Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
A second submission to the Winter Holidays contest. Thought I’d have another dabble in Gay Male, although it does slip from that category a little at the end of the piece. However, Lit being what it is, I think GM is the right place for it to find a home.
Competition entries are required to be stand-alone submissions, which this one is, but I do leave it at a point where you can ponder on what the new year has in store for James. There’s scope for me to add scenes to this one — although they won’t be in the GM category, and as it stands at the moment I don’t have any plans to do so.
Anyway, blah-blah-blah. I hope this scene meets with some approval out there. Feedback is appreciated. I hope I’ve spotted any errors in the text as I’ve gone over it [repeatedly]. If there are any glitches remaining, I can only apologise.
Thank you in advance for reading.
GA — Ranong, Thailand — 29th of November 2014.
He watches me. I know he’s doing it. I can feel the weight of his stare. It’s very unnerving, disturbing on a level I can’t articulate. But it’s always like this around him, has been for eighteen months. I just wonder how it can be that nobody notices my discomfit when we’re all together. Being near him elicits so many complex emotions to deal with: lust, betrayal, all manner of clandestine urges. I’m repelled and drawn simultaneously. It’s exquisite agony being so close, even though I despise the man — or rather it’s that I hate myself for being so weak.
However, as much as I loathe both of us for what we’re doing, the secret we share fills me with corrupt delight.
Christmas Eve in the bosom of my family, nearly everyone I love is around me, the absentee exception being our son, who’s abroad with his new wife. The tree is decked, lights flicking on and off to some random timing tweaked into their circuitry. My wife Clara is twittering on, as she does. She always has something to say, something or someone — usually me — to organise. Clara is one of life’s micro-managers, which means every aspect of our lives is controlled to the last detail. This time it’s about entertaining our son-in-law while she and our daughter are out at the carol service.
“Don’t slope off to your study,” Clara instructs me, emphatic. “Talk to Simon, don’t bloody well abandon him.”
Stern stuff indeed, my wife doesn’t bandy profanity around, and the use of “bloody” is quite strong by her standards. She accompanies her warning with a look, peering over the rims of her spectacles like a severe and old-fashioned schoolmarm who’ll slap my legs if I disobey.
If only she knew. Dear God but there’d be ructions! Carnage on an Olympic scale.
Still glaring at me, Clara adds, “We shouldn’t be long. Two hours at most. We’ll be back at around half-past midnight.”
I avoid looking at Simon, my stomach lurching with self-loathing even as my dick thickens and swells. Two hours is more than enough. It won’t take a quarter of that time.
“Come on, mum,” Cassandra is saying. Our daughter glances at her watch and then says to her husband, “The kids are asleep. Could you put their presents under the tree? The bag is in mum’s room.”
There’s more from Cassandra to her husband, the woman is as bossy as her mother, but I’m not paying any attention, I’m in turmoil inside thinking about what’s going to happen when the women leave.
My wife and our daughter jibber-jabber on about inconsequentials: vegetables that will need peeling tomorrow, the weight of the turkey and, “Where-did-I-put-those-bloody-car-keys?” as their voices recede down the long passage to the front door.
Then the door slams and all is silent in the house.
Simon and I are alone.
My throat works as I swallow heavily, throat dry as a crow’s nest. Neither of us speaks for a full two minutes, not until the Mercedes headlights sweep the windows, the signal that Clara and Cassandra are driving away, the big car taking them down the long driveway to the gate, to the city, on towards the cathedral and Silent Night.
Of course it’s Simon who breaks the silence. I can’t bring myself to look at him when he says, “I’ll just go up and take a shower, James. That drive down was hellish.”
Simon has just only just arrived after being up in Newcastle for the past week. He works as a consultant chemical engineer for one of the big pharmaceuticals, a career that will earn him huge sums but which meant he had to undertake a nightmare journey home on Christmas Eve, eventually reaching the house at 10 p.m.
At Clara’s insistence, with Simon away, our daughter and the children descended on us four days ago.
“It’ll be Christmas come early,” my wife had said. “Cassie can settle the little ones in and then we’ll all be ready when Simon gets back. We can have a lovely time of it.”
If Clara said it was so, then it normally was. Not that I minded at all, I had no objections, and it wouldn’t have mattered much if I did — my wife and daughter would poo-poo any dissent, overruling me was a common beyoğlu escort trait they shared. It was also Clara’s idea for her and Cassandra to go to the carol service that night, her plan including me staying at home to look after Simon.
