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RICK HOWMAN - PART ONE
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RICK HOWMAN - PART ONE
"How many inches is that?"
"Do you really want to know?? 8, I suppose. 7 or 8."
"Feels more, like."
"That's cs it's thick."
"9?"
"I don't think it's that big. How do you measure it?"
"I think you know exactly how big it is," he said.
"I think you know too," I grinned.
Then I gave it a final push that made him shriek and then laugh and then pant and then put his hands round my neck and pull me forward to kiss him whilst I rocked it out and in the tight surface of his shiny willing sphincter.
"Does that hurt?" I said.
"Yeah a bit," he said, concentrating, panting, controlling his breath.
"That's good. Don't relax," I said, "I want to feel it tighten up." I felt him tighten it. "The more it hurts the better it is." He tried to smile. "For both of us. And I want you to feel it. I want both of us to feel it."
His hands tightened round my neck so that he steadied himself as I lifted my back up and drop-thud him with all my weight again and again, gradually dropping it more and more quickly and more forcefully. I was conscious of my own strength and power, the wall of cum I would be releasing. I could see from his face that he was gradually allowing his mind to slip away and his sensations replace his uncertainties. Driving him deeper and deeper, I thought, "I love my prick!" - old reliable, doing once again the hard demanding service it was good at: Breaking another grateful sub.
Because, I had never cum up him before. It had taken a long time to get to this - but his first words to me, turning when he felt my hand on his tight shorts in the club pitch darkness, shouting his words in my ear over the rocking house club, had been, "Do you want to fuck me?"
I was impressed by his directness! His supple body twisted beneath my palms and I laughed, immediately slipping an arm round his waist - finding the space beneath his tee to touch his skin - and, grabbing him by the chin, I planted a long hard kiss through which I could taste his hunger and willingness like a sweet, sugary milk dripping over his teeth. His perfect teeth.
"You on the game?" I said (though I didn't think he was), "cos if you are, I don't pay for it !"
He looked shocked and his adorable cute eyes closed into narrow slots of incomprehension and embarrassment. He struggled to break free, pushing against my chest (my hard chest) with his open palm, and uttered the single word, "No-oo-oo!!" like a whine of pain. He made me laugh - no matter what, he made me laugh. I pulled him back to me, one hand grip on the back of his narrow thigh, and let him feel the meat in my leg against his clothes. His wrists slipped around my neck and crossed lazily above my back as he leant forward, giving me his tongue through a simple-minded smile of, "Yes-mmm-letsss."
His perfect smile.
I decided to take him straight back to my place; I didn't want to wait around: as we left I noticed envious men looking at us, inspecting us for chances, sizing us up as men and as a couple - whilst he seemed pleased to accompany me without a word of enquiry. Out in the cool air, fumes and bouncers parting from the open club door, I indicated my Merc, remote-clicked it and got in on the driver's side. "The door's open," I said unnecessarily over the mirror-surface of the roof. He tugged on the handle, clearly impressed, but not speaking. I waited inside. Boy, he was slow. He dropped into the deep seat next to me, quiet as a mouse; his bum squeaked the leather like a tiny fart and his naked knees bobbed nervously as I started the motor and pulled off, steering smoothly into the traffic flow.
"Seat belt," I said.
"Could you stop that?" I said.
"Stop what?"
"Stop jiggling your knees up and down. It's distracting."
"Don't you like my knees?"
"They're great," (great for putting round my neck, across my shoulders, great for spreading and pushing and separating wider than any blokes knees should go, licking between and hot hard fondling) "but I have to watch the road."
"Do I give you a hard-on?"
"Yeah. You do."
"Do I turn you on?"
"You should shut up or I'll have to punish you," I joked, but he shut up and was quiet for some time. When we left the motorway (it was just a short hop out of town) he said, "So where are we?"
I told him.
"You live in the middle of nowhere!" he said, a little nervously.
"Yeah. I know."
The street lights rapidly gave way to countryside darkness, illuminated only by my headlights. I flipped to high-beam and accelerated along a stretch of road I knew well.
He had relaxed.
"This car's so comfy ..." he said, reaching out a hand that grabbed my balls and rubbed against my prick. The steering wheel wobbled. "Com-fee com-fee, and warm too," he said. "Are these seats heated? Sweet!"
I glanced at him quickly - but I couldn't see anything in the dark. He sounded smooth. "I like the smell of cars," he said.
That's when I had to break suddenly to avoid a rabbit. He shrieked and laughed. "For fuckssake," I murmured under my breath, "such a girl."
"Sorry ... "He laughed again but less sure of himself as I screwed the wheel hard over and turned into the slipway of my house. I clicked to open the gates, and motion sensitive lights snapped on all along the drive, a thick strip of asphalt curving up through my huge lawn. The garage door elevated as we approached. I paused and drove in.
The motor shut off and my headlights cut out. In that silence all I could hear was the engine cooling. Tickticktick. Ticktick. Tick.
