Game Stop

Game Stop 1 All the characters in this story are played by electrons. This story is Copyright 2015 by Soaringtoad. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission. Please donate to Nifty: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

Game Stop

"What the fuck have you been eating?" I asked Tim, my twin.

"Same things as you."

"Did my cum taste like... fucking... fucking... bitter bubblegum?"

"Yeah, that's pretty accurate."

"Christ, why didn't you say something?"

"Well, I, uh, sort of just did."

"I meant with your words, not your fuckin' nuts."

I guess all brothers kind of push and shove, even identicals like us. I suppose the occasional sprock from hell is just the price you pay for never having to stay horny for long.

Tim and I have sucked each other for as long as I can remember, even as little guys. It's just different when you are real young. There isn't that need to climax. It's nice when it happens, but things don't build up and make you desperate for it. But of course, once you get into puberty, the itch starts, and once you can sprock, you pretty much have to, for the relief. Otherwise you go blind or grow hair on your back and shit.

I'm Jon, by the way. So Tim and I were born at a very early age. We share a birthday, and 23 chromosomes and dick size and everything else. That's another thing about sex with your twin: don't fucking criticize my body, cuz you're lookin' at your own, bro. So you can't really get very self conscious. Except if you didn't wipe or something.

So. I'm looking at Tim right now. He's about my age (within 17 minutes, in fact) and about my height. All right, that's not getting us anywhere, is it?

"Hey, Tim. Describe us."

"What? Why?"

"I'm writing something and I can't attach a picture."

"Oh. Well, we're about five one or two and about, I dunno, what do we weigh?"

"I don't know. Could you stand on the scale and just tell me?"

"Uh, nine... one oh... one oh... one hundred, even."

"And we're what, five two?"

"Yeah, they measured us at the doctor's last week, it was, like five one and three quarters and 99 pounds. They said we were too skinny."

Well, we kind of are, kind of, actually. We sort of have that waif look, sort of. We have cheek bones and hip bones and the hip bone's connected to the back bone. And we have this sort of dark ash brown hair and we keep it fairly short and arched eyebrows and long lashes and thin lips that are pretty red and round butts. Oh and long fingers and blue-grey eyes. And pubies. That's new this last year or so. Not that many, and they are slightly darker than our hair. Our head hair. At first, they were blond and straight, but then darker ones started coming in and they got curly. And our cum got thicker and lumpier.

I read this part back to Tim. He says, "Like they want to know about our lumpy cum."

"Just sayin'. Besides, you never know with these guys. And what else?"

"Well, we're white and we have long toes, and we're circumcised. And your farts stink and mine don't."

"Nuh-uh. That's not true because I never fart and I never lie."

"And we both like to suck cock and our asses are fun to cum in."

"I imagine everyone's ass is fun to cum in."

"I don't know about that, but yours sure is. And what the fuck kind of thing are you writing, anyway."

"Just a story about the mall, yesterday."

"Hunh. Are you gonna say anything about those high schoolers from a couple of months ago?"

"I might. I'll have to see how it goes."

So. About yesterday. We sort of went hunting.

Oh, yeah, I forgot. Uh, sex with your twin is definitely better than whacking off. Definitely. Especially because he knows what you like. But it's still a little like sex with yourself. Especially when you've been doing it for... I mean, like, since you were two. That's like eleven years. That's a lot of dick, and it gets pretty familiar, if you know what I mean. No, I guess most of you don't.

And another thing. I think boys are pretty cute. In fact, I think we aren't bad, ourselves. But when I start staring at my own twin's ass, it's time to change things up.

And another thing. (I said that before, didn't I? Oh well.) Have you ever whacked off, and you shoot, and your nuts are drained, but you're still horny? I mean horny FOR something, not just needing to sprock. It's a different kind of pressure. And the weird thing is, you sometimes know what the hunger is for, but sometimes you don't 'till something happens that puts a finger on it, or near it? Ever had that?

So we occasionally go hunting for dick-in-the-wild. Strange dick. I mean, reasonably normal dick, just attached to strange boys. Or... you know what I mean. A fresh face. Dick face. Fresh dick. There. That'll have to do: "Fresh Dick." But we still call it "Strange," just for shorthand.

We set some goals for this time. The boys should be our own age, within say 6 months, They should be cute, or at least reasonably so. They should be slender and just a little bigger than us. So we could feel a little dominated if it suits us, but just sort of as a mind game. And they should have a nice disposition. No thuggy bully cowboy fucking jerks. Just some reasonably good looking nice kids that deserve to get their dicks sucked. Oh, and there should be two. And they shouldn't stink too bad. I mean like yeast or something. A little bit of tacos might be overlooked, if they had a high boner factor otherwise.

