See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and 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.
As Ned mumbled nonsense syllables and teetered on the edge of sleep behind him, Wit went over and grabbed a handful of the copious cum and brought himself off in a matter of a dozen strokes, pumping his own load to join that of the teen. He caught his breath and snuggled in next to the sexy young athlete, covering them both with a sheet and joining Ned in his slumber.
Raven's Claw 10: Coaching the Coach (N4)
By Bear Pup
Chapter Note: The boys of Raven's Claw Class of 2017 will not be making an appearance today. This is a sidebar to explore another of the men from that fateful bus, the man driving it.
Coach Davis was bored, and bored men do stupid things. The Raven's Claw team knew this, but had needed the time to ready something for this one. Coach Davis was sharp, smart, fast and effective in whatever he did. The protocols started when he was 'awakened' after the years-long stasis and introduced to the Raven's Claw mythology. Adults had a separate protocol, front-loaded with reinforcing a myth. The younger subjects tended to accept the story of the Protectorate without question or they simply fell in with their peers.
And this one didn't disappoint. Darrell Davis coached high school wrestling, swimming and water polo because he wanted to. In actual fact, he was so drastically overqualified that he'd been rejected out of hand at a half-dozen schools before coming to New Tampa's Freedom High. That had been eight years ago.
Other than coaching, Darrell taught mainly the most-advanced of the math classes, his 'fallback' diploma having been a master's in mathematics with a specialization in stochastic calculus. In addition to a master's in education, he would qualify as a licensed Sports Medicine practitioner if he wanted to take the exam. That was eleven years of schooling with a single goal: to become the perfect coach and mentor for young men. The entire Media-Myth team had spent over a month making sure that the Protectorate Web could contain him.
Each day started with five hours of CBT* followed two in the gym and three in instructor-led coursework, the latter exclusively focused on the structure, function and maintenance of the all-male family unit in the Protectorate, including sexual aspects. What was unexpected was the pace at which Darrell Davis consumed CBT. They'd laid out a 28-day progression; he was approaching the 20% point on day 3, doubling the pace they had expected. He also (gently and respectfully) challenged the instructors whenever they veered into reinforcement by repeating material to ensure it sank in.
*[ED: CBT is computer-based training, not cock-and-ball torture! Sheesh, get your mind out of the gutter. ;) ]
And he asked dangerously astute questions. He never challenged the myth itself, but nibbled at the edges in disconcerting ways. Daniel decided that Coach Davis needed something different and spent several hours with each of his leads. What they decided was such a radical departure from protocol that they didn't mention it in any electronic form, only face-to-face; there would be no electronic trail if it failed. If it succeeded, though, it would be a significant and highly-profitable success.
Unlike the boys, Coach Davis was clad in a jockstrap pretty much all the time. He blinked several times when Daniel, Howie and Sean stepped into what he called his cell, all of them bare-assed nekkid. He'd been expecting lights-out, not a hunk-a-thon in his room!
Darrell had never seen these men. He sat a moment to let his senses take them in. The first he looked at, based on reptilian threat response, was the largest. Howie was a muscled powerhouse. Darrell could see the work he'd put into it and knew the kind of power such a man could bring to bear. The man was hairy and über-masculine in ways that he found hard to define. It was hard to pull his eyes away to be honest. The man was considerably larger than he was, which normally worked to Darrell's advantage if things got rough (it always had, at least in the bouncer jobs he took to pay for books in college), but he held himself is a way that screamed what a bad idea it would be to fuck with him.
Next was Daniel, smaller but incredibly fit. Not quite ripped, which pleased the coach's soul; he disapproved of fat-ripping and tolerated it in Jackson solely because of the boy's incredible results. As a Coach, Darrell had always kept himself in top condition, but that did not involve stripping away every shred of natural fat. Darrell didn't have a six-pack, but nor did he have a keg. He kept just enough subcutaneous fat to be healthy. Only his legs and arms were trim enough that veins popped across the muscles when he pumped them.
