"That's nice."
"Yes."
"I've loved these last two weeks."
"So've I."
I stretched my body over his, leveraging my toes against his feet and kissed him, and then I rocked my hips back and forth. The pleasure, in our connected warm and wet loins, was mounting. It was time for the final orgasm, time for me to get dressed and go home. His deep-throated chuckle was there, even though my tongue was in his mouth tasting him.
"Can't I stay tonight, Chris? Janet's in Frisco again. Please let me stay."
"You know our deal. You come and get off on me every morning and evening. The nights belong to me, and I got to sleep during the day. No, it's time to go sweetheart. You stay, and you'll just get tired of me....of this." And he brought me to a searing climax, by twisting and turning and humping until the growing pleasure could grow no more, and the cum exploded onto our pissy bodies.
In the shower, I took him once more, never able to get enough of him, certain that by draining his balls of the luscious cream, he would remain faithful. Ah! How blind love is.
The apartment on Hilldale was actually a small house, of which there were four on a lot. Our's was one of two, that was placed in the back, with access by a narrow walkway from the street, or by a gate from the alley in the rear of the property. Hidden away, it had an air of secrecy about it that added intrigue.
Chris gave me a key, but asked that I call before visiting. "I have my friends, you know," he said, "And I don't want them to know about you. It's just like you don't want your wife or your friends to know about me. That's half the fun of it, don't you think, having a secret lover?"
I agreed with everything he said, even though I really didn't. I was his in every way. I belonged to him. My contract of submission was written in the flow of urine that covered me, the first few moments I spent with him. How it all happened is something I will never understand. I can't think about how I accepted it all so completely. That he was using me was obvious, even to me, who was blinded by love. Or was it love?
I ran to see him each morning on my way to the office, enthralled by his naked body lying on dirty sheets, satisfied by the taste of night-sweat in his pits, as I bathed him with drooling spit. In the evenings, on my way home, I stopped again so that he could urinate on me, sending his hot stream of piss to cascade onto my head, so that it could run down my face, streams of it pouring into my mouth. My friends, my partners, clients, anyone who knew me, would not believe, as I did not believe, yet it happened. 'What kind of fool was I' I wondered?
The money meant nothing. A few thousand dollars was no hardship, and it bought so much sensual pleasure, fulfilling long repressed needs. Knowing how much it enriched his life was reward enough. For I wanted him to have a good life, even though I was part of it for so little time.
I knew Janet wondered at the many absences at dinner, when I took him to an expensive restaurant. She was puzzled, at my leaving for the office so early each day. The disappearances, short though they were, on weekends, made her suspicious, but she was guilty in her own little world of intrigue, so said nothing.
I knew that the money I gave him opened new and exciting venues to him. I leased an automobile, so that he was now free to go where ever he chose, purchased new clothes, food and other necessities. I talked seriously about his going back to school. He pretended interest.
I think he loved me, needed me, but he tinctured it with cruelty. Hurting me or debasing me, seemed to excite him. He loved to make fun of me, to give me unexpected orders or demands, and I responded to them as he knew I would.
One late afternoon, we were driving on the Hollywood Freeway. The traffic was heavy and we moved slowly along the center lane. There was a pick-up truck to our right, which let out a beep of its horn.
"That's Eddie Clark, a friend of mine, " he said, and he bent down so that he could wave and smile at him. I looked at the driver of the truck. He was another young, hot-blooded stud, just as Chris was. He was laughing, shaking his hand up and down in a stroking motion. The sign of the jack-off.
Chris turned to me. "Take off your clothes," he said.
I didn't hesitate. I knew by this time, whatever he asked, was a demand.
"Yes Chris," I answered. And removed my tie, unbuttoned my shirt, kicked off my loafers and slipped out of the rest of my clothes. We were stopped in traffic at this point, and Eddie Clark was motionless next to us looking into our opened window at my naked hairy body. He was laughing, hitting the steering wheel with his hand for emphasis. And my cock stuck out of my lap like the Washington monument, and I laughed too, enjoying the exhibition I created for him.
And yet there were times when his cruel treatment upset me, sending me into a frenzy of irrational actions. One night, after a partners meeting at the office, I decided to visit Chris. My thinking was clouded by the mists of Tanquerey. I knew I would not be welcome. That was not what we agreed to, but I was turned on, randy, horny for the smell of him, the taste of his piss. Three months ago, I had never heard of the golden shower, but now I was a slave to it.
As I approached the little house I could hear the rhythmic pounding of a bass beat, so loud that I felt the vibrations of it. The stereo I had bought him was his most prized possession, and he always had it on at high volume. Good! He's home, I told myself feeling a twinge of exciting expectation. I'll surprise him.
Approaching the window, I heard the clapping of hands and the shouting of voices in time to the beat of the music. There was a flashing light escaping from a slit in one of the drapes that covered the windows. When I looked inside, I saw Eddie Clark. He was naked. His enormous cock waved back and forth as he shook his hips to the rhythm of the music. He was a beautiful boy, his slender hairless body accented by two dark nipples and a luscious cock, dancing in the beam of a strobe light that flashed on and off, like the lightning of a summer storm.
Watching him dance stretched my needs and hungers to the point of breaking. I pounded on the door, rang the bell, yelled to Chris to open it and let me in.
