Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/rural/lake-desolation/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
"You're young, Logan, you'll recharge in no time. And we have hours. Actually, Logan... we have years." I pull his heaving body back into my arms and nuzzle into his neck as he pants. I smile as I take in his musk and the scent of his spent load as it soaks through the material of his pants. I find that I am happier in this moment that I've been in decades.
Lake Desolation 9: The Nearest Horizon
By Bear Pup
When he settles, finally, and begins to rub my erection, I pull his hand back and kiss it. He looks at me, confused. "We could do that, Logan, but I'd rather kiss you again." His eyes widen and he melts into me, the kiss growing slowly like a deep-ocean swell that builds and builds, becoming a force of nature but never breaking.
I scoop him up and drag him to the hearth-rug, laying him down and putting a hand on his chest to signal him to lay back. I feed the fire, first the one in the hearth with a couple more logs and then the one in my heart as I carefully unwrap the most wondrous present I'd ever seen.
I pull the sweatshirt up and off. Logan just watches me. I curl my hands through the riotous thicket of hair beneath his arms and he giggles. When my hands make their way to his meaty nipples in their wide aureoles, he closes his eyes and his back arches, pressing his chest more firmly into my palms. He whines a little as I move on. He shivers as my hands traces the thin muscles of his sides and his breath catches and eyes widen and my fingers outline the edge of his Apollo's Belt, approaching the wait of his pants.
Logan squawks as I pull the waistband out, taking some crotch-hair with it where his early orgasm had glued some into the fabric. Eyes not leaving my face, he lifts his hips and I slide my hands behind and caress his ass as I shimmy down the sweatpants. Logan lets out sort of a reverse sigh, breath catching repeatedly in the inhalation.
His big cock THWACKS up and he blushes, turning away. I run my hands down his beautiful, thin legs as I strip off the garment, then come back to face the part of him that enthrals and scares me most. I can feel his eyes on me as I take my time in my first up-close view of any hard cock in my life. At 15 in a tent or behind a bush, 'looking' was not really the objective.
Logan is big, considerably larger than me. The most obvious difference is the foreskin. I'd taken ribbing in school for lacking that little piece of skin as most boys my age were uncut back then. By the time Joseph came along, it was simply assumed that every young man, Jewish or not, would be circumcised for mysterious 'health reasons'. Now the pendulum (to stretch a pun) was swinging in the other direction. I've never really looked at a foreskin. I'd cleaned under Logan's but it was more a hygiene activity than an exploration. I set about to remedy that.
I peel the skin back as Logan hisses and writhes until the head is completely exposed. Just for fun, I blow across the exposed flange and both Logan and I gasp, him from sensation and me from the explosion of delicious aromas that puff or air stirs up. I watch as the skin slowly rolls back in place, mesmerised as the outer surface folds inward to protect the sensitive glans. I keep moving until the entire head is covered and the skin pouts into a kiss above the tip, then relax my grip and watch the head peek out shyly, a turtle checking if the coast is clear.
Other than a single, long vein that snakes down the upper side, Logan's cock is smooth and slightly bent upwards. So much of Logan is beautiful, but I can't use that label for this part of his body. It is rugged, masculine, throbbing with vitality and the original meaning of virility. And the smell is... overwhelming.
Part of that smell has an obvious source, the load I caressed from him a few days/hours/moments earlier. As if in a dream, I find my tongue slowly extruding and Logan whimpers at the sight and the anticipation. His entire body shudders as I swipe my tongue through the mess of cum and pubes, coating my tongue in that creamy syrup.
I lock eyes with Logan, his wide and awestruck as I slowly roll my tongue around my mouth, coating every surface, every taste bud, intent to deciphering the mysterious scent and taste. Salt and savoury, musk and sweetness, a tang of almost chlorine bitterness nearly hidden in the explosion of animal male that rockets through my brain. As if this were the finest, rarest wine, I allow the finest stream of air to suck in across my palate and more esters explode into being.
Logan has, apparently, had quite enough. With the impetuous impatience of youth, he whips forward and strips my own shirt, undershirt and all, over my head. I smile as I hear a button PING across the room. He presses me firmly onto my back into the thick fur of the mountain-goat rug, the soft, warm bristles sleek and probing against my back.
I holler as Logan's face dives into my right armpit, nibbling and wallowing in the thick, unclean scent. I blush at the smell, then realise just how intoxicating his own musk had been to me and begin to relish the feel of his face there, so intimate and somehow dirty and wonderful at once. Not for the first time I wonder, 'What's happening to me?'
When he switches to my left armpit, the sensation explodes through me. I grab the back of his head and force him deeper, revelling in his excited, high-pitched moan. I become more aggressive, grinding his face to position his tongue at spots that send quivers through me. I let out another holler and fall back, panting as if I'd just come, realising it is not far from the truth. I don't know that my body ever been this hard, this desperate, this demanding.
