It was Sunday, cleaning day. If the boy did nothing else today, he had to clean. His life was so hectic, so full, that the boy put aside one day a week for normal adult activities. He would check all his mail, buy groceries for the week, and he would clean.
His grubby studio apartment wasn’t much to look at, but it was enough for him. Between work, school, and his social life, he barely saw it anyway. His apartment served as the room where he collapsed each night, woke up, showered, and left in the morning.
The boy, however, didn’t want to live in squalor. His first few months of his senior year had taught him well. Take out containers, cardboard pizza boxes, soda cans, and the few dishes he did use piled up in his kitchen. At one point, the boy realized there was a swarm of flies throughout his apartment and he couldn’t see any part of the kitchen counter. And thus Sunday became his maintenance day.
But, more than that, it also became his personal day. No homework. No friends’ issues. No complaining customers. He had grown to love his Sundays, even if they were full of things to do. Everything the boy accomplished made his life better.
This Sunday had gone well. He breezed through the mail, setting aside the paper for recycling. Grocery shopping had been relatively good. Since he’d gone fairly early, the usual crowd was not as bad as in weeks past. All that was left was the actual cleaning.
He’d started with the kitchen, which he hated the most. Memories of the first offending insects always had him worried a new pest would show. When all the containers were thrown out and the dishes in the dishwasher, he gathered up the trash and recycling, walked them down the hall, and stuffed it all down the cavernous shoots in the dirty closet.
Last was laundry. Sliding his hamper, he gathered up his clothes, flung this way and that, memories from his past week flooding his mind. He reached for a blue tank top hanging on the metal arm of his futon couch. Wondering if it needed a spin in the wash, because this one seemed mostly clean to him, he brought the cloth to his nose. Inhaling, his body tumbled back to Thursday night, the semi-crowded bar, and the man.
The man was older, much older, to the point where the boy wondered why he found the gentleman attractive at all. The boy usually went for guys around his age, guys who still drank, and occasionally did blow, and would suck his cock in the back alley as casually as shaking hands. But there was something about this man that captured the boy.
The boy had been leaning against the wall, drink in hand, sipping and spying the meat of the night. He was waiting to see who would prowl him. Instead, he set his sights on the man.
The boy hadn’t seen him walk in, hadn’t noticed him sit at the end of bar, didn’t know if he was a regular or a visitor. When he saw the man, quietly staring at him, his breath caught in his throat.
It wasn’t a mean or menacing look. It wasn’t questioning or calculating. Instead, it felt like the boy had no clothes on. It felt like the man saw right through his skinny jeans and blue tank top. It felt like the man saw him, saw him and wanted him. And, it that moment, the boy wanted the man as well.
He took a breath, swallowed the last of his drink, and began the long walk to the other side of the room. There was no break in the man’s stare, no moment where the boy didn’t feel his eyes always burrowing into him.
When he finally reached the man, the boy sat next to him, and simply, boldly, asked, “Do you want me?”
“Do you live close?” The idea of the boy bringing this man back to his cluttered apartment was beyond horrifying.
“No. Your place?”
“Downtown. Are you in the mood for an adventure?” The boy was in the mood for whatever the man wanted.
A fifteen minute cab ride, a long trip up an elevator, and about five lifetimes worth of sexual tension later, the boy sat on the nicest couch he’d even seen in the nicest apartment he’d ever seen in a building he could only hope to work in, let alone ever live in.
But now, he didn’t know what to do. The man had disappeared, leaving him in the living room with a glass of water and a life’s worth of acquired objects to peruse. But the boy didn’t want to look at art or trinkets. He wanted the man, just the man.
When his anxiety almost had him running out the door, his bent head shot up from the shock of the man’s voice.
“Why are your clothes still on?”
The man had reappeared wearing only a robe. The boy quickly riped off his clothes, the man always watching. When it came to his underwear, however, the boy suddenly felt shy, an emotion that had not crossed his mind since grade school.
The man must have seen his apprehension; he approached the boy, lightly placed his hands on the boy’s hips, and slowly slid the fabric down. Now on his knees and at eye level with the boy’s cock, the young one felt a heat so powerful he thought it would consume him.
With a firm push, the boy sat back on the couch. A little shocked by the change, his eyes were already wide before the man surrounded his cock with his lips. The boy gasped, and his breathing grew heavy as the man sucked and sucked and sucked.
The boy’s hands found the man’s hair, softly caressing his head. The man, never missing a beat, continued to blow this boy like no one had before, while simultaneously grabbing the boy’s wrists and pinning them to the sides of his thighs. The man’s grip was strong, firm.
The man’s strokes increased. He took the boy’s cock down his throat with the ease of licking a lolly pop. The boy, having never had a blow job this good, found it hard to hold on.
“Fuck. Fuck. I’m coming.”
The man stopped. He lifted his head and looked directly into the boy’s eyes. The boy didn’t understand what was going on. He was so close, so close to the biggest fucking orgasm he had ever had. What had happened?
“Did I…did I do something wrong?”
The man released his hold on the boy’s wrists. He stood, towering over the boy sucked up by the couch.
The man dropped his robe. Once again the boy’s eyes were wide. This man, whose age could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty-five, had the body of an Adonis: muscles, abs, clean shaven. It was as if the god himself had appeared before the boy. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he wanted more than anything for this beautiful body to be against his.
“Your orgasms are mine. I decide when you cum.”
The boy didn’t understand, yet he understood. The man was in control. The boy didn’t care; whatever this man wanted he would give.
