself." A hand dashed out and snatched the tape. The
stranger grinned as he read the title. He held up the tape. "This is the
one you got by mistake, right?"
Does that mean he bought my story? "Yeah, that's it."
"That other tape looks boring. If I can't see the woman on the cover, I'm
not interested. Let's watch this one instead."
Before any protest could be lodged, tapes had been exchanged and the lewd
screenplay resumed from where it was. The stranger poured himself another
drink. Glancing to the squirming bodies on TV, then the watcher's eyes,
then the TV again, he said, "looks familiar." He paused.
"Looks...interesting."
The scene from the booth played again, with the watcher settled on the bed,
and the stranger in his chair nearer the TV. The watcher felt a little
self-conscious, but couldn't help but get wrapped up as before with these
two men stroking and kissing each other. There was no quarter's worth now,
and things advanced again to the point where the winner was collecting his
spoils, and continued this time. The watcher's erection was stiff and
moist, and seemed to be aided by the fact that he was no longer watching
alone. He studied the stranger's face, and traced down the rest of his
physique. The stranger would occasionally look back with a "look at that"
or "how do they _do_ that" expression, forcing the watcher to avert his
eyes quickly. But he began to feel that he was being studied, too.
The men on the screen had truly gotten down to business. They were locked
in a fearsome 69, with the winner on top pumping his cock into his
adversary's mouth. His balls were being tickled by adept fingers, and the
mix of saliva and jism left a glistening sheen on the shaft as it appeared,
then disappeared again. The loser wasn't being neglected, either, because
he was being sucked with abandon as well. The winner's technique was a mix
of hands and mouth, and his poor subject apparently had all he could do to
keep from blowing his load. From the bottom, muffled groans of pleasure
could be heard as the cock was driven, again and again, into his mouth. If
it stood still too long, he'd go after it, opening his jaws wide and taking
his master deep, kicking off more pumping. The winner lifted his head and
moaned, more frequently as the session went on, but always working with the
hands, keeping his partner's nerve endings shouting with joy. Then, as he
lifted his head again, the winner closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
He growled low, and everything stopped. He took a few stuttered breaths.
His partner began again, moving his head slowly up and down the length of
the shaft, pausing teasingly at the right moments, licking playfully at the
pre-cum soaked tip. He took the cock in his mouth again, excruciatingly
slowly engulfing it from tip to base, then starting a rhythm again. First,
slowly, then rising in tempo until his partner nearly shouted in pleasure
as his cock was swallowed again and again. The loser squeezed his master's
ass hard in time with the strokes, and traced between his buns to tickle
his hole and balls. Finally, the great groan was heard, as the cock jumped
out of the loser's mouth. It was immediately met with two hands--one
tightly gripping and stroking the shaft, another vigorously massaging the
taut scrotum--and there was cum. It came in great spurts, each one causing
his back to arch. It seemed to go on forever as his partner giggled
happily.
The watcher's erection threatened to unbutton his pants for him. The scene
drew to a close as the men kissed and cuddled on the screen, then faded
out. An attempt at plot intervened as both members of the film's audience
drew heavy sighs.
The stranger was first to stand. He stretched and arched backward,
revealing that he had problems of his own. The outline of his swollen dick
was clearly visible through his thin dress slacks; you could even discern
the shape of the head. The watcher didn't know what made a cock "nice," but
this one, shrouded though it was, led him to some wild imaginings.
It had been some time since the last drinks, and the stranger held up a
drained bottle. "I can fix that," the watcher proclaimed as he headed for
the bag in the closet. He bent over to pick it up and--zing!--his back
spasmed again. "Whoa." The stranger rushed over. "What is it? Are you
okay?"
"Yeah. I must've really messed up my back downstairs."
"You go back and sit down. I'm mooching your liquor, so the least I can do
is mix for you." He did, and shortly a full glass was placed in his hands.
"You know, you probably didn't do any serious damage. I know how to fix
it."
The spasm had subsided, but this sounded interesting. "How would you do
that?"
"Lie down, face down, and I'll show you." The watcher pushed a pile of
pillows aside and stretched out on the bed. Felt nice. The extra pressure
against his cock brought an instinctive push into the bed. Mustn't do that.
The stranger stood next to the bed. His hands were warm and strong, and
worked the watcher's back and shoulders through the fabric. "Um, it works
better," the stranger said, "if you lose _this_." He tugged at the shirt.
The watcher turned face-up, grasped the cuff of his shirt and pulled it
over his head. The stranger watched approvingly, then offered more advice.
"Actually, if you want a _real_ massage, you have to dress down a little
more. Then you won't have to get up again. Okay? Go change, and grab a
towel from the bathroom. Wearing something that loose will help relax you."
