Buttboy Bobby Chapter 3
Bobby kicked the last sheet to the bottom of the bed and turned over, burying his face in the pillow. He had already stripped off his pajama bottoms, leaving him with nothing but a pair of white briefs and a tank top. He lifted his tank top, exposing his smooth, sweaty back to the cool night air.
Bobby hadn't been able to sleep for days, not since the last time he visited Dr. Tyler. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the incredible filling sensation of Dr. Tyler's cock buried deep inside of him. Once his mind focused on that, there was no sleeping.
Bobby turned onto his back and flung his eyes open, an anguished moan escaping his lips. It felt like his ass was a thousand degrees. Like there was a little furnace burning away between his legs preventing him from sleeping. Bobby's mother had begun to get suspicious about his trips to Dr. Tyler and Bobby had promised himself he wouldn't go again for at least two weeks. But it was proving more difficult than he had ever imagined.
He ran a finger up inside of his brief and gently brushed across his aching asslips.
"Oooooohhh," he moaned again.
His bottom was hot to the touch and slippery with sweat.
If only Dr. Tyler were there. God, what Bobby wouldn't do to put out this fire. That's what it was, he though, a fire. An itchy, tingly burning deep inside. He thought about going to the bathroom and splashing water on his ass again. But somehow, the more attention he gave it, the worse it got.
"OOOOOHHHH," he moaned a little louder, as he guided his finger inside.
He had never done that before. It never even occurred to him that his body might be satiated by anything other than Dr. Tyler's cock.
With a sudden desperate urgency, he thrust his finger in as deep as it would go.
The penetration sent shivers up his lean, muscular body, and up to the tip of his erect cock. That's nice, he though, a look of child-like glee crossing his boyish face.
Greedily he thrust another finger inside, bending his back painfully in order to allow for the maximal thrust.
"Uuuunnnh," he cooed.
Bobby stood up and threw his sweaty tank top to the floor. His eyes hungrily scanned the dark bedroom, searching for something, anything to assist him. Why hadn't he thought of this before? If he couldn't get Dr. Tyler's cock, at least he could find some sort of substitute to help him out in between visits.
His eyes passed over a row of teddy bears, his swimsuit, a catcher's mitt, his baseball uniform thrown casually over the back of a stool.
He lifted a long Lincoln-log, then quickly it threw back into a pile of toys. Too thin.
There had to be something at least a little bit thicker. His ass was spasming and all he could think about was the girth of Dr. Tyler's cock.
Then it occurred to him.
The stool.
He tossed his baseball uniform aside and flipped it upside down. The thick wooden leg was quite a bit bigger than Dr. Tyler's cock, but, at this point, Bobby's eyes were bigger than his ass. In order to get it nice and slippery, he opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around it. Oh yes, he thought with his mouth full, definitely thicker than Dr. Tyler's cock.
Over the next few weeks, Bobby spent every free minute alone in his room, pounding himself mercilessly on the stool. Every day he raced home from school, his erection tenting his shorts, his mind locked on the thought of the thick wooden rod. He went at the stool with eagerness and affection, the dedication and enthusiasm only a teenager can muster.
It was thanks to the stool that Bobby was able to stay sane in between visits to Dr. Tyler's office. It was also thanks to the stool that Bobby was able to find a completely different sort of satisfaction altogether-Peter MacNamara, the captain of the football team.
Peter hung around with Bobby's older brother, Lane. Peter had blond spiky hair, full lips and freckles. They gave him a fresh, youthful look that stood in stark contrast to his developed masculine body.
Lane and Peter were hanging out at the house. Bobby had tried to watch a little television with them, but Lane kept making fun of Bobby, calling him a faggot and throwing chips at him. Normally Bobby would have just ignored him, but something about Peter made him feel funny. Peter and Lane had just got back from riding bikes. They lay spread out, shirtless, on the couch. Trying not to be too obvious, Bobby admired Peter's broad chest and thick upper arms. Peter had his legs spread and Bobby could see up the loose leg of his nylon shorts, revealing the soft, pink skin of a very large set of balls. At the sight of it, Bobby's ass had begun to ache again and he shifted in his chair uncomfortably.
He called his brother an asshole and went to his room to be alone, stealing a backward glance at Peter's muscular torso.
