Bit by bit, I became aware of my Amir's stirring, remembered that his was the warmth wrapped around me, the tender shaved face so near mine, the heavy, elusive fragrance of spent pheromones and natural hair oils and melted gel and good healthy sweat. Mmm... I loved waking up with him. Plastered in our mixed perspiration and tacky with each other's cum, the cum that had rubbed into our bellies and thighs while we held each other in sleep, bruises and bites and welts inflicted by each other's mouths and hands, his dense silken black curls tangled up with my hair and eyelashes because we'd rested our heads so closely together. The supple skin of his neck against my sleep-slackened lips. His smell making me want to crush that slender half- sleeping body even more closely to mine. I could think of nowhere more comfortable, nothing I'd rather open my eyes to. This precious creature.
I wasn't going to let him in on any of that, of course, but I thoroughly savored the few small moments before he came fully awake, smiled at me, asked how long I'd been awake and staring at him like that.
"Not long," I lied, "Maybe thirty seconds."
"You look like something's wrong."
"Just a little sore." I gave a half-smile.
Up this close, I could see him blush a little thinking of what he'd done to me.
"Um... if you want to hit me back now, that's OK."
I couldn't tell whether he was serious.
"No... I'll get you back in my own sweet time."
He smiled. "Want me to rub you now?"
"Sure." I turned over onto my stomach; he pulled the comforter away and laid his hands on my still-raw butt, one palm on each cheek. He rubbed them very lightly over the wealed surface, thumbs suggestively grazing the area just adjacent to my crack. He made appreciative sounds as he ran his fingers and lips over well-chastised flesh. Murmuring how pretty it was, how dark the welts were against my ivory skin, all in between feathery little kisses. I remembered who he had compared me to.
"Did you mean that about Qasim?" I murmured, sighing into the ever-more-ardent attentions of his loving mouth.
"Qasim?" I could feel his lips against my crack as he said his brother's name.
"About getting hard watching him get spanked?"
He stopped and sat up with his hand still on my butt. Maybe I had picked the wrong time to ask. "Sick, isn't it? My own brother." "Well, he is hot." I spoke with a certain amount of caution, not wanting Amir to get the idea I was as attracted to Qasim as I was to him (I wasn't; golden-skinned Qasim would be a welcome treat, but Amir was my prince--he had me completely hooked whether he liked it or not, perhaps more hooked than I wanted to be). He didn't seem concerned about that, however. He was stuck on the whole incest thing.
"You can say that. He's not your brother."
I didn't have a brother, of course, or even any cousins I was particularly close with. My mom's sister in Tel Aviv did have a fine-looking dark-eyed son close to my age. His name was Zev, and I'd seen him in person maybe twice since puberty. He was rather icy, but, on consideration, I'd gladly lay him, or at least smack him around a little, if given half a chance. "I'd still think so if he was," I laughed. "You'd have to be blind not to appreciate the tasty rump on that boy. Didn't you see me looking?"
"Yeah. When he asked if I was going to spank him, you looked about to burst. What would you have done if I had?"
"My laundry," I said, "`Cause it's a safe bet I would've sprayed my shorts." I caressed his hair, arranging the curls--sticky with gel and sweat--so that they didn't hang in his eyes. "It's a good thing you didn't; I'd never be able to show my face in the Khalili house again."
"I've never spanked him in front of anyone..." Amir said, in a voice that might be described as "intriguingly musing". I filed the statement away in a mental cabinet labeled "Loose Ends Worth Exploring", and asked my next question.
"How many times have you done it anyway?"
Might as well gather some information, since it appeared Amir's concern over his attraction to Qasim had momentarily distracted him from giving my ass some much-needed oral comfort.
"Not nearly enough." There was that sweet evil smirk, to which I was developing an alarming Pavlovian reaction--my dick jumped whenever I saw it.
"No, really. Rahman said not many."
"Twice. Once about a year and a half ago and once about two months ago. If Rahman's not around, I get left in charge. That's the Khalili pecking order." He paused, reflecting. "Salim needs it more often."
"He's a little cutie too."
Amir blushed. "He is." He ran his hand down the side of my face. Not making much of the gesture. "And what about Rahman?"
I played dumb. The subject of Rahman made me uncomfortable, made my face hot and pink as Amir's. "What about him?" "You're attracted to him." Wasn't a question.
I pressed my lips together and spoke with diplomatic care. "You have a very good-looking family."
"Oh, god..." Amir groaned, throwing a hand over his forehead in mock exasperation. "You mean my dad too, don't you?"
"No comment."
"Aa-ron!" He gave me a hearty slap on my welted ass. "Man, I can believe you!"
"Well, you do get your looks from somewhere."
"Uggghhh..." Amir shook his head.
"So--tell me about it."
"About what?"
"Spanking Qasim. Did you do it with your hand, or what?"