So, we bathed and brushed and dried our hair and dressed in shorts that were identical and tee shirts that were different colors and slightly too big. So you could tell we're identicals, but it didn't look like we're trying to be all disgusto and twinny about it.

I will tell you from experience -- a lifetime's experience, in fact -- that people are truly fascinated by identical twins. So having people notice that fact about us is a good way to attract and hold their attention. The oversized teeshirts are just part of the whole waif thing. It's our stealth version of emo. Not accidental.

So, anyway, we had to take the bus over. We were both real quiet. I, for one, wanted this so bad, the desire almost felt like fear. I don't need to ask Tim. He was the same.

Anyway, so we get to Westbury Mall and wander around a little, then settle on the Game Stop as a good place to seek quarry. We sat on some benches in the middle of the main part of the mall and sort of stewed in our need for a couple of minutes. I looked over at Tim. He looked over at me. We were both having trouble keeping our mouths from hanging open. I looked at him, he looked at me. We both broke into a sort of crooked half-grin. We each knew just how the other felt. I half regretted leaving the house, cuz I needed it so bad. But we had our reason for doing this. The need pooled in my dick and balls. If I didn't do something, I was gonna be in pain.

After sitting on the benches across from the Game Stop and squirming and craving and suffering for a while, we see a promising pair go in. Honestly, at that point they only needed to be primates, but they're actually reasonably cute. One has a shock of blond hair and is maybe five-five or so. The other one is a little shorter and has hair a little darker than ours. Good round boy asses on both. And they both had sort of innocent faces.

Time to launch. Luckily, we are both pretty avid gamers. Tim goes in first and stands next to them, on the right. He makes some comment about the game they're looking at. That gets them started talking to him, and they both see him. Then I waddle up, drowning in my juice, and jump into the conversation from the other side. In the exact same voice. That gets their attention. They both look over at me and then back at Tim and the hook was set: twin fascination sets in. Oh, God. Gimme, please.

So we shoot the shit with them and end up in the food court with them, getting a drink. I won't bore you with he said, he said, and all that. But the key moment was when I put my hand on Jim's arm. He was the dark haired one. I was so filled with the need, I know he felt it. Like magnetism. Like static electricity.

I keep talking and remove and replace my hand a half a dozen times. Jim doesn't object. In fact, he blushes and gets goose bumps. I'm not sure he knows why he's reacting this way. But he is, and he likes it. That's when I figured we probably had this one boy in the bag.

Meanwhile, Tim's working on Ben. He has Ben's hand laid out palm up, and he's touching it in various places, sliding his finger around and talking about a data glove. Ben's mouth is starting to hang open. I had an unfair advantage: I could actually see Ben springing a bone as Tim touched him. Ben keeps kind of moving his neck and shoulders around, and moving his head around a little, but he's being careful not to withdraw his hand and break contact with Tim. He's mouth breathing and he's blinking sort of slow.

Tim looks over at me, sort of casually and I give him the nod. Ben's clearly the leader of the two, so Tim puts the move on him. I see Tim lean in and say something to Ben. The goosebumps are immediate. Ben shivers and, after a minute, reaches down to move his growing throbber to a more comfortable arrangement. He half wakes up and then slides back down into the syrup.

I know what Tim was just telling him. He just came right out and said we wanted to suck both their dicks, if that was okay, and we knew a safe place. Young waifs want to suck you, if that's okay.

Ben's was in the bone trance. Droopy eyes and all. You could actually see it set in. His posture got real soft, and when Tim closed his fingers over Ben's hand, Ben automatically closed his hand over Tim's. And then he shivered.

By then, I'd been tickling Jim's arm and he had that sleepy look in his eyes, too. His were a soft, rich brown. And the look in his eyes was soft, and lazy, and distant, and he had goosebumps and my leg was pressing warm against his and our hairs were tickling together and he wasn't shrinking away from me.

I told Jim the same thing. I had been tenderly stroking his palm and I could practically hear his precum bubbling to the surface. Or was that mine? His eyes connected with Ben's for a second, softly, their mouths open a little. They both closed their mouths and swallowed, and then slid back under. By now, Tim had his other hand resting softly on Ben's leg, almost on the inside, within shouting distance of the goodies, and Ben's smiling dreamy and drunken, sort of in Jim's general direction.