The interior lights illuminated when I started to open my door, then, like I had forgotten something, I looked at him. His face was strange under the weird lights - like a man-doll, head leaning forward at an angle that made him seem, briefly, like he was dead. Then he turned his head, smiled, and stared at me. I put my hand on his thigh, the hot brown skin, and we leaned in to kiss. His agile demanding tongue explored my mouth willingly, exciting me to explore him (like a new apartment!), finding his heartbeat thundering inside his chest. I imagined the throb of blood-flow tightening his anus.
"We've got to get inside," I said, unable to let go of him.
He had fallen quiet again.
"You can get out," I said when he didn't move. "This is it."
He took a breath and pushed on the door. As he slid out I watched the shape of his bum. The line of his underpants was clear, a ridge visible through his tight trackies. I just had an urge to remove them from his body with my teeth.
He was exactly my type.
As I guided him towards the door leading into the house, putting a hand on his behind and pinching it gently, he gasped.
"Is ... this, all, you?" he said, indicating the property, but also griping me, my heavy junk, with one hand behind his back.
"Yeah," I said with a smile, lingering to absorb his grip and then pushing him forward.
As he entered the hallway he whistled, "Man, you're rich!"
"Keep going," I said, knowing he didn't know the half of it, nudging him forward, towards another double door.
He stumbled as he pushed them open into the ground floor lounge. It has a plate glass wall overlooking the pool. The lights were all on. It all looked kind of magical, I must admit. He ran forward and stood in front of the window like a pilgrim witnessing the site of a miracle.
When he turned round to face me he said, "How come you get to afford all this?"
"You could say I've been lucky."
"What, inheritance lucky or internet-entrepreneur lucky or lottery lucky?"
I laughed. "None-of-your-business lucky!" I said.
He looked irritated. "Sorry to ask. It's normal to wonder."
"So say we stop doing what's normal," I said.
He smiled nervously.
"OK. It's just ... this is amazing!" he said, lifting his arms like a conductor brings his orchestra to their feet; expanding his chest, showing off the narrowness of his waist (his tee slipped up) and the girth of his legs, his prominent adams-apple and the curve of his beautiful neck, rough where the beard grew. His arms and shoulders formed an arc of muscularity enclosing his shining face as he raised it towards the twinkling baby-spotlights embedded in my huge ceiling. "I mean, it's beautiful. And this is all yours? Amazing. You are so lucky."
"Am I?" I said. I walked towards him and put my arms round him and attempted to kiss him (desperate to engulf him) but he squirmed out of my arms and walked in a large circle in front of the window, then past a sofa, the fireplace, another sofa, a breakfast table, and then back. It's a vast room.
"Are you? Are you lucky? I should say so!"
I walked towards him and put my hands on his hips, rotating him back towards the window so that his face, illuminated blue by the pool lights, became sculptural and classic and his body, outlined by the shivering water, became dreamy and unreal. He appeared to be completely in shock, overwhelmed by what he was experiencing, and scared, I presume, by the possibilities available over the time he was about to spend with me. He was shaking.
"The car was something else," he stammered, "but this, this ... really is, it's something else!"
"Do you like to swim?" I said, changing the subject.
"Brr not in this cold!"
If it hadn't been autumn, would he even have hesitated?
"It's heated," I said. "Here ..."
I flicked another switch and the panels slid open.
"You love the technology. Ha. You've got a switch for everything!" he smirked.
(I hoped so)
We stepped out on the cool patio and he rushed forward to touch the pool water, stooping like Narcissus to peer into its glowing depths.
"Hey, it is warm!"
"I know! Go on, have a dip. Have a dip. It'll relax you."
"What about you?"
"Yeah, why not. I'll take a dip."
We stripped off. As I undressed I watched him peel his shirt and toss it across his underpants.
We took off the rest of our clothes. He dropped his trackies, somehow turning them inside out as he did so, and flicking them straight, before tossing them into a straggled heap - revealing his beautiful brief undies I had wanted to eat myself (perhaps I still could). They were duck-egg blue with red piping (ripe cherry); rather more arresting than I had been anticipating. It was the ridge of the piping I had seen through his trackies, accentuating the curve of his ripe bottom. I for my part wore no kecks: Briefs restrict; shorts bunch; I prefer to hang free, and risk the embarrassment in exchange for the attention it often attracts.
We stood facing each other for a moment. His body was tight and smooth, a lean muscularity; Mine, a hairier, stockier version. I was self conscious. We were making no attempt to hide our erections.
"Christ I wish I had a dick like that!" he said, admiringly.
"Yours'n't bad," I said. He strepped back into my arms, reaching down. So did I, stroking his foreskin and then grasping it tightly so that he gasped, inhaling defiantly. I let go. As we hugged I pushed myself against him, feeling him rub himself against it, needily.
"When you piss I bet you piss like a horse," he whispered.
"And I bet you piss like a princess," I answered, thinking of his pretty cunt, and touching it with my index finger.
I inhaled deeply, controlling it as much as I could.
"You're driving me mad. I want you so much," I whispered, stroking his buttocks. The ripe curve of his round bottom. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
"Want you to fuck me," he echoed dreamily.