The last was the smallest, but every alarm bell in his mind went off when he looked at Sean. He was too attractive, too self-possessed, too confident to be ignored. 'And,' Darrel thought with some discomfort, 'he pushes all my so-carefully-guarded buttons.' The sly-jokester look, the brilliant eyes, the smoooooooooth skin called to him. Darrell longed to feel his only lightly-furred chest rubbing... 'Damn! Stop that, Darrell!'
Coach Davis had known since puberty that he was gay, but he also knew that his dream of teaching, molding and mentoring young men (who were well outside his range of sexual appreciation, but still) would be destroyed if he acted on those feelings. He loved men in their 30s, especially those with mischief in their souls. Everything about Sean send him into self-defense mode. He felt his meaty seven-incher fighting with the mesh pouch of the jock and demanded that it quiet down; it didn't listen. His furry underarms were springing out in sweat now, and the rush of smell made his own nostrils flare. He'd always had a weakness for that scent.
"Coach Davis," the middle guy introduced himself, "I'm Dr Vogel. This is Dr Devlin -- call him Howie -- and Mr Selman, who goes by Sean. You can call me Daniel if you wish." Each of the men stepped forward and offered to shake hands as he was introduced. Darrell returned the gestures, but found Sean's touch made his skin itch and tingle long after the handshake. Darrell's hands were large, quite large. Sean's were smaller, softer, but strong and certain. The thought of those hands touching his body... he swallowed several times to keep from gasping or, perhaps, whimpering.
"You've seen what the world is today. You have doubts, however, about what we are. I am actually the head of the faculty and Howie and Sean are key members of my training team. We're here to answer your real questions."
Darrell narrowed his eyes, sensing a trap. "Tell me about how a First Husband, um, acquires a new member of his family." He suspected, but wanted to see how they'd react.
"They buy them, Mr Davis, from people like us." Darrell blinked to cover his astonishment. To hear it said so simply and brazenly was... unnerving.
"You're slavers."
Howie fielded this one. "It's not a term we would choose and it's one we find offensive, but it's not out of bounds. We find places for exceptional men where they will be treated well. Most buyers expect a level of training -- in our case, an exceptionally-high level. It's what we do. And yes, we charge for that. "
"You want me to be a gay whore? Fine. Why not say so?" Both Daniel and Howie bristled and started to speak, but Sean silenced them.
"So, me boyo, you were a wrestling whore before Arrival Day? Or were you a math whore?" Darrell was obviously, physically, taken aback. "As a young man, you were a solid athlete and a math whiz. You got yourself trained and you honed those skills so you could be an exceptional coach, a not-quite-Olympic-level wrestler, a solid swimmer, and competent in a very complicated branch of mathematics. After you got that training, you whored out your services in those areas to the highest bidder -- or, in your case, the first school who would have you. So, Darrell me boy, which were you, a wrestling whore or a math whore?"
The coach's eyes were slitted and his arms crossed, but he didn't reply immediately. He'd never really made the Olympic level because, frankly, he was too much a wrester's build for national-level swimming and too swimmer-sleek to one-percent himself in wrestling. He distractedly let his large paw smooth its way down his chest to his abs, an unconscious gesture and one of his 'tells' for being nervous... and aroused. 'Damn,' he thought, 'that guy hard lethally-sexy looks and an Irish Brogue.' He felt himself leak into his jock. "By implication and connotation, you are saying that I have additional native abilities that can make me valuable in... an area you find profitable? And you're suggesting I train myself in that field so I can maximize... well, maximize my 'opportunities', and that your 'school' has the best program in that field?"
"Give the boyo a gold starrrrrr," purred the little leprechaun. Darrell's breath shortened a bit and the muscles of his shoulders and back seemed to tighten in a mix of fight-or-flight and yearning need.
"To put it simply," Daniel said, "you are a magnificent physical specimen, highly intelligent, with a good personality. You are not repulsed by men or the idea of sex with them. In fact, we're quite certain that you far prefer men as sexual partners even if you have limited experience."