Tim rises to his feet and has Ben by the sleeve and he turns his face toward us and says "Let's go," sort of soft, to avoid breaking the trance. We all stand up with boners and my need is so heavy and we head in pairs, me with Jim, to the service closet off the hallway by the east entrance to Mall 10.

It was still unlocked (whew!). We'd checked an hour ago. We usher our guests in and lock the door. Now it's time to play the next level, the close-up level. Most boys our age are not into kissing, so that isn't the first move. I put my hand on his chest, over his heart, and say friendly things to him. I tell him he's cute and I want him to cum. I lay my hand over his dick and I can see his tits get hard. I take his hand and kneel before him.

"I'd really like to suck you, if you'll trust me. My twin is gonna suck Ben. I like you and you're cute and I want to make you feel good. I want you to cum. Tim is gonna suck Ben." That all seemed to work for Jim.

I let his hand go and reach to put my fingers inside the waist band of his shorts, against the hot skin of him, and begin to ease them down. He passively allows me, just standing there panting. I can see the shape of his hard meat and I run my hand over him again and make him groan. It feels nice and big. I feel empty and trembly with need and my heartbeat pounds in my teeth.

Tim is kneeling next to Ben, and has his hand up the leg of Ben's baggy shorts. Ben is a goner: Tim clearly has his hand on his goodies and Ben's mind has gone blank. Ben is moving in dreamy slow-mo, his head lolling side to side a little.

Jim just stands there breathing, as I slowly draw down the shorts over his grey boxer briefs. They slide and the end of his hard dick appears, pushing out on the soft fabric, pointed up at an angle toward his hip. Nice size. Fat. Even my feet tingle. I run my fingers on it, gave the warm shaft a little squeeze. Jim would have moaned if his voice had worked. The sound just sort of wheezed out of him as a whistle-y breath.

I don't know about you, but by the time I have a boy's dick in my hand, my brain's not working so good, either. The object was to get those undies down and that dick in my mouth as smoothly as I could. Once the head was past my lips, young James would be mine. There would be no turning back. There would be only one thing on both our minds.

I always tell a boy he has a nice dick. It's good manners and makes them grateful. Cuz they do worry.

"Ohhhh, nice dick," I breathe, holding him up along his belly, kissing the underside from base to tip. "Niiiice." And it was. And his tip was wet.

When I bent him to the side, Jim pulsed hard and seemed embarrassed about it. I touched his balls with my fingers and told him it was fine, it was perfect, things were gonna be just right. His balls were cute and fuzzy. I told him they were nice and big. They paused and then drew up, and the fuzz was short so you could see his bag skin and the texture was cute when he was tight. I ran my fingers tickly to cup him, then held his boner aside and kissed his bouncy bag reverently, taking my time so he'd notice they were being admired. That the waif boy found them sexy.

And then I took his beautiful meat into my mouth. And it was cocksucker heaven. His skin was soft and his cock was hard. The head was proud and the ridge stood fat and glad. He smelled good and he tasted good and his cock swelled up and it was hot and fat and tender in my mouth and the boy was tender and his hands gentle in my hair and you could just feel his gratitude in how he moved. And his dick began to move, sweet and tentative and virginal, in my mouth.

Tim had Ben in a full hand grip and his knob still stuck out. My twin was tenderly working Ben's knob with his wet lips, making the poor boy sag and whine. I pulled myself out of penis trance enough to catch Tim's gaze, and our eyes let each other know it was extra special with these boys. But the penis magic drew me back under, back to the taste and the texture and the way the ridge dragged out of my throat and felt so meaty, and the grateful dreamy movements of the boy and his fat fuzzy bag drawing up. He smelled so nice and sweet and so much like a boy, yet not like my twin. And his penis got bigger and the head got bigger, like a smooth, satiny grateful balloon.

His cock was bigger than mine, than ours. It was hot and fat between my lips and tender where it entered my throat that tiny bit. Just enough to make me thirsty, desperate to get a little more, to get him a little deeper. Maybe to touch the back. We both enjoyed the struggle and it made him harder and a tiny bit longer. A tiny huge amount where it went deeper, caressed my throat deeper, and made a grateful boy of me.

I looked at Tim and our eyes smiled: Go!

I started leading Jim straight to boy heaven by the shortest, sweetest, tenderest route I knew. I put pressure on the top of him, near the base, and applied a little sweet suction each time I withdrew and came to the head, each time his ridge passed between my lips. And then back in. I pursed my lips and made a soft O, a ring for his penis to force its way back through, for the happy ridge to penetrate, to penetrate, to penetrate. He moaned and his dick size maxed out, as his pelvis began to jerk, to plant and plant his penis, as deep as he could reach.