When his lips seal around my tit and his hands pet and stroke through the bristly fur of my middle-chest, I cry out; when his hands begin to fumble at my belt and his teeth lightly nip at my nipple, I scream in wordless joy. He redoubles his efforts as he senses how enflamed I really am. My hands rove his neck, hair, back sides, shoulders, pulling and pushing and grinding, bodily demanding MORE!
I don't really feel it happen, lost as I am in my nipples, but I shiver as cold air envelopes my balls and ass. I'm naked now, and Logan's tongue licks down my belly, my breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as he nears the centre of my personal universe. I groan in need as he bypasses my rampant cock and instead dives into the most-sensitive place I know, that tender fold of skin where my balls meet my leg.
The musk there must be as thick as butter and Logan dives again and again into it, licking, teasing even nibbling gently. It is now my turn to beg. "Logan! God! No, Logan. Not yet!" He switches to the other side, the same exquisitely-exciting crease of sexual nerves. Like a wild thing, he consumes that part of me. Simultaneously, one hand grips my tight, nearly-unwrinkled sac and heavy balls while the other engulfs my prick. "No! No! NO! NO-NO-NO-NO! YESSSSSSSS!"
My screams echo through the room as I explode, covering everything from my forehead to my belly in slime. I taste my seed as several ropes cross my open, screaming, whimpering, crying, exulting mouth. I feel Logan's featherweight body drape over mine and his mouth finds my own, dragging me into a soul-penetrating kiss and we pant and writhe together. As my last tremors wrack my body, Logan screams a high and fulfilled keening into my mouth and I feel him hunch over and over, adding his own seed to mine.
I am dimly aware that he has flipped the other half of the goatskin over in an impromptu blanket without breaking our heaving, desperate, life-filled kiss that inevitably, with an abruptness of a switch thrown, plunges into the deepest sleep imaginable.
I drift slowly awake to the sound of embers popping. I mentioned that I write porn under a pseudonym and thus frequently have a couple waken, cuddled in the afterglow, he and she both coated in his ejaculate. They inevitably snuggle and nudge each other awake, frequently to tease out a round two. More than once, it is on a rug just like this one in front of a fire.
Somehow, I managed to miss certain critical details when I wrote those pieces. First, being wrapped in a woolly rug in front of a fire is hot as fuck, and sweaty musk is far more attractive before climax than after. Second, I had completely ignored the fact that cum goes from sexy-spunk to vile-glue in about the same amount of time as a post-coital nap takes. Also, I realise that cum tastes wonderful in the moment, but does terrible things for one's breath over the course of a snooze.
Logan starts to giggle as I move and let out a gasp. I peel him away from me and we both howl in pain, hair pulled in unexpected and unfair direction. We both begin to howl, this time with laughter, at our predicament. We lay back, rolling with mirth. I turned my head, looking at my foundling, my... lover. The word brings me up short in a knee-jerk reaction until I hear a whisper, Maria's voice, 'Don't make come back there!' I smile.
"Well, one thing young man. You now have an assignment." Logan looks at me quizzically. I grab a hank of the rug's fur and give it an exaggerated sniff. "After we get cleaned up, you get to go out on the web and figure out how to get cum out of mountain-goat fur!" He dissolves again into giggles and I pull him upright.
For the first time, I abjure the massive claw-foot tub and tug Logan into the shower enclosure. This is something Maria and I had loved as well, and I am stunned to realise that I feel no stab of guilt or pain at the thought. I hold the boy out of the range of the spray until it comes to temp using the simple expedient of another soul-probing kiss. When the droplets on my legs turn warm, I back us into the cascade of warm water from the rain-head.
Logan stands still and passive as he has every time I've washed him. I use my hands equally to guide the stream and caress his body. His heavy-lidded eyes are half closed and he smiles and sighs in bliss. When he is thoroughly drenched, I elbow the control that blows a fine mist of hot water directly against the tiled shower wall, welling up in a thick gout of steam.
I use the same body wash Maria loved on me, redolent of sandalwood and amber, something she'd found long ago in a tiny shop tucked into St Pancras station in London. I recall because I got pickpocketed quite expertly as she paid for the purchase. She has ordered it from there ever since, through the good offices of my British publisher (they don't ship outside the UK). She called it Pickpocket Gel.
The clear, slightly-golden liquid explodes into sudsy foam when it touches wet skin, releasing its scent. Logan breathes deep and moans his approval, either of the aroma or my massaging, caressing, teasing hands is unclear.
Almost in a trance, I resolve to make the most of this. I use the slipperiness of the gel to deeply massage his shoulders and work my way down his broad back. I take forever to cleanse his hands and arms, turning it into a slow and loving exploration of the ropey muscles, thin bones, delicate fingers. I pull him back into me and he moans deep and lustily as my chest hair brillos his back and my gel-filled hands stroke up and down his chest and belly. He squeaks when I focus exclusively on his nipples and throws his head back into my shoulder, exaggerating our differences in height.