The drapes parted. Chris stood there, looking at me. Surprise, then a frown clouded his face. "Go away!" His lips said. "GO AWAY!" he yelled. And he let the drapes fall together, closing out the vision of paradise. He was naked too, as were others I saw, when I looked in the window. Frustration consumed me. My cock was erect, so hard it hurt. I wanted to go inside. To play. To have sex with Chris and his friends. To submit to their taunts, their laughing mockery, to service them in any way they demanded. Then anger took over. Chris was mine. He belonged to me. Hadn't I paid for him. Was love for sale or wasn't it?
I drove to the meat rack in west Hollywood. Chris had shown it to me one evening after we had had dinner. It was where he worked the street, he said laughing to himself, glad that he had me now, and hustling his body to strangers was no longer necessary. The first man I saw was sitting on a fire hydrant, his legs spread apart, his hand cupping his crotch. I slowed the car, he nodded, I stopped, and he got in.
"Where? I asked.
"Imperial. A motel. On Sunset. You can get a room there easy."
He sat in a chair with his legs spread apart. I knelt between them. Bending over his crotch I kissed his cock, sucked it into my mouth. I licked the sweat off his hairy testicles, and went back to his cock, taking it deep into my throat. By this time, I was crazed with lust. Out of control. He tried to pull my head away.
"You make me come, it'll cost you two fifty, mister," he sneered.
As if money mattered. And my fingers masturbated his sleeve of skin as my hungry mouth sucked the cock deep into my throat, and then out, and then in and out again, bobbing my head back and forth, up and down, and then instead of pulling my head away he held it steady as his cock grew with an increased flow of blood, and my wet saliva slickened his soaring cock, and his hips rose off the chair, and plunging it deeper into my throat, the great gobs of cum splashed inside.
When he left, I drove back to the street of hustlers. A tall man leaned against a telephone pole. He drew on his marlboro. The smoke clouded his face. I nodded, he smiled, opened the door and got in.
We lay naked on the bed. His smile never changed. Our contract was for his cum. His body was unwashed and stank. I licked it, loving the bitterness of the hair that grew under his arms. His cock was uncut, and when I slipped the foreskin back, I saw patches of stinking smegma caught in the ridge of the glans. I lusted at the sour taste, and sucked until he could hold off no longer. His cum was hot and sweet and sticky as paste. And I kept sucking until he could stand it no longer, and with a grunt and a grin, he pulled me away.
I went back to the street. Again and again I brought the hustlers back to my room. "Piss on me!"
"Shit yes. I love pissing on a rich cocksucker like you. You think you're better than anybody, don't you, with your classy clothes and fancy car. Shit yes, I'll piss on you."
"Bend over. I want to suck your asshole."
"Yeah man, clean the fuckin' shit out of it."
"I want your cock, that big fat piece of meat."
"Jesus yes, suck it man,.........AAAAAAAAH!"
I could feel the crusty stickiness of piss and cum that covered my body. My mouth tasted the remnants of a dozen anonymous men. I couldn't remember what any one of them looked like. Only the taste and smell was reminder of how I had debauched myself. Yet I had no regrets. No shame. Only the need for release, for my cock soared toward the ceiling, hard, erect, demanding an ejaculation, as I remembered their orgasms, there shouts of pleasure, when I drew them to a climax, but not reaching one myself. I began to stroke, the gripping of tight fingers around the shaft, the slow pump of my hand driving me to a final culmination of a lustful night. And then I thought of Jerry. Oh God! Dear sweet Jerry! Could he possibly be thinking of me too?"
I looked at my watch. It was three-fifteen, But the incovenience of time meant nothing to me. Randy lust dominated. I gathered my clothes that had been tossed around the room with such abandon, and holding them in my arms, ran to my car, parked outside. I didn't realize I was naked until the cool breeze brushed against me, bringing my luscious rank smell with it.
I barely scratched the surface of the door when he opened it. A flash of delight illuminated his face. Delight and consternation. Though he smiled, his voice carried the sound of worry.
"Mr Brent! I can't believe it's you. Are you alright, Mr Brent?.......Come in, come......"
He led me into the bedroom and laid me down upon the cool, silk sheets. Pink and fresh, they smelled of lavender. A contrast to my smell, which he didn't seem to notice. I looked at his peaches and cream skin, so free of blemish, the sparkle of pleasure darting from clear blue eyes. And when I tasted the freshness of his lips when he kissed me, I realized that I was back to sanity, I was home again. He was the rock I was searching for, and I hung on to him for fear of drowning in the whirlpool of depraved lust.
From somewhere, he produced a basin of warm soapy water, a sponge and a towel, and he washed the stink from my body, and as he cleaned a spot of filth, he kissed it, grunting his pleasure. When he was done, I felt as comfortable as a nurtured baby. Leaning forward he took my erect cock into his mouth and sucked the lust away. He folded me into his arms with a lovers embrace, and I fell into a deep sleep that lasted a long time. My dreams were comforting ones. The first good dreams I had had in years. They relaxed me, rejuvenated me, and when I awoke, having him there beside me, our fingers entwined in a hold that said he would never let me go, I knew all was right with the world again.
Though he didn't ask, I told him of what I had done the night before. His only reaction was to hold onto me with a firmer grip and to kiss me with soft lips.
"I love you," he said, simply. And I loved him and I told him so, over and over. And he believed me. We sealed our love with silent sucking lips, and I knew that at last, I was where I belonged, and that I would never leave him.
And then the telephone rang.......
joe wilson I hope you liked my story if you did please let me know
joewilson@aol.com