Peter had noticed Bobby's admiration, but he didn't think much of it until twenty minutes later when he went to the bathroom. Upon taking a wrong turn, Peter accidentally opened the door to Bobby's bedroom.
Peter froze.
There was Bobby, his clothes littering the floor, impaled on an upturned stool.
Bobby was too caught up to notice Peter standing there. His body was beat red, glistening with sweat, his muscles tensed. Especially his leg muscles which were slowly lifting him up the length of the thick shaft and then lowering him into an impossibly deep squat. Bobby's head was thrown back, his lips parted and his eyes half-open. His hands were absentmindedly running across his hard torso, over the ridges of his abs and his pecs. He was breathing in rapid shallow breaths, his whole body struggling to contain his excitement.
Peter gaped. Although Bobby was deep in the thralls of a forbidden sexual act, his face looked so innocent with his long eyelashes fluttering and his wavy blond hair matted to his forehead. He looked like an angel.
Peter's hand dropped to his shorts and he began mindlessly kneading his erection.
There was something so vulnerable about the way Bobby looked. He was so devoted to his task, so intent to take as much of the leg as he could. He probably took close to a foot every time he squatted, his abs tightening up with the exertion. And he was so sincere in the way he would impale himself. There was so much longing and tenderness in every stroke. So much need.
It was completely transparent to Peter exactly what Bobby wanted and what he would do for it.
He is an angel, Peter realized, backing away from the door, the front of his shorts wet. A gift sent direct from God to Peter's cock.
Bobby was surprised when the next day after school Peter invited Bobby to spend the night at his house on Friday.
"Just a couple friends," he said casually, his thumbs jammed under his belt, framing his crotch. "But not Lane, so don't say anything to him, okay?"
"Okay," Bobby said, ready to concede almost anything to this gorgeous hunk. He could hardly speak. He was so excited about Peter even talking to him at school that he averted his eyes, blushing like a girl.
"You'll definitely have a real good time," Peter said, with a cocky nod of the head. "I'll make sure of that. But be careful you go easy, I don't want you too sore to perform," he added with a wink.
Bobby had no idea what Peter was talking about, but he nodded his head.
As Bobby turned to go to Algebra class, Peter gave him a quick pat on the bottom.
Bobby was beside himself.
When Bobby arrived at Peter's house with an overnight sack and a sleeping bag, he was surprised to find that nobody else would be coming.
"Everybody cancelled," Peter said with a nonchalant shrug. "That's okay isn't it?"
Okay? Bobby could hardly contain himself. This way it would be easier for Bobby to sneak looks at Peter's phenomenal body without getting caught.
Of course, Peter had had the evening all planned out, ever since he walked in on Bobby fucking himself silly.
Peter had answered the door in only a pair of loose nylon shorts, showing off the muscles Bobby had expressed so much interest in. And as the evening progressed he allowed Bobby a series of opportunities to get a nice good look at them.
"I hope you don't mind," Peter said, "but I didn't get to go to the gym today. I need to just do a few exercises. You can watch TV. or whatever."
Peter began doing push-ups, his legs spread a little wider than necessary. Bobby sat behind him on the couch, ogling Peter's muscular back. With an uncontrollable gasp, he caught a glimpse up Peter's shorts of his semi-erect cock, the slightly purple ridge of the cock-head peeking out of the nylon pouch.
"What's the matter?" Peter asked. "You don't look so good."
Bobby was red and panting, squirming his excited bottom against the seat cushion.
"Maybe you should get something to eat," Peter said, tugging his cock.
"C'mon let's go to the kitchen."
Bobby couldn't hide his erection as he followed Peter to the kitchen, but Peter pretended not to notice.
"I think there's something in the bottom of the fridge," Peter suggested. "Why don't you check?"
Peter stood behind Bobby, watching him bend over. He noticed that Bobby didn't crouch down, like most guys would, but rather bent at the waist, as though he couldn't help but reach his ass back and out. Peter couldn't help but admire his flexibility.
"Nothing? Hmmm, well here's some fruit." Peter took an apple from the countertop and tossed Bobby a banana.
"You look like you really need it," Peter said.
As they sat in front of the TV, Peter watched Bobby peeling the banana and wrapping his lips around it.
"Is that good?" Peter asked suggestively. "I mean you like it?"