“You’ll give me ten minutes…” Simon adds as he leaves the room. It’s a command he’s just issued, an order he expects me to comply with. “…I’ll be ready and waiting, James.”
Oh God, he knows he’s got me with that statement. My cock hardens fully when I hear his silky voice telling me he’ll be ready. I can picture it: the awful tumescence huge and swollen, the cock-head angry and the gnarled and knobbed shaft all criss-crossed with veins. Simon’s gorgeous cock all primed and ready for me to suck.
As always, I murmur, “I can’t, Simon. Please…”
But he just sniggers and walks out of the room, confident. He knows I’ll be there at the allotted time. Indeed, I check my watch almost as soon as he’s gone. My erection is tight inside my trousers, excited anticipation swelling my cock while the Christmas tree lights flicker and the scent of woodsmoke from a downdraught in the chimney tickles my nostrils.
I sip whisky and watch the flames dance in the grate as a log spits and a glowing ember flies, the quick firefly glow falling spent to the hearth, its arcing velocity abruptly halted by the fire-guard. The carpet remains unburnt, a conflagration is avoided, but I’m mindless to the sound and the potential for disaster contained by the wire-mesh screen, my mind instead filled with the moment it first happened. I’ve thought on it often since, sometimes losing an hour to pondering, and I’m still no wiser as to how Simon just seemed to know. After all, I didn’t know it myself until the second I saw him so beautifully exhibited.
It was during the holiday in a rented villa in Portugal, which I paid for of course.
In accordance with my wife’s wishes the entire extended family were invited, with Simon and Cassandra and their brood already there, our son and his fiancé-at-the-time due in the next couple of days.
On that afternoon, eighteen months ago, the women and children were at the beach. I was in the kitchen while Simon was in the pool. I’d thought about a gin and tonic and had just been slicing limes when propriety demanded I ask Simon if he’d like a drink.
My world shrunk the instant I saw it, a cinematic effect that zoomed my attention right on Simon’s penis. I can’t explain why, I’d never before had any inclination towards another man’s cock.
Out on the decking I’d called to Simon, who by then was under the shower next to the pool. He’d stripped off his swimming shorts, bare buttocks contrasting a startling white against his tan, this long dick swinging into view when he turned at the sound of my voice.
My stomach flipped a second or two after he half-turned, my innocence smashed to smithereens, like a crystal glass dropped to the floor.
The dense mass of it simply hung there, the sight of that fire-hose between his legs sending a thrill through me, a raging of desire that was instant and all-consuming.
I gaped at Simon’s member, vaguely aware of my own modest appendage thickening in response.
Time warped to Matrix slowness. I could appreciate every detail: sun warm on my shoulders; my fingers sticky with lime juice while diamonds reflected off the surface of the pool. The blue water sloshed through the filter, gurgling and sucking while the only other noise came from a gentle background tinkling of a wind-chime near the patio door. Simon had turned off the shower at my approach, water pooling at his feet while I stared at his cock, the need to touch my own erection growing more urgent the longer I gazed.
Then he turned round to face me square on, the enormous jib both a threat and a challenge.
Awestruck, I noticed he was hairless down there, waxed or shaved bare, his cock all the bigger because of it. I glanced up into his inscrutable face, expression unreadable. My son-in-law was an enigma, a complete stranger, someone I’d never set eyes on before.
When his eyes bored into mine it was like he was reading my soul. Simon recognised my desire before I knew it myself. I shivered when he simply smirked at me, his hair in rats’ tails over his forehead, torso shining, that magnificent cock twitching and growing without him laying a hand on himself.
“Touch it, James,” he breathed.
That voice was a sigh of the wind, a whisper I thought I’d imagined.
My throat worked and my cock pulsed as I stood there and watched Simon’s erection form to a full-blooded hard-on.
“You want to,” he shrugged, the action causing his erection to sway. “Come on. Just do it. Touch it … And then get down on your knees and suck me.”
I have no clue as to how he knew, but he was right. I did want to. I wanted to feel him in my hand. It was so thick…
I wanted it in my mouth.
“Taste it,” Simon breathed, expression intent, eyes locked on my face. “Make it spit, sarıyer escort James. With your hands and your mouth…”
I took a step towards him, my own attention focused on one thing.
I can remember moaning when I first felt the power of it, the girth almost too much for my fingers to completely encircle.