"Hand the first time, hairbrush the second."
"And?"
"I liked doing it by hand--his ass is like silk, my brother's is." The crimson in Amir's face ramped up. I got an incredible kick out of making him blush. He looked like a choirboy. If there are Arab choir-boys. Maybe in the Coptic Church or somewhere. "But he reacts better to the brush."
"How so?"
"Wiggles around. Clenches up his cute little butt. He makes the hottest noises, little screamy moans. Sometimes in the process of squirming around he'd end up spreading his legs wide enough for me to see inside his crack. I remember thinking I last saw that--that part of him-- probably, when we were little kids, maybe, if ever. I saw the little dark hairs around his hole. He's got those golden buns, but all the skin in his crack is darker. I could hardly see the hole itself, or I'd tell you about it--I know you'd be interested."
"It's probably a lot like yours."
"Maybe. It wasn't much like yours, from the little bit I saw. The coloring was different. Yours is very pink," (My cue to blush harder myself--an inevitable reaction when the color of one's asshole is the topic of the moment) "I guess because you're lighter-skinned. You've got about the same amount of hair, but it shows up more." Amir smirked again, shaking his head. "Just between me and you, I think you clean yourself better back there. Not that Qasim is really dirty or anything. But I'd make him wash if I were going to eat his hole."
I was getting pretty hot, listening to this. That he'd paid so much attention to his brother's dark little backdoor. And the thought of Amir's lovely mouth slobbering all over his little brother's freshly-cleaned pucker--the fact he'd actually said it--made me let out a small groan.
"Does he know?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you're looking at him like that."
Amir shrugged. "Maybe. But usually when he's getting smacked he doesn't notice much of anything... I know he jerks off afterwards. I can hear him from the bathroom door, if I listen carefully. You know--sighing, moaning. The kinds of noises I make when I do it. Usually I'll go back to my room and do the same after I'm done listening to him." He paused to put a hand through his hair. "I can't believe I'm telling you this."
"Why? We've already done just about everything, and then some."
"Like I said--he's my brother. It's hard to get around that in my mind. I mean, he's a beautiful kid, I know that. But I remember him when he was four, five, running around getting scraped up and whining about it. I remember in fourth grade coming to his defense when this kid from our bus stop beat him up, back in the last town we lived in. Teaching him to ride a bike. Stuff like that. Once, when we were eleven and twelve, Rahman left us at the state fair to go off with his friends and we had to find our own way home. It was sort of fun, I remember, but we thought we'd have to sleep behind the cow pens or something. Dad wasn't home, and there weren't any buses out that far. Eventually we ran into Qasim's friend's mother at the 4-H booth and she took us... and yes, before you ask, Rahman got smacked for it. And, yes, we got to watch."
"Do tell."
"My dad had him bend over and used the hairbrush-back on his butt. I was turned on, I know, but I would never have admitted it. I could barely even think it. I'm not sure how I would have characterized my reactions at the time. Maybe I just thought I was feeling happy because Rahman had done something bad to me and was being punished for it. I wished I could be the one hitting him--I thought about it later that night, in bed. I also remember thinking for a second that it would be good to be in his position, getting the brush. Being half-naked. You would've loved it. His cute eighteen year old ass was soo red, so sore. I could tell he was really sorry. He looked great bent over and humiliated like that, really beautiful." Amir licked his lower lip. "As a kid, I don't remember ever looking at Rahman without thinking he looked great. I'd compare myself to him as I got older, my build and my face and everything. Everybody always talked about how handsome Rahman was, and how the rest of us were going to look just like him one day."
"Or better," I added..
"Glad you think so."
"Of course I do." I pulled him closer to me and kissed him. His dick was long and hard now from the talk about Qasim and the memory he'd just related. "I guess I've wanted you since the day I saw you."
Remembering the adorably shy Arab boy showing up at the start of eighth grade, the sweet soft smile and downcast gaze disguising a formidable and incisive wit. How was it that I'd always admired him--I remembered it now as if some blockage had dissolved--always admired the strong grace of his every gesture, yet I had never allowed him to come into my furtive thoughts at night when I lay in bed jerking off and thinking absently and automatically of certain of the other boys at school, or trying not to think at all.
"That so?"
"Subconsciously, yeah, I think so."
Amir shifted, reached behind him, and--giving me a jolt, making me understand what a truly lucky boy I was--traced his finger down his own dark crevice. "So, you want to try again?" he whispered, with that game, naughty smile on his face.