"Yeah," Bobby said, his mouth full.
"Yeah, I bet you do. I bet you fucking love it."
Bobby didn't understand what Peter was driving at, but there was something about stuffing his mouth full in front of this shirtless stud that was making him so excited, he thought about going to the bathroom and fucking himself with a bottle of shampoo.
"Here, let me help you," Peter said, crossing to the couch.
He took the banana out of Bobby's hands, and slowly pushed it into Bobby's mouth.
"Don't bite down," he warned, "just let it slide in."
He stuffed about six inches of the banana back into Bobby's throat.
Bobby looked up into Peter's eyes, confused.
"I can tell you're real hungry," Peter sneered.
Peter had had almost enough play. His mind kept wandering to the image of Bobby, his head thrown back, punishing his ass on the wooden leg. Peter wanted to know what it would feel like to have Bobby ride him that way, to be on the receiving end of that desperate plunging.
"Let's go to my room," Peter yanked Bobby up by the arm and pulled him authoritatively down the hall, as a father might lead a child to a spanking.
Bobby meekly complied, admiring the force of Peter's hands.
"Okay," Peter said, closing the door to the bedroom behind him. "I've got something for you."
"What?" Bobby searched the room expectantly, as Peter tossed himself with a thud onto the bed.
"Something real special," he said, in a condescending voice, his hands crossed behind his head.
"Like what?" Bobby said, noticing how Peter's hairless obliques flared out before the narrow taper of his waist.
"Right there," he answered, rubbing his crotch but signaling with his eyes toward the desk chair.
Bobby looked at the chair.
"This?" he asked, confused.
"Yeah," Peter laughed, "turn it over."
Bobby's face turned even redder than before. He stared at the ground, his heart beating in his chest.
"C'mon, show a little appreciation, Bobby. Unless, of course, it's not big enough for you. Maybe the legs are a little too skinny. Is that the problem?"
"What do you mean?" Bobby mumbled at the floor.
"Jeez, you are picky. Well, maybe we can get you something a little thicker, huh? You'd like that? Something nice and big?"
Bobby was beginning to panic, but his cock was so hard it hurt.
"Maybe something like this?" Peter said, pulling aside his nylon shorts, his enormous erection, sticking straight up.
Bobby's eyes locked on it.
From the foot of the bed, he could see all the veins and ridges running down its length to Peter's balls. It wasn't as long as Dr. Tyler's, but Peter was right. It was very, very thick.
"What's a matter," Peter taunted, "isn't it thick enough for you?"
Bobby nodded his head, his face frozen in an expression of wonder.
"Well, how do you know?" Peter asked. "I mean until you've tried it."
Bobby shrugged.
"C'mon, Bobby," Peter said, his cock throbbing, "take off your clothes."
Bobby tore off his t-shirt and shirts, unwittingly giving Peter quite a show. Bobby was extremely built for his age.
"Good, now stand over me."
Bobby mounted the bed and stood over Peter, staring down at him, trembling.
"Now, show me how good you can squat on it," Peter jeered, his hands still locked behind his head.
Peter's words stung him. He felt deeply ashamed. Peter was another boy. It wasn't right. What kind of man would do this? Men were supposed to be strong, to dominate, to put women in their place. What if Peter told somebody? What would he do then?
But, staring down at the cut body of the football team captain and his enormous cock, none of these thoughts were strong enough to deter Bobby.
Instinctively Bobby lowered himself, arching his back, tightening his abs.
"That's right, bitch," Peter said as Bobby's ass lips nuzzled up against his cock head, the copious pre-cum, lubing him up.
As the cock inched its way in, stretching out Bobby's chute, Peter hollered as though cheering on one of his team mates, "OH YEAH!"
"This is just what you wanted, isn't it bitch?" Peter spat, as Bobby began to pound himself, arching his back, shamelessly whimpering for more cock.
The next morning, Bobby limped home, stiff-legged, with circles under his eyes and cum on his breath. He hadn't slept all night. He spent nearly five hours, riding on Peter's cock, taking load after load of creamy cum. He couldn't tell whether the limping was because his legs were tired or his ass was sore. He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. He could feel cum running down his leg.
Bobby smiled.
To be continued...
Bobbyonall4s@hotmail.com
I love to hear tops tell me what they would like to see happen to Bobby.