A feral groan came from Simon when I took those first tentative strokes at him, the primal urge encapsulated in that sound spurring my erection to further firmness.
That afternoon I fondled Simon’s manhood for the first time. I sucked on it and wanked it and tasted his semen too.
And it’s been going on ever since.
Simon and Cassandra live not too far away, a matter of five or six miles. Clara and I have a detached eight-bedroom pile near Godalming while theirs is a smart three-bed townhouse in Guildford. They’re with us for Christmas despite living only a short drive from door-to-door. Just like Clara said, it does makes sense given our home is huge and we’ve got room. They’d be with us on the day, anyway. Why bother with the to-and-fro when they can stay with us?
Clara and Cassandra are together all the time, friends as well as mother and daughter. They’ve always been close, although that nearness has sometimes led me to feel almost like I don’t belong, that I’m not completely included.
I do get the feeling, sometimes, that I’m useful as a provider — I’ve done well in business, property here and there, invested wisely and been lucky. But occasionally the sensation creeps up on me that the women in the family could quite as easily do without me now that our fortunes have been set. Thre’s a closeness between them impenetrable to me.
As for Simon? Well, he uses me as the opportunity arises. He’s away working a lot of the time, but when he’s at home he can often find the time to give me a call. There are places to meet in secret, our deceit, the sheer sordidness of what we do shaming and thrilling me in equal measure.
That Christmas Eve and he’s true to his word. Ten minutes later, freshly showered, with the rigours and stresses of the long drive down washed away he’s in my bedroom, naked and gloriously erect.
He strokes his length while smirking at me from the bed. “Off,” he says, a forefinger waving at me. He means my clothes of course, so I quickly disrobe.
Seeing my hard dick, Simon chuckles, predatory eyes fixed on me. “Excited already, James?” he says, smug as a cat with an unguarded turkey on Christmas Day.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I say in return. A futile objection. I know it even as I’m saying the words.
It’s as I’d known it would be — he ignores my entreaty and smiles, beckoning me to him with the crook of a finger. “Come on,” Simon purrs, teasing me by jacking at himself with both hands.
An arterial burst of lust explodes inside me when I see him do that. He’s got his cock in both of his fists, a couple of inches still poking out while the big cock-head bulges the size of a toffee apple.
I moan and jack a hand along my own dick a few times.
Simon grins in response, repeating his instruction. “Come on,” he says, voice clotted with dark urges. “Come here and suck this thing.”
There’s a flurry of activity when I approach. Simon stands and indicates I should sit on the edge of the bed. When I do so he shuffles forward and offers himself to me.
“You’re a bastard,” I mutter, my fingers closing around his girth. “I hate you … I hate myself.”
But my mouth is suddenly full of him. He’s so big, so very thick my lips stretch tight. I almost gag and choke when his hips thrust.
“You fucking love it,” the man hisses, knowing I do. “Suck me, James. That’s it, really taste it. You’re made to suck cock.”
I’m at him for a minute or two, mouth full of male gristle as I wank myself.
Then he eases that meaty dick from between my lips and waggles it at me, saying, “Lick me from the bell-end to my balls.”
I comply with his filthy order, slurping and slobbering over that big plum, my tongue moving down over the ridges and knobs of his gnarled shaft. I reach his dangling testes, the scrotum pulled taut with Simon’s arousal. I cup his nuts in the palm of my hand to tease him in the way I know he likes.
“Yeah,” Simon groans when I tug at his cock. I’m cranking at him with one hand, jacking almost the whole length of him while massaging his dangling balls with the other, my cheek bulging as he fucks my mouth with short thrusts.
I lick the slick, viscous pre-cum from the slit in the end of Simon’s cock as it seeps out of him; and by then I’m getting carried away with it, moaning as I lap at him, the salty tang of arousal on my tongue while my fingers are tight around that dense girth.
The sheer weight of it always thrills me. He really is a supreme example of male vigour.
He’s excited, too. I can tell by the sounds he’s making. It won’t take long this time.
“God, James, you’re getting good at this,” the man says to me, grunting the words maslak escort through clenched teeth. “Suck it. Wank it. It’s Christmas, make me feel good.”
His back arches, a goodly portion of his length jutting into my gullet. The big cock being forced down my throat makes me gag and cough. I pull back, eyes streaming, ropes of drool dangling off my chin, Simon’s length coming out of me like a sword swallower’s blade.