"How the fuck can you possibly know that?"
"Darrell," Sean let a little derision shade his voice, "man-on-man sex is the default in the Protectorate, mate. You don't think they've spent untold resources understanding it? Seriously?"
The coach took in a deep, steadying breath and blew it back out. "So, tell me precisely what you want me to do."
"We want you to be Darrell Davis," Howie stated simply. "We want you to leave behind any preconceptions, to let us teach you to be the perfect lover for men, and to enjoy it. We want you to be happy as a husband as possible for the man who eventually pays for the education we give you here."
"And if I say no? Do I have that option? Or is this a 'do you want to say yes, or do you want to say yes' kind of question?"
Daniel fielded this one. "We already have quite a bit of capital invested in your revival and medical treatments. There is, though, a perfectly valid set of choices. You can agree and accelerate the process; you can stay on the traditional track; or you can say, 'enough; I'm outta here' and we find a husband who wants to invest in you based on looks alone. I strongly suggest against the latter, not for our benefit but for yours. Those who want attractive, untrained and unskilled husbands tend to be... interested the types of things we don't teach."
"Yeah. I can guess what those might be. It doesn't matter; the question was more out of curiosity. A couple other questions before I give you my answer. Are you saying that there is zero opprobrium attached to, um, sexual roles?"
Sean replied, "You mean pitching versus catching? Topping versus bottoming? Less than zero, actually. If anything, what might once have been called a dedicated top is least likely to interest a First Husband. Versatility and skill are the primary traits they value. Next question?"
"And I'll, um, have to do everything? Strike that. You'll be teaching me to perform all those acts and roles, and, I expect, requiring 'practical exercises'?" Darrell grinned crookedly at the euphemism and took in the nods from all three. "And have you guys done all that yourselves?"
"Oh, me boyo," Sean cooed, "that and sooooo much more. My talent, not to toot me own horn, is that of a master cocksucker. Howie here is the ultimate versatile and, I tell you from experience, is quite adept at everything; the things he can do with that fine arse cannot be explained by mere science! Oh, and yes, you'll be learning more by practice than theory, that's for sure and certain."
Darrell stared thoughtfully for a moment at each of the men in turn. "What if I loathe the man who -- sorry, what was the cute term you used? -- pays for my education? Is this a marriage or sexual slavery?"
Sean jumped in before the others. He was pretty certain he had the measure of this man and that anything less than honesty would be seen through, if not now, then soon. "You can call it that." Daniel looked at Sean worriedly. "I don't, mate, and that's certain-sure. Most of us don't. Sex is part of it, but it's farrrr more about keeping the rest of your family happy. But can you just tell your First Husband to fuck himself and walk off? No, not really. At a minimum, you'll owe him for what he paid.
"But are you likely to end up in a dark basement, fucked senseless by a biker gang? No." And this was generally true, though Sean was intentionally downplaying the sexual aspects of his future life. "People don't pay the kind of prices we charge if they just want a fuck-toy." Also true. Ravensclaw, Inc., provided the cream of the market. Handsome guys to fuck senseless could be had at any street corner with little investment and, in this day and age, very limited risk if the abductor did his homework. The buyers that came looking for the men in the Raven's Claw program really did, by and large, want a male family.
'Then again,' Sean thought to himself, 'this mature stud -- with his magnificent body and dashing, deep-blue eyes -0- chained to a hobbyhorse has more than a wee bit of appeal.' Sean felt his cock go from chubby to rampant and decided to let it happen.
"I'd already worked that out, actually. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to be honest about it." Darrell said, grinning, before going back to being very serious. "So, guys, I'm in. When do I start?"
"Ah, but you already have, mate," Sean purred softly, stepping forward and looking at Coach Davis very much like a gourmand eyes a perfectly-cooked saltimbocca alla Romana, "and now if these fine gentlemen will excuse us, I'd like to give you your signing bonus meself." Daniel and Howie smiled their way out after shaking Darrell's hand.