It was the right time. He was relaxed, content, still very well-satisfied with himself and the day's "accomplishments"--my newly-welted and still-stinging backside, which he glanced at approvingly as he began to fondle my cock between his hands. When I was at full mast, he let me go and moved back, watching as I reached into my bag under the bedside table and brought out the lube--giving him, in the process, another generous eyeful of my pink crack and my ever- fascinating crimson stripes. He couldn't resist reaching to stroke them, to knead my buttocks with palpable pleasure. It didn't really hurt; his touch was very tender, a soft tingling heat. Cupping the nape of his velvety neck in my palm, I kissed that mischievous little mouth, long and gentle. The way he kissed back, firm and muscular, yet not overly insistent, a kiss that said everything would come in due time, that responded to some new spontaneous rhythm between and around us, only confirmed that he was ready, completely. As we parted, he took the lube without saying a word, squeezed some out, and lay on his back against my pillow, smiling the dreamy smile I always pictured him wearing when he jerked off alone. He lathered his fingers up, still smiling, not looking at me, as if the thorough coating of each elegantly-formed digit were a task requiring his close attention.
Then he locked eyes with me and reached down between his spread thighs. My mouth dropped open as I watched my handsome once-shy Amir use the tips of his first two fingers to slowly spread his own puckered, purple-brown flower. He slid his forefinger inside, opening his thighs further and using the other hand to keep his butt-cheeks appropriately spread. His thick eyelids fluttered shut; he inhaled smoothly, trying to ease himself as much as possible into this sexy self- invasion. My mouth felt hot and dry, and yet full of saliva. My cock-head rested, ready, against my belly. His too poked at his naval, undaunted--or perhaps even stimulated--by his current discomfort. He eased the second finger in delicately, letting out a tiny cry and squeezing his eyes shut as his butt swallowed it by quarter-inches. Gasping, he pumped the two fingers inside his hole, wiggling them to widen it as I had before. My Amir fucking himself on his own fingers, his lips open, his face flushed high on the cheekbones.
"Oh..." His voice bubbled up from his throat. "Feels so good..." He opened his eyes and grinned widely. "Now you do it. We have to get me ready."
He popped the two fingers out, grimacing a little because he'd done it too quickly. Then up on his hands and knees, bottom up and legs open, revealing the dark split he'd so recently played with. Still I had to spread him more myself before I could see everything I wanted. The inner butt flesh shading gradually from the golden cheeks to the ruddy-brown crack with its few shiny little hairs, to the puckered dark prize glistening with lube.
It was much easier this time; his butt was so relaxed from the orgasm earlier and from the attention he's given it with those naughty fingers. After I spanked it a bit, to his delighted acquiescent moans, he was ripe and purring, opening himself to two, then three, of my lube- slathered fingers. He submitted; he knew it was inevitable that he'd get fucked. It was inevitable that I'd get fucked too, I thought, as the fourth of my hungry fingers teased open his anal ring. Our passion for each other was too complete. We would, eventually, probe one another's willing bodies in every way imaginable, mental and physical. Unsettling, but I couldn't care at this moment, the final moment of preparing his sleek passage.
I removed the fingers carefully, one by one. He groaned, but said nothing. He knew what was coming next. I petted his back and got up on my knees behind him. His body relaxed and his strong butt opened to invite me. I inserted the head, gasping again at the shocking, wet-silk stricture, so tight even after the fingers.
He'd described Qasim as having an ass like silk; he may just as well have been talking about his own full firm mounds. The only thing---or so I thought now---that I might like better than spanking them was fucking the hole between them. They hugged my cock lovingly as I barged in past the halfway mark, and I could hear him gritting his teeth to keep the cries in.
The view of his lean brown back rippling, his deep pained inhalations as I penetrated him--fully, really--for the first time, was utterly sublime. My own breath caught in my throat and I almost cried with pleasure. His dark slick hole sucked me in still deeper. I watched his back arch. Ecstasy, to see that. The rich, impossibly fine honey-brown skin stretched supply over the expanse of slim muscle, a balance of ridged and smooth areas, the knots of his spine visible toward the neck, the broad-framed slenderly-muscled shoulders, all of it heaving liquidly and showing the damp glow of exertion. He made choking gasps in his throat, as if I had very gently stabbed him in the gut. Which, in a sense, I had. I pulled on his hair and nibbled his neck as his cheeks pressed against my balls. It all got rapidly very sweaty. We were both soaked; our sweat ran together and streaked my sheets. Frightening passion, sudden and jarring, edging on dangerous urgency, all the awkwardness and unpleasant pain evaporated in the face of our combined heat. I was assaulted by sensation--the scent of his sweat and faint cologne and the gel melting off his beautiful, hopelessly-mussed black hair, and the agonized sounds he made as I probed his butt, and the sweet suffocating heat of his bowels, the fine meaty flavor of the back of his neck as I leaned forward again to kiss it, the sight of the wet curls pasted to his sumptuous olive flesh, his pulse throbbing hotly just beneath.