"Fuck."
"Me."
We were delirious.
He stopped and pushed me away to look at me, to admire me. I looked at him, willing to take the pause. His body was smooth, deeply tanned. His was a body I wanted to see bearing cool silks, sheltering beneath delicate nylons, that kind of thing.
"Work out much?" I said, kidding, eye to his eye, grasping his lats.
"Not so much. I cycle a lot."
"You're certainly fit from something ... Do you shave?" I said pointlessly, concious of his rough face.
"Yeah ... manscape," he smiled. "You?"
"I ... tidy."
He stroked my sinuey forearm and I shivered as his fingertips excited the curly red hairs that stood up there.
"I can see, that ... it's a fulltime job, I imagine."
"So, I'm hairy. Not excessively, I hope."
"No," he smiled, and carried on stroking me, "... not excessively."
"Your smooth skin ... not much hair..."
"Yeah. I ... tidy."
We laughed.
I felt his testicles through their rubbery bag.
"You shaved these."
"Yeah. I like to, keep'em clean."
I glanced down, pulling them forward and displaying them beneath his prick in my palm.
"Do they feel sticky?"
"They do a bit," he grinned.
"You sweat a lot."
"Not abnormally! My crotch gets sweaty," he said. "It's natural, erm, to sweat."
"Yeh," I smiled. "No, but cyclists ... usually shave, like their legs and everywhere, don't they?"
"I just cycle. I don't take it too seriously. I just like it, so I do it."
"I like that, 'I like it, so I do it'. Fair's fair. No offence."
"None taken. Yeh, I cycle everywhere. Stay lean - keep em keen," he grinned.
"Keeping it tight ... Well, you're certainly that," I said, letting his genitals drop from my hand and pinching a narrow fold of skin and subcutaneous fat from his rib cage, "lean, I mean."
He was in perfect shape.
"And you're keen," he said, caressing the fat prick that stuck out from my groin - the pre-cum was starting to form from its tip.
"Are you going to fuck me with that?" he was holding it, mimicking his cunt with his fist.
"Don't" I said "do that too much. Don't touch it too much. I don't want go before I give you all of it. Soon as I get the chance ... fuck you with all of it." We kissed. I tried just to restrain myself from shooting buckets all over the shining floor - and my Indian carpets! I just held him tight to me and tried to let the throbbing subside - comically picturing the rise of that unstoppable tsunami we have all seen on video, engulfing a narrow coastline. No, but I just pictured that because I was thinking of cuming inside him and it all flowing out, tidally from his hole once I'd finished with him. I knew I'd cum a lot. I could feel it. I knew I'd fill him up with it and he'd be running it all down his legs as he stood to go to the loo afterwards, fuck-farting and reeling from the damage I'd inflict on his eager shithole.
I allowed myself to touch his curved bottom, his dimpled buttocks.
"Christ," I said involuntarily.
"What is it?"
"I ... I just ... don't want to go off. I'm ... excited," I said.
"You're like an unexplored bomb," he said, smiling. "So am I. I want you."
And then, with a laugh, he released himself from my grip unexpectedly and threw himself into the pool with an enormous splash that soaked me and the dry pavement.
I was shocked, but quickly jumped in after him, giving chase, the cooling shock easing both both of us out of a priapic grip.
I'm a strong swimmer; he bobbed about, staring at me, not bothering to pretend he wasn't fascinated.
"Come on. Swim to me," I said.
He grinned and crawled a few strokes into my arms. My hands slid around him; his water-smoothed skin was a delight to touch and got me harder still. He felt that, when it knocked against him, and smiled sheepishly, locking his arms round my neck and letting me explore his bumcrack with my hefty fingers, letting me slide it between his legs.
He opened his mouth on my mouth and our tongues played together as he opened and locked his legs round my waist, making me think he'd let me fuck him right there in the pool, tempting me with his hole. My fingertip felt his asterisk, and played with it, opening and poking the rosey hole.
"Fuck me now," he said, letting my nob rub against the crack.
I grabbed the shaft and was about to when he wriggled out of my grip and swam away like a fish, diving and surfacing some way off. He was laughing.
"You swim well," I said, frustrated.
He laughed, "Can't catch me can you?"
I had to try! I dived forward but he shot off, scooping large efficient arms through the sparkling light, trailing foam. I couldn't catch up. I felt my annoyance rise up and had to master it. I leaped at him, shifting my legs like giants stride through the deep ocean, hitting the surface with my palms and panting at the exertion.
"Why are you doing this?" I laughed, knowing his stupid antics excited us both.
"I want you to catch me!" he laughed, choking on an inhalation and coughing as he continued to circle the tiled edge. He got to the steps and ran out, shining and glossy in the dark lights, thrillingly naked, his junk swinging wildly, and plopping wet foot prints on the light-coloured patio cement. It was childish and almost manically engaging. I wanted him so much. And I knew he was showing off.
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END OF RICK HOWMAN - PART ONE