"Um, s-s-s-s-signing bonus?"
Sean moved into the man's personal space and purred, "And maybe a little entrance exam?" Sean was shorter than Coach Davis but not terribly. The older man, though, was far more massive. Sean could smell the power of that body, feel its heat. Darrell backed up until he felt his knees pressing the edge of the mattress. Sean leaned forward and put a kiss on the magnificent, rugged man's cheek and heard Darrell's breathing quicken.
"Um, uh, Sh-Sh-Sh-Sean? I, uh, I've never, well, you know..."
"Let a man make love to you?" He said as he let his hand come down to caress the straining pouch of the jock strap.
"N-N-N-N-N-N-No, um, no. I, well, I never did... anything?" The last word was a whimper as Sean's talented hands found and caressed his large, sensitive nuts.
Sean pulled back and looked at him in frank shock. "Darrell? Are you telling me that you are a true virgin? Men AND Women?"
The Coach nodded shamefacedly, blushing hard. He whispered, "Not even a k-k-k-kiss. I'm s-s-sorry."
"Sorry, mate? Are ye fookin' insane? SORRY? You just gave me a real challenge. I get to be your first and, by God and all the Saints of Heaven, I'm going to make it your best no matter how many studs you meet. You are so fookin' gorgeous!" Darrell was shocked, relieved and terrified at the absolutely feral lust he found in the flashing emerald eyes.
'Gorgeous?' he thought to himself. 'No one has ever said that bef..." he checked himself. Yes, they had, and often. But he always treated it as a throw-away line intended to lure him into bed. But seeing the way the leprechaunish man was devouring him made he think again. He knew his proportions were excellent (except for the oversized hands and feet which couldn't be exercised away) and he knew he had a strong jaw, wide-spaced eyes and chiseled cheekbones. But in the mirror, all he'd ever seen was... well, a guy, a jock, just any other man, really. Now, though...
Leo sat back in the control room and sighed. Fuck if Sean didn't get the best gigs. He pulled his cock out of his pouch, knowing that even having dropped a load watching Wit take Ned wasn't enough to keep him from blasting as he watched Sean's expert ministrations. And he wasn't disappointed. Sean took the former Coach Davis to places the man had never imagined.
First stop on the Sean Express was a kiss. Sean approached Darrell like what he was: a delicious, willing but skittish prey. A kiss to the neck, then the jaw, then the lips, oh so gently. A lick of the big man's closed lips, then another -- little darting, daring touches. Again and again, teasing, 'Come out and play.' With a shuddering sigh, the older man tentatively licked Sean's lips as well, and Sean waited, locked into the kiss and as patient as a spider. Finally, with a gut-deep moan, Darrell plunged his tongue into Sean's welcoming mouth, exploring the majestic, beautiful man in his arms with mind and body.
The older man pulled back to breathe and the little Irishman slid down a little, finding a nipple. "Oh, God! Oh! What are you doinggggggggg?" the strangled and prolonged 'g' sound wrenched from his lungs as Sean began to nibble. Darrell arched his back so far that he overbalanced and had to sit on the bed. Far, far too soon for the increasingly-aroused virgin, Sean pulled back. Darrell whimpered piteously before crying out when Sean dove to the other nipple, pushing him fully back onto the mattress.
Darrell's imprisoned cock had been leaking before, but it started to flood the jock strap as Sean licked his way down the thickly-muscled abdomen, nipping and sucking occasionally to the shocked delight of Darrell (and the watching Leo). The belly button was a bust; the squirming virgin was no more sensitive there than on his elbows. Sean didn't pause, licking further and further down as Darrell's whimpers went higher. Two and half decades of dreaming -- twenty-six years since he'd shot his first watery load at the ripe old age of eleven -- and a man was finally going to touch -- to LICK -- his cock.