When everything from pits to waist was coated in the foamy suds, I slide my body down slowly downwards to a one-knee stance, dragging my hands down his sides as well. Logan purrs his approval. I take my time with his left foot as he giggles and lurches, holding himself steady against the shower walls as he tries to fight off the tickling sensations. I relent and work up his legs; he goes rigid as I approach his sexual core and almost screams in frustration when I stop just short and work down the right leg, repeating the tickle-torture cleaning of his exquisitely-sensitive foot.
He gasps deep and holds his breath as I move to his stunning ass. It's like soaping a Renaissance nude. His flanks are thinned from poor diet, but are more than merely ample. His held breath explodes in a groan as I penetrate his crack and tease and probe inward, finding his tight pucker. He rewards me with a squeal of delight as I swirl my fingers round and round, using the gel's hyper-slick coating to drive luxuriant and exotic sensation through him. When he is panting, in drag one hand tightly up his entire crack, pushing and probing as he pushes back against me, eliciting a growl of need from the young man's chest.
I move slightly and find he is as hard as I have ever impinged, his large and low-hanging nuts churning in their sac. I spend a lot of time on the seam of flesh between my prior target and those orbs until I hear him start to squeak in rhythm to my strokes. He whines loudly when I pull back, then nearly screams as I lave the area under his foreskin. Just as I can tell the sensation move from sensuous to torturous, I attack the matted cum in his thick bush, only occasionally flicking a hand or forearm across the head of his throbbing, leaking dick.
I can tell he is reaching his limit and I reach up and trigger the release that switches from the hiss of steam-producing mist to six jets from several directions intended to rinse and probe the body. The yelp at the change morphs into a long, sustained moan as the hot, powerful streams of water and the gel-suds work their separate kinds of magic. I stand and he latches into me, an arm around my neck and a hand behind my head, pulling me down to him in a near-brutal kiss.
"Where the fuck is the steam button?" he growls into my ear. Breathless, I trigger it with my elbow.
My exploration of his young, near-emaciated body was slow and sensual. His, of mine, is driven and utterly-sexual. His youthful need and fierce attention nearly undo me as his hands are everywhere, teasing and soaping everything, unexpectedly finding every pleasure spot. I throw my head back and groan continually as his hands cleanse and stroke, enflaming me.
Where mine had been a slow tease, Logan's washing is a study in erotic bliss. His hands are never long away from my balls and my cock and my nipples and... shocking me to the core, the most erotic touch I'd ever felt on my most-secret place. His fingers on and around my hole nearly make me cum, just an hour or so from my last explosion. Every time he backs off just as my breath shortens and my balls clench, leaving me crying with need.
When I am completely awash in the slippery suds and mind-ensnaring lust, one hand closes around my tight sac. My balls never hang loose like others. They are large, but are held tight and firm in a nearly-smooth and unwrinkled sac, like a boy with overgrown testes that have never dropped. His hands massaging and tugging and petting them are driving me frankly out of my mind, but nothing compares to when his other hand finds and teases my ass. The eruption of sound from my chest startles me and just makes Logan chuckle.
His gel-slick forearm works back and forth across my aching cock as that hand probes and kneads my nuts in a way no one ever has. I am nearing a point of no return when I yell out. Logan's thin finger has actually speared my asshole, driving within me! I holler in anticipation of the wave of pain but am met with a wave of something quite different.
That sudden thrust drives a wordless scream from me as my cock again explodes, rope after rope after searing rope erupting from me. I feel my sphincter clamp down on that knuckle as I buck and thrash, impaled on one side and gripped on the other. Logan is literally holding my writhing body upright with a hand on -- IN -- my ass and the other cupping my spasming nuts.
I have never felt such release. Years of frustration, pain, love, relief, hunger, loss, grief, need and pleasure surge out of my nuts in a creamy crescendo, up through my urethra, ripped from my cockhead to launch volley after splashing volley into the tiles.
In a complete, nearly-insensate daze, I sense Logan rinse me, dry himself and my own shattered body and ease us both into the warms of the bedclothes. He positions himself in front of me this time, locking my arms tight around his body. His face is turned over this shoulder and his soft voice mutters unheard words, lulling me to sleep. One last shred of me succumbs when a ghost whisper tickles the back of my neck, Maria's tender murmur, 'Sleep, my darling Jacob. Let go., my baby, finally let yourself go...'
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 23 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 15 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 16 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Off the Magic Carpet: 10 chapters .../military/off-the-magic-carpet/ Lake Desolation: 9 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Dear John Letter: 3 chapter .../military/dear-john-letter/ Brother Bear: 2 chapter .../incest/brother-bear/ Shark Reef: 2 chapters .../adult-youth/shark-reef/
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