Relax? The watcher's heart was pounding as he stood in front of the
bathroom mirror. "This is stupid, this is really stupid" he thought as he
took off his pants. Standing in his briefs, his nervousness had lost him
the erection he'd started hours ago. Now he had to decide how much more to
lose. The briefs hit the floor, and a towel was tucked--_securely_--around
his waist.
He came out in his towel to find the bed had been rearranged. "Lie down,"
he was instructed, "close your eyes and relax." The watcher obeyed, taking
a giant tug on the drink on the nightstand as he descended.
The stranger knelt on the bed, and spoke again. "I found this," holding a
bottle of baby oil close enough to see, "on your dresser. Okay if I use
it?" The oil was there, well, for _personal_ use. Seemed appropriate now.
A nod was offered in response, and the sounds which followed added to the
suspense. The popping of the top, the squirting of the oil into the palms,
the rubbing together of the hands to warm them. Then, first contact. Aahhh,
wonderful. He was being worked on at the shoulders first, kneading the
muscles and working between the shoulderblades firmly. There was just the
right amount of oil--no dripping.
The stranger's hands felt good as they worked their way down, fingering the
muscles on either side of the spine, and pushing out to the sides. Nerves
there were sensitive; when the hands reached around toward the front, it
should have tickled. Instead, it sent a rush of warmth. The watcher lifted
his arms over his head to give the hands more room.
Every response was noted, for when the hands would come upon some region
that elicited a reaction, that region would be revisited repeatedly. The
hands worked the sides of the watcher's torso a lot.
The massage went on, deliciously, for a long time. Every muscle in his back
and sides was manipulated, every nerve stimulated. When the lower back was
reached, a nerve was struck--"yow!" "That needs work, but--don't take this
the wrong way--the towel is in the way." About ready to melt into the bed,
the watcher needed no encouragement. "It's history." But he was far too
relaxed to move to take it off. The stranger offered his assistance, and
unwrapped the towel from his host. He caught a brief but interesting view
from behind as the watcher lifted himself to let the towel slide out. "One
more thing," the stranger said. "I don't want to get oil all over these
clothes. If you have a pair of pajamas..." He was still trying to be
polite. "I don't wear them, but there are still plenty of towels."
"Thanks a lot." A few moments later, the towel-clad stranger returned to
the bed. "Now, we're ready for a serious backrub." The stranger knelt
again, and warmed the oil in his hands for another assault. It started at
the shoulders again, just as before. Then, the stranger straddled the
watcher, taking a seat on his ass. The towel prevented contact, and the
watcher's shoulders were worked with such renewed vigor that he didn't mind
at all. The entire back was worked again, down the the base of the spine.
As he worked the tension there, the stranger made occasional circles of the
watcher's buns, moving down a little further with each pass. This was
wonderful, but the stranger seemed very tentative about it, still not
wishing to offend. Only once or twice was there a full encircling of his
ass. It felt so good, the watcher could have had his buns rubbed all night.
>From there, the stranger moved on to the tops of the legs, and again
straddled his patient facing the other way. This time, the towel splayed,
and the stranger's buns and balls were dropped squarely on the watcher's
slippery ass. At first, the stranger rose with an "Oh!" and began to tuck
the towel in. No delays, please, thought the watcher. "It's okay. Just
don't stop." The stranger settled back down slowly, a little shaky, and the
watcher felt the hair of his balls, and the tip of his soft cock, as he
touched down. The stranger leaned forward to resume working on the legs,
and couldn't help sliding around on the watcher's backside. Both parties
enjoyed this but tried to keep it to themselves. But the watcher noticed
that the soft cock tip could no longer be felt.
The stranger stayed put as he worked just above the knees, leaning forward.
The stranger's towel fell against the watcher's oily body, and was set
aside. Each time he leaned foreward, his balls pressed hard against his
patient's buns. Both were now far past aroused. The watcher raised his ass
slightly--_very_ slightly--to try to touch the stranger's cock. The
stranger ass then slid backwards onto the watcher's lower back; suddenly,
the entire length of his cock was lodged in the watcher's split. The
stranger didn't know quite what to do, but as his cock twitched and
expanded, the body beneath him began to buck gently, drawing his cock
deeper into the crack. Once there, the watcher began to tilt his hips,
stroking the cock above him with the crack of his ass. The stranger was
still kneeling facing the watcher's feet, and he wrapped his hands around
one of the watcher's legs, rubbing his face against it has he began to
pump. He reached up with his hand and pushed his cock deeper into the
crevice, pressing the shaft against the hole and the tip against the base
of the watcher's balls when he thrusted fully forward. The watcher's
rocking hips grabbed the stranger's cock, and the stranger's hand pressed
harder to feel the outline of the watcher's hole. This was heaven.