Just as Ben cried out his cum song, Jim's cum shot out hard, hard, hard, delightfully plentiful and fulfilling, into my mouth. It made a sort of sound in his cock, vibrating as his ecstasy expelled it creamy against my tongue, as it shot from his young cream hole to strike the roof of my mouth and the pillars of my throat. Pumping, pumping, as my boy groaned his feelings to me and slowed, peaceful and tender, to a halt, still pulsing. I held him there, while he finished. We shared each pulse and it was tender and frank and honest and sweet.

Ben was leaning over Tim, his hands running softly through his hair, over and over. I stood to pull Jim to me and to kiss him on the cheek for a lingering moment. I thanked him softly in his ear. Ben just made shaky noises like his software was jittering. Tim rose and embraced him. And then held him until he was steady on his feet again. He took Ben's chin and planted a chaste kiss by his mouth and murmured something.

"I had a really good time," I said, shivering. "I hope you guys did, too."

They both hastened to assure us that they had a great time and to make all sorts of sweet innocent virginal respect-you-in-the-morning verbal fumblings. Tim and I smiled sincerely. Besides, it was cute. So boyish.

We exchanged numbers and made a gaming date at our place for the next weekend. I sassily ordered them to show up with their balls full. No cheating that morning.

"You can beat off all week thinking about coming over and getting your dicks sucked, but no fair blowing your load on Saturday morning. That morning's cream belongs to us." That'd keep 'em squirming.

"You guys seem pretty comfortable about sucking dicks," said Ben.

"We have been sucking each other since we were two. It's the friendly thing to do," I smirked.

Tim cut in: "We've never had to go without, since we have each other. We just need a change of pace, once in a while. Some cute guys to cum about."

I'm sure they would have blushed if they weren't already bright pink. Everybody assured each other that they had a good time and everything was cool, was more than cool, and we parted ways. They turned to leave and hardly bumped into any walls or anything on the way out. Much.

"I don't know about you, but I could use something cold to drink," I told Tim.

Tim was all, "You mean and get all that boy juice off the roof of your mouth?"

"That, too, but my guy actually tasted pretty nice. How about yours?" We headed toward the food court.

"Cotton candy... numm... numm... and Heath bar, just not... all sweet. How about your guy?"

"Mine was the flavor of the sea and the sky," I intoned reverently, as it it were poetry. Tim giggled as we grabbed some drink cups.

Tim laughed again, "Yeah, I could hear that fucker's rigging creaking clear across the room," and started to fill his cup.

"Man, after that noise Ben made, I expected to hear Oh Baby! Oh sweet bay-bee!"

"That would be kind of sweet. You never say that shit to me."

"You want me to? I certainly think it."

"Maybe. You could try it sometime."

I took a pull on my drink: "I'll do that. I always have your back... err your front... err... Oh look! There's our high schoolers from the last time we had one of these... little... adventures."

We paid. I turned to my twin and made an Eeek! face: "Oh fuck! What were their names?"

"Mine was Kenny: lime lifesavers and baking soda," he said smugly.

"Oh yeah. Seaweed crisps and corn nuts: Bill."

"Poor guys. If they only knew we remembered them by their loads."

"How sexist and degrading," I yawned, meaning not a word of it.

Tim was half a step ahead of me. I put out my hand and grabbed his sleeve: "Stop here for a second." He did, and I bounced into him. "Notice anything?" I said over his shoulder, "The way they're sitting?"

"Ooo, Hoo! I think you may be right."

"Oh! Hi, Kenny! Hey, Bill! Mind if we sit down?"

The looked happy to see us, but just barely... reserved. There was something definite in the way they were sitting.

Tim looked at Kenny, then at Bill. "So you guys are, umm... together, now?" He said it more like a statement.

They kind of looked at each other. Kind of, but not really. Not looking at, but just sort locating each other in their peripheral vision, while really looking at us. What other kind of proof do you need? Comfortable with each other, in each other's space. Not even needing to look at each other to check with each other. Like us.

"Umm, yeah," admitted Kenny, a little hesitant, then grinning.

"We are," declared Bill, with a tone of certainty. He smiled broadly and paused. "Thank you for that."

"This is a good thing," says Tim.

"Always the matchmaker," I started. "Never the... "

"Never the what? Never the Match?" Tim leered, making fun of me.

"I got your match, Zippo Boy!"

Send comments to: soaringtoad@yahoo.com. I hope you enjoyed. I will gladly read and respond to your mail.