The man gripped the boy’s hair. With his free hand, the man stroked his own mostly erect cock. The man then shoved the boy’s mouth onto his cock, plunging deep into the boy’s throat. The boy happily sucked on the man’s dick, happily thrusted his head forward and back, happily took all of him into him. The man’s cock was the biggest the boy had ever swallowed, but he had given enough blow jobs by nineteen to never have to worry about a gag reflex.
The man continued to grip the boy’s hair, fucking the boy’s face. The boy’s hands rested on the man’s hips, using the feel to help him time the man’s strokes. As they grew faster, the boy quietly marveled at the muscles of the side of the man’s ass.
As the boy’s mouth grew sore, he wondered if he would be able to please the man, wondered if he could withstand the man’s pounding the back of his throat much longer. His lips were stretched. His throat had begun to ache. Still, he didn’t want his cock anywhere else.
Well, there was one place he wanted it, and he got his wish soon after the thought occurred.
The man abruptly pulled the boy’s mouth off his cock. They were both breathing hard, though the man’s huffs were nowhere near as loud or as desperate as the boy’s. The man looked down, saw the boy was still hard, and gave the slightest of grins.
“Turn over.” The boy put one knee on the couch while his opposite foot rested on the floor. He presented his ass to the man, high, open, willing, and ready for the man’s cock. The boy heard the tear of the wrapper, but had no clue where the condom came from. After a moment, the boy felt the man’s cold fingers on his asshole, spreading the lube and opening his hole up.
And then the boy felt the tip of the man’s cock tracing the circle of his anus. His hips instinctively tilted up, trying to capture the head. He wanted so desperately to have the man’s cock in him, but somehow the boy knew he was getting teased. The boy remembered the man’s was in control. Still, he begged with his hips for the man to enter his ass, and eventually the man did.
The man without warning shoved deeply, deliciously into the boy, filled his ass with the cock the boy had just previously tasted. The boy loved the feel of this dick inside him. The man lingered there, fully in the boy, before he gave another powerful thrust. A pause and a third thrust followed.
The boy ached with the pleasure, ached with lust and passion, ached to be fucked hard. Again the man granted the boys silent wish. He began thrusting in a slow rhythm, gripping the boy’s hips. Then his thrusts grew. And grew.
Until finally the man was slamming his cock into the boy, gripping and pulling the boy’s hips onto his dick, riding the boy harder than he’d ever felt. The boy panted, pleaded, thanked the man for his fucking. He pushed back his ass. He gripped the couch, trying to keep from falling. His cock, still hard, pulsed with the beat of the man’s cock forever pounding him. And the boy could feel it, could feel the orgasm rising.
“I…may I… may I cum? Fuck, may I cum?” The man continued to fuck the boy mercilessly.
“Please. Oh god please. Please may I cum?” The man gripped the boy’s hair again, bringing the boy’s ear up to the man’s lips.
“You want to cum?” The boy heard the sinister tone in the man’s voice, heard the control.
“You love my dick inside you, pounding you hard, fucking you senseless?”
“Yes, oh god yes. Please don’t stop.”
“Oh, I won’t.” With his free hand, the man reached down and gripped the boy’s cock, stroking it now to the beat of his thrusts.
“You are such a nelly bottom. You want your cock pulled and your ass fucked, don’t you?”
“You love me filling you up, all the way full, don’t you?”
“Yes! Please don’t stop. Please.”
The man pushed the boy’s body back down and drove into the boy even harder than before. The power of the man’s hips shoved the boy into the couch. All the while the man never stopped stroking the boy’s cock.
The boy convulsed as he shot into the man’s hand and gripped onto the man’s dick with his ass. The man brought his hand full of cum to the boy’s face and slathered it all over. The man stuck his fingers in the boy’s mouth and the boy licked his own juices off the man’s hands. The pure ecstasy of the moment washed over the boy, fucked better, harder than he had ever been fucked before. His body was on fire; the heat consumed him whole.
The man grunted loudly, his final few thrusts shifting the couch a bit. The boy guessed the man had cum too. After his last stroke, the man slowly pulled his cock out of the boy and wiped the last bits of the boy on the boy’s sweaty ass.
As the boy laid on the couch, a panting sweaty ball, the man reached down, put his robe back on, and disappeared.
What could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes later, he reappeared. The boy had finally regained his normal breathing, but still felt the residual warmth of the fuck. But now what?
The man approached, staring at the boy.
“I called you a cab. Don’t worry; the fare will be charged to me. He should be here in five minutes.”
The man turned to leave the room again.
“Wait!” The boy didn’t know what to say, what to do, but he knew he wanted to see the man again. Knew he could not have this be just one night. “Please, I don’t want… I… When can I see you again?”
The man turned around, smiling. It was a warm grin, as if the boy’s response was both pleasing and unexpected. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, the man pulled out a card. Printed on it was a phone number, no name.
“Call this number in two weeks. I can give you once a month, no more.”
“Okay.” He turned around and walked away.
Somehow the boy made it home. Somehow the boy got up the next day and made it to class. Somehow the boy suffered through work. In all of this he couldn’t remember how he had done it. Friday was lost for him. His only thoughts, as he trudged through his day, were of the man.
And now, just a few days later, breathing in the luscious scent of the tank top, the boy’s mind was right back to that fancy apartment, that engulfing couch, and the man’s cock jammed deep inside him.
And before the boy realized what he was doing, his hand was already down his pants, stroking his cock, as he sat on his futon, sniffing his shirt, remembering his Thursday, and looking forward to his next encounter with the man.
Categorised as: Erotica
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