And when he started shoving that endlessly pleasure-giving bottom up into my hips and asking for it harder in barely-decipherable breaths, I almost passed out. I had to close my eyes and force my mind blank to keep from shooting. When the urge passed--or at least withdrew, for the time being--I trusted myself to begin accommodating his wishes, thrusting sharply into his damp cramped recesses, sliding out again to his growly excited moans. I leaned forward and pressed my chest against his dripping back; I cupped his full soft balls, then his whole shaft, so rigid the veins were evident under the tender skin. In one hand I gripped his sweat-slick hip. He wiggled his ass on my cock, squirming to take as much pleasure as possible from me. And as he delighted himself the feel of his inner flesh twisting around me with a naturally perfect grip forced rhythmic cries of anticipation from my slack mouth. Drool trickled onto his back. My sweet Amir.
He leaned forward again and parted his thighs to give me deeper access, caution ebbing fast as pleasure mounted, my balls slapping his ass while he moaned way down in his throat, gasped a my deepening thrusts, even screamed. I confess I couldn't have quit fucking him if I'd wanted to. I hit him a few times on his fine young rump in between relishing thrusts. His rectum was slick with pre-cum. He pushed himself back hard against me. I reached to grope his cock again and he was as stiff as I'd ever felt him, white-hot and dripping. I teased his balls lightly, increasing my tempo. But of course I didn't want to jerk him. I wanted to drill that perfect deep- throated butt until he erupted all on his own.
I pulled him back again against my chest and sat his butt on my lap, bouncing him on my cock, never withdrawing more than two inches or so. I did this quick and hard in a transport of abandon, through the red mist of sensuality watched his erection jump against his flat belly. He was thrashing his limbs, moaning helplessly, legs akimbo. I tugged on his hair to pull his head to the side so I could kiss him; I gnawed on the flesh just below the sticky curls at the back of his neck. Finally, he uttered a thrumming shuddery cry "Ohhhh.... god.... Aaron..." and hot cum sprayed from him.
I kept fucking him another fifteen or twenty seconds, and then I came myself, an orgasm that drove a hot rush through my brain as well as all along my body. Felt like I could've filled the week's quota for a thriving sperm bank, there seemed to be so much of it going up my Amir's heavenly passage. When it was over, I wrapped my quivering arms around him and kissed the soft moist spot between his neck and shoulder with sloppy, half-exhausted hunger. He was baking-hot, dripping, salty, delicious.
We lay together breathing for what felt like a long time, me on top of him. I was soft, still inside him; his hole felt stretchy and sticky. Then I pulled out, reluctant, and lay facing him, wrapped in his damp over-heated embrace. Every so often, he would moan and shift against me, and pull me tighter into his moist smooth chest. His face was flushed, his dark curls clinging. His eyelashes full of tears, the eyes themselves warmly unfocused. But he was hugging me so tight---he couldn't be hurt. Could he?
After a time, we were able to ease out of one another's grasp. And suddenly Amir got up, looking a bit sheepish, and went into the tiny, cramped half-bath by my closet (which I barely ever use; it doesn't even have a mirror over the sink, or anywhere to keep your Tylenol). Once inside, he inexplicably turned on the water, and I realized with some embarrassment what he was doing in there. Then I quickly began to become worried--what if I had hurt him, or made him sick? That could happen, couldn't it? Guilt made me feel cold. I pulled on my boxers and curled on my side under the sheets, waiting. Finally, I heard the toilet flush, and he stepped out.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah--just--came on all of a sudden. I don't know. I'm sorry; I know it's gross."
"No--no--just--you're not hurt, are you?"
"Of course not." He lay down beside me and slid his arms around me. "I'm just the opposite of hurt. So stop looking so fucking grim, OK?" He squeezed me tight and arranged the sheets so they covered us both, then planted a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. "Today was one of the hottest days of my life, you know that?"
"God. Mine too." I nibbled his neck affectionately. "You can do me next time, if you like."
"Really?"
"Really."
"You better mean that, Eisen." He pulled back, giving me a playfully stern look.
"I mean it, I mean it. I swear, if I don't, you can switch me again, or whatever else you like."
"You mean that?"
"Dammit, Khalili."
He grinned, all white teeth, soft dimples and shining black eyes. "Just--"
"No `just'. I mean it. Gimme a kiss."
He did. We curled up again, limbs tangled, and our breathing evened out. I thought maybe we'd sleep, but after awhile, we got up and pulled on our clothes, both our bellies growling after our vigorous indoor exercise. We made sandwiches in the kitchen and carried them back upstairs to eat sitting on the old sofa I keep across from my bed for overnight guests (Amir would not be sleeping on it tonight, of course). We sat very close while eating, practically on top of each other, and afterwards leaned together, dozing happily, stomachs full and lust satisfied. Sometime in the middle of the night I roused him and pulled him into bed with me, where we slept a drained but pleasant sleep.