"Might you," came the breathless voice of the stranger, "roll over?" The
stranger lifted himself off slowly, allowing his prick to trace over the
watcher's ass. He couldn't resist dropping himself down again, grinding his
hips deeply, and forcefully fucking the length of the watcher's split. He
rolled off, and the watcher brought himself face-up.
The stranger straddled again, this time looking in the watcher's eyes, and
applied a great amount of oil to the watcher's straining cock. He smiled,
and slid forward until the base of the watcher's cock was firmly in his
crack, and the glistening tip showed between his balls. The stranger oiled
his hands again, and started rocking. He massaged the watcher's chest,
circling the nipples and surrounding the neck with his hands. As he rocked,
the watcher pumped, holding tight to the stranger's arms.
The stranger leaned backwards, putting his hands near the watcher's knees,
to bring more of his ass to bear on the watcher's slippery cock. The
stranger couldn't move much in this position, but the watcher happily did
all the work, thrusting himself up and down the split. The watcher
moistened his palms with oil from his chest, and grasped the stranger's
prick with both hands. The stranger's cock felt good, responding to every
touch. He worked the stranger's shaft and balls deftly, both hands working
while still grinding away at the stranger's ass. When a drop of jism
appeared, the watcher had to have that cock in his mouth. He pulled the
stranger onto his chest, held his cock firmly in one hand, and began to
lick the tip. With each circling of his tongue, the stranger's hips pushed
forward. He moved back, wanting to take things at his own speed. He licked
his lips and placed them, slightly parted, on the tip of the stranger's
cock. He drew it into his mouth slowly, surrounding it with his lips as it
entered, and pressing his tongue against the underside of the shaft. The
stranger began to pump, and his lover pushed forward to meet every thrust.
Every few thrusts, the watcher experimented with taking the cock deeper,
noticing that the deeper he went, the more response he got. After testing
himself for a time, the watcher felt confident and swallowed the stranger's
cock up to the base. The stranger stopped in full thrust, squeezing his ass
tight and pushing as far forward as he could. The watcher held his cock
deep for a long time, massaging the shaft with his tongue. He tickled the
stranger's balls, pressing between them and working his thumb up and down
the very base of his cock. The stranger drew a fast breath as his balls
drew taut, and the watcher knew his lover was about to come. He wanted to
watch and to feel it on his skin. He slowly withdrew the cock from his
throat, and began furiously sucking and tonguing the top inch. The
stranger's moaning and breathing spun the watcher into a frenzy, and he did
everything he knew how to get his guest to come.
The stranger was overwhelmed by the sensations emanating from his groin.
The pleasure grew in circular waves, involving more and more of his nerves.
Each move he made accentuated the feeling, and he fought to keep from
coming; he didn't want this feeling to end. He felt the fluid rise from
deep inside him, drawn out by the talented man sucking away at his cock.
The tongue circled and darted and moved this way and that, the hand
squeezed and stroked in cooperation, and another hand gently tickled the
hair on his balls. Ripples moved through him as the tongue danced across
the most sensitive regions of his cock. The waves centered somewhere behind
his cock and reached out to every muscle, making each one shiver with joy
as it absorbed another wave. He could feel his come surging inside him,
rushing to escape. He fought it, enjoying the delicious torture of holding
himself on the very edge, his cock fully engorged, the liquid pushing to
get out. He figured he could hold out for at least a while longer.
The stranger's balls grew tauter still, and his eyes rolled back. The
watcher fixed his eyes on the tip of his lover's cock and stroked it
furiously. He slid a finger between his lover's legs, between his balls and
hole, and pressed and stroked the skin there. The stranger bucked, and the
first hot jet spurted out and struck his lover on the chin. The second was
a moment or two in coming, but was even stronger than the first. The
watcher's fingers were busily massaging away, drawing the liquid from deep
inside. After two long, powerful jets, the stranger's cock began pulsing
more rapidly, pushing out more and more come. White rivers ran from the
stranger's pulsing purple head, down his cock, flowing over the hands and
spilling onto the chest of his lover. The orgasm continued as fingers
seemed to find every reserve and empty it. The pulsing subsided, leaving
the watcher's chest and neck splattered with come.
The watcher caressed the legs of his lover, and played in the coating of
come on his chest.
[...to be continued (if you're interested)...]
--
Barry Ruth
decvax!maxx!barry, uunet!bytepb!maxx!barry, [email protected]
I work for myself, so I guess my employer _does_ share my opinions!
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Mail rec.arts.erotica submissions to [email protected].
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I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing parts, ftp/gif/archive
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they are posted. For more info on the ARCHIVE postings, read the FAQ posted
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