Darrell almost shot his load when Sean began to blow warm breath through the explosively-taut fabric of his jock pouch. A long breath, then lip-chewing the shaft, then a breath, then a lick of the head, always through the cloth barrier. Coach Davis reached his hands down to release himself, to grant Sean access to his virgin cock, but Sean grabbed his wrists and set them firmly aside.
Green eyes glowing, Sean looked up as the coach whined his disappointment. "Now, me lovely, don't go bein' hasty. We," he licked the shaft, "have," he nibbled at the captive ball-sac, "all," he chewed now at the taint-stitch where pouch and straps met, eliciting a strained yelp of unexpected delight, "night."
Sean spent a minute there, teasing and nibbling and licking and humming against -- 'Humming! Oh my fucking GOD! Humming,' cried the coach in his mind -- the sensitive and, to judge by the response, completely unexplored no-man's land of the Coach's perineum. The older man was so overwhelmed with the sensation that he hardly registered that his legs were being levered upwards until the tongue started to slip lower.
"Oh, fuck! Oh my God! You can't do that! It's not, it's not, it's not -- YESSSSSSSSSS" he screamed as Sean found the virginal pucker and started to flick his tongue across it like a snake.
What Coach Darrell Davis hadn't told Sean was that he'd not only abstained from sex, he never read porn. He had decided very early that such temptation would make his enforced celibacy unlivable and thus continued his relatively-innocent masturbatory play from his earliest orgasms: one hand on his cock and the other simply holding the base of the shaft and the top of the balls in place, then stroke to conclusion. Everything -- EVERYTHING -- Sean did was a new and unimagined discovery.
Sean felt Darrell trying to pull away, to avoid the contact, worried or revolted or scared. But Sean's mouth was surpassed in rimming by few men other than, and the powerful man's most-intimate spot slowly opened like a flower. Sean tongue left Darrell moaning and trying (and failing) not to cry out again. Sean started to spear the opening with his tongue in between each circumlambolation.
"Sean! Sean! Um, uh, um, Sean? I'm... I think I might, OH MY GOD! Sean. Stop. I can't, can't, can't... SEANNNNNNNNN!" Sean dropped the legs and dove onto the jock-enclosed, spurting dick between them. As Darrell howled and literally wept through his very first orgasm at the hands (and lips, tongue and teeth) of a partner, Sean titillated the cockhead and sucked the sperm from the spasming manhood.
When there was nothing left to savor, Sean laid his body the full length of Darrell's and went for a kiss. The former coach, ashamed and horrified at his premature conclusion, turned away. Sean reached up with surprising force to bring the man's face to his. Coach Davis was trying, with fairly good success, to stifle sobs from his humiliating but ecstatic orgasm.
"Oh, me sweet one, me handsome devil of a man, quiet yourself, laddie. That was, far and away, one of the sexiest things I've ever seen a man do. That any man has ever done in my arrrrrrms, me darlin'." He let his emerald eyes drive home the truth of his words and then resumed the earlier kiss, waiting until the Coach finally sighed and let himself be taken. When Sean sensed that the man was again receptive and past the panic, he pulled back and stared into the man's luscious, dark-blue eyes.
"Oh, we are going to have sooooo much fun tonight, you stallion of a man."
"You... You mean we can, um, k-k-k-k-keep going?"
Sean could not help but emit a bark of laughter and immediately started to kiss away the resulting blush and frown from the already-skittish older man. "Oh, me sweet one, the night is oh so very young and you are oh so very strong. And we have sooooo much more to do."
"Whu, whu, whu, um, what do you mean, more?" Darrell practically squeaked as Sean started to run soft but insistent hands over his body, finding erotic places the virginal hunk had never tried to imagine.
"Darrell, we've only scratched," he demonstrated by dragging his fingernails lightly, teasingly down Darrell's sides, eliciting a tremulous gasp, "the surface of what it is to be a lover of men. You didn't think that was all there was?"
Coach Davis blushed furiously, shamed again at his ignorance. His voice was slow now, low and sad, as if making an admission of absolute childishness. "No, Sean. No. I didn't know there was that much."