I wipe the back of a hand across my face, eyes still tearing up. “God,” I cough. “Jesus…”
He ignores the state of me, has no time or inclination to pity my plight as I continue to retch and spit.
“Come here,” I hear Simon mutter, and when I look up at him I see he’s tugging urgently, face twisted into someone unrecognisable, a man consumed by dark desires, as am I. “You know what to do, bitch,” he snarls, shuffling closer.
I swallow a few times, wiping most of the drool off my chin, bent on recovery. I’m hot for him, so eager to drink the semen that I know will spurt out of Simon’s dick. I suck at the enraged glans, the big dome all purple, tickling the frenulum with quick flicks of my tongue as I pull at him near his root, my hand working close to those heavy balls.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “That’s it, James. More. Suck me some more. Let me wank it…” His hand replaces mine.
I’m tickling his sac and squeezing his testes, lips pursed around the cock-head as best I can manage; which isn’t an easy task since Simon is yanking himself so violently.
That ooze of pre-cum is a liberal slide. My cheeks are smeared with the stuff after Simon has slapped my face with the underside of the bludgeon a few times, his cock bouncing off my skin with meaty thwacks.
He’s also grunting and moaning and spitting obscenities at me. “Ah shit, James…” the man groans as he buckles at the waist, his hand a quick blur as it slides up and down his length. It’s so desperate by now I can’t keep on sucking at him. Simon is in a world of his own. He’s crazed, a wild man, right on the edge. “I’m going to…” he croaks.
I’m ready for it. When the hot stuff flicks out of Simon in that first rush I’m there to take him on my tongue. I’m waiting for that splash of semen, to taste his ejaculate.
I’ve miscalculated however, underestimated the man’s need and the velocity of the first squirt to flick out of him. That initial splash hits me with some vehemence right between the eyes. Cum slides over the bridge of my nose while more of it sprays my tongue and I swallow the brackish jizm. Spunk spatters onto my cheek, further bursts catching me on the face as my mouth opens for more.
I can’t drink enough of him. I’m gulping down whatever I can catch, my face smeared with it, a gloopy mess that slides over my skin as Simon finally calms. He grins and moves in to offer me the gooey residue of his outpouring, cum seeping from his cock, with me slurping at him, my fist working my hard-on.
Then he’s on the bed, laid out on his side as he invites me to spoon up against him.
Next, after I’ve joined Simon on the bed I’ve shared with Clara for so many years, I open my legs and spread the cheeks of my arse.
I feel the mattress move as he eases towards me, my sphincter exposed and vulnerable.
“Lube,” Simon mutters. “I didn’t forget it, James.” An evil-sounding snicker sounds behind me. “I’ll be kind to you,” he adds. “Since it’s Christmas.”
After dabbing a merciful dollop of gunk across my muddy hole, Simon’s knob-end nudges me. He’s got one hand on my pelvis, holding himself with his free hand so he can press his cock-head against the fragile roundel of my anus.
I lean up on one elbow, craning round to catch Simon’s eye. He grins and winks and thrusts, suddenly in me after the briefest moment of resistance back there. I feel it burn when my sphincter pops, Simon’s dick filling me, gliding in on the smear of lubricant until I’m stuffed with the girth of him.
A gasp bursts from my chest and I claw at the bed. “Oh God,” I moan, my anus packed with hard cock.
“You love it, don’t you, James?” he grunts, probing deep.
I can’t talk; I’m gritting my teeth against the burn, knowing the pleasure will follow. Then we’re both moving, with me actually pushing back to take as much of Simon as I can, my hand cranking my own cock.
“Oh,” I sob, jacking away, my son-in-law fucking at me from behind. “It itches. It burns…”
“Merry Christmas, James,” he whispers behind me. “Here’s a special gift for you…”
And so we go on for several minutes, rutting until I cry out and let fly, jizm pumping from me in uncontrolled bursts, an indiscriminate spray that stains the bed cover. I’m so caught in the moment of bliss that I’m blind to the carnage. I can’t think about how I’m going to explain to Clara why I was forced to change the bed while she was out. What reason could I reasonably have for changing the quilt during her absence? And you can be assured that Clara will notice; she doesn’t miss a thing. No detail ever goes unseen by my wife.
But I’m not thinking about Clara or the bed or the hideous familial connection between me and the man squirting what’s left of his own seed into my rectum. I’m coming, a blissful outpouring, blessed relief.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32