Sean pulled back, noting the serious and fragile tone and shifting from fierce lover to loving friend like a switch thrown. "Oh, Darrell, I am so sorry. But don't be worried or embarrassed. So much of what we do is unteaching wrong things people learned back before Arrival Day. Your purity is a gift to be treasured, me untainted stallion. Tell me, what did you think sex would be?" His voice was awash with honest interest, no hint of judgment or expectation, and Darrell could hear that. He responded, even as he blushed the color of ripe strawberries.
"Kissing? Touching. Jacking each other off, making each other cum. Maybe licking, but I don't know if I thought that before, well, before you did it."
Sean nodded. "You, Darrell, are such an amazing and wonderful man. I wish it could be me to teach you all that you have been denied all these years. But there are others better at some of it, and," he smiled and nibbled at Darrell's lower lip, "I'd be beaten senseless for keeping you from the rest of the men here." Sean sighed, staring straight into those worried, hopeful, sad eyes. "Oh, and 'twould be worth it for me, but it would be most unfairrrr to you."
"How? You, I mean, wow! You are... I don't even have words, Sean!"
"And that's part of why it would be unfair. You deserve to have the best of each thing, and I'm best at only a handful. Would it surprise you to know that you'll be learning over a hundred and twenty things to do and be done, just in sex alone?" Darrell's eyes went wide, flicking back and forth between Sean's to see if he was joking. "And what makes it interesting is that sex is not even the field I teach. Other than oral pleasure and... touch--" he stroked sensuously along the man's thick, fuzzy arms "--there's someone better in almost everything."
Darrell smiled and Sean suddenly found himself flipped onto his back, the powerful older man grinning above him. The not-quite-a-virgin leaned in as if for a kiss but moved further, back to Sean's ear. "I find that very," he licked along the fold and Sean gasped, "very," he nibbled lightly on the lobe, "hard to believe."
Sean lay back in shock, breathless at the energy and force of this newly-unbridled man who seemed eager to throw off the rest of his innocence. Darrell had always been a quick study, and he proved it, repeating what Sean had so expertly done -- perhaps he didn't have the skill and deftness of Sean's long practice, but he moved with a ferocious desire to bring the smaller man to ecstasy.
Where he departed was Sean's cock and balls. Unrestrained by the fabric prison that caged his own genitals, Darrell dove in with a will, licking and snuffling the sweat and musk like a drug. He licked everywhere he could find before coming up for air.
"Teach me, Sean. Teach me what comes next."
Sean had rarely felt such tender lust, such gentle obsession to make this perfect. He rolled Darrell onto his back and moved down the man's body, licking, stroking, stimulating everything he came across. He gently raised Darrell's hips and the older man instantly understood, cooperating in the removal of his sopping jockstrap. Sean set it reverently to the side, determined to ask for it as a souvenir to suckle and relive the night through taste and smell.
The man's cock was thick but not yet fully hard. His prior orgasm -- combined with his perceived humiliation, fear of rejection and uncertainty (or perhaps dread) -- had taken hold. Sean, though, as delighted. One of his favorite things in God's creation was the feel of a cock coming to full and rampant life inside his mouth and, eventually, throat.
Sean slurped in the sticky, cum-soaked monster. Well, monster in one sense, he thought. Coach Davis was no Howie. He had a thick, cut seven-incher with a beautiful color-change at the scar and a wide-flared tip reminiscent of a pagoda.
Sean carefully cleaned the older man's unexplored cock and pulled it deep, using his tongue to lave and lavish attention upon the shaft even more than the head. He let his hands rove to the man's balls and sneak into the crack. The point right as the trench gave way to the guiche itself had elicited a fearsome groan earlier when he licked it, and his hand found it easily.
Darrell was in heaven, delirious with pleasure for the first time in his life. He'd never thought to imagine a blowjob, even though he'd heard the term in innumerable locker rooms. For reasons that escaped him, the idea that it could map to his own fantasies of naked men had never occurred to him... until now. Now, all he could think of was doing this to Sean, making the little leprechaun squeal in joy just as he himself moaned and cursed.
Sean kept the attack in full force as the snake unfurled in his mouth. Before long, it was as ramrod straight and iron-hard as any mature dick would ever be, and he started to put his full attention to it. Long, deep strokes, right to the edge of the throat (he was saving that for later) were interspersed with lightning raids on the pubic bush (note to self: barber needed immediately) and the exquisitely-sensitive spot where inner thigh gave way to ball-sac and back.
When Coach Davis was literally squirming like a little boy at Mass, Sean pulled back and began to lick and nibble the very edge of the flared corona of the glans. His tongue was delighted to find a profusion of paps* along the rear edge. He set to lip-nibbling them, knowing that the intense pleasure could easily be painful. He knew he had gotten it right when Darrell's entire body went into a rigid arc and he let out a high keen of delirious pleasure.
*[ED: Also called penile papules, officially hirsuties coronae glandis, paps are the vestiges of the penile spines of our closest simian relatives and one of the most-erotic points for the roughly one-quarter of men lucky enough to have them. The author, fuck all, is sadly not one of them!]
When the man's hips finally fell back to the bed, Sean started the deep-throat ravishment that made him a revered cocksucker even in the rarefied company of the Raven's Claw staff: a throat-deep suck with several swallows that contracted his pharynx convulsively, milking those very paps as well at the rest of Darrell's overjoyed and virginal cockhead. He pulled off the rod with a slow, luxurious, lick-infested trip back along the shaft, then launched a ferocious assault with lips and tongue on the glans as a whole.
Darrell Davis, at thirty-seven and a natural athlete with superb control, had impressive staying power... or he had thought so before this. He lasted nine such cycles or about a minute and a half before screaming through his second orgasm, pumping a load even more copious than the previous into the exultant throat and mouth of Sean. He had to physically pry the Irishman off his cock as it became too sensitive to stand.
Sean was gratified with the skill with which Darrell repeated the process on his own, somewhat-smaller prick. He tried to swallow and gagged, and Sean pulled him back and said to wait on that. In fact, Sean considered that sound, a man gagging around his cock, the sexiest sound in the known universe; it meant that a man had chosen your pleasure over his own need for oxygen.
The former coach was a determined student, learning quickly both from twitched and hisses of discomfort and penetration moans of satisfaction, adjust and improving his technique at each. Sean really did have impressive control over her orgasm, but he knew how hard Darrell was working to bring him joy and played to that. The occasional tooth-scrape of overly enthusiastic ball squeeze was nothing to the low, unintentional moans, whimpers and quivers his virgin lover gave out as the older man exult in his first taste of cock. Sean could sense when the use of unaccustomed muscles started temper Darrell's pleasure and allowed himself to flow, vocal and writhing, to an immensely satisfying climax.
Darrell was shocked at the taste, first of the precum and later of the jism itself. Neither would ever be his first choice for a cocktail mixer, but there was such a rush of power knowing that the slimy residue was, in fact, the liquid joy he'd sucked out of his painfully-sexy little lover. It was, in fact, the flavor of man, and he knew that he would quickly come to crave it, crave the taste as a trademark of ecstasy.
Leo watched, stroking himself to two orgasms as the two men gave each other amazing, screaming, crying, cussing, moaning, shrieking orgasms over the next two hours. It was simple muscle exhaustion that felled them, and they slept with the diminutive Sean curled into the chest of the bigger, older and, by that point, completely insensate (and happily ex-virgin) former coach.
I want to take Beta Readers Jack, Lee and Thom, with a special shout out to Jeff who made this chapter indescribably better. It is impossible to overstate how much I appreciate the hard work of everyone who has helped me.
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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 34 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 26 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 28 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Lake Desolation: 20 chapters .../rural/lake-desolation/ Culberhouse Rules: 11 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/ Raven's Claw: 10 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/ Ashes & Dust: 4 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/ Maybe Next Time: 4 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/