Rooming with Dylan
By Ben Coolen
bencoolen@protonmail.com
Readers, please keep in mind that this story is 100% fictional. In real life no man is better than the other, and nobody is entitled to treat other people cruelly.
This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, humiliation, oral sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it
immediately.
Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free service running.
Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text.
Chapter One
We were so excited about our upcoming little tour that our world seemed to fall apart when Mr. Carson broke it to us. Our vocalist and guitar player Jake had broken his collarbone in a bike accident and there was no way he could sing or play in the next few weeks. Mr. Carson also told us that he didn't know any other talented singer in our school who also played the guitar and would be able to replace Jake.
I happened to agree with him. The musical culture of our generation favored solo singers, rappers and DJs but there seemed to be no space for guitar heroes. So, we needed to forget about our plan to take part in the state school band contest and the following three performances at schools around the state capital.
But in two days I found a solution while masturbating.
Does that sound weird to you? Lemme explain.
I was lying in my bed, jacking my cock and dreaming about boys. Not just any kind, but my favorite: cool, handsome, self-assured, popular and cocky. You know, bad boys! In my fantasies, one of those boys would approach me and tell me he needed a blowjob and that I looked just like the kind of faggot he could use. I would follow him to a suitable place, sometimes behind bushes, sometimes under the bleachers, or a filthy toiled stall. I would kneel on the ground or a dirty floor, unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. Often, he would tell me to beg for his cock before allowing me to pull down his boxers. And without exceptions those boxers were no cheap brand. Oh no, they would always be the classy, bold, sexy kind that only handsome, cocky, bad boys had the courage to wear.
This time my fantasy took me back to the locker room where I had seen Dylan take off his tattered, ripped jeans a few weeks earlier. Seeing him in his underwear took my breath away. He was wearing a pair of tight boxer trunks by that skater brand Ethika, known for its daring and sexy design underwear collections for young men. These boxers came with a jungle-theme printed in screaming red, orange, black and gold neon colors. And the pouch was covered with the head of a roaring tiger, with piercing eyes and terrifying teeth protecting Dylan's package. The metaphor did not need explanations; you really had to be a well-known stud to pull that off in front of other guys. If I had showed up in the locker room wearing those boxers, I would've been laughed at, no doubt. But Dylan wore them in a most natural way, joining a vivid discussion about the best tactics on how to pick up girls and have them put out for you. He naturally had a trick or two up his sleeve to share with the guys around him.
I turned away to avoid the discussion, as the topic was painful to me. That kind of chat often made some of the guys tease me by asking a seemingly innocent question, like "Stevens, why don't you tell us about your tactics for picking up girls?" The question was always followed by public laughter. Everybody knew that I had never been seen dating a girl, although I had never admitted being gay.
In my check list of desirable bad boy qualities Dylan had all the boxes ticked. He was stunningly handsome, funny, infuriatingly arrogant, popular and a rebel who challenged any kind of authority every single day. And on top of that he was also a skater and a soccer player. He would have been an undisputed choice as a forward in our school team if he had any interest in taking part in regular practice. He had a slim, toned body I loved to look at, whether he was in the school yard, clad in the snug ripped jeans and tight t-shirts he used to wear or in the locker room, where I was able to steal clandestine glances when he changed. I had never seen his cock but based on the bulge he was always sporting he seemed to be well proportioned.
Dylan was a recurring guest star of my wet fantasies. This time my imagination placed me on my knees on the ground under the bleachers, him standing right in front of me with his jeans unzipped, so that I was staring right into the open jaws of that roaring tiger. His manhood was stretching the beast's face so that it appeared to be ready to attack. But he didn't let the tiger out yet. He wanted to humiliate me first by making me worship the animal, by kissing and licking its silky fur and flaming jaws while he laughed at me. I felt so lucky to be allowed to smell and taste that supreme young male who seemed to have it all: the looks, the attitude, the confidence. Finally, he was satisfied with my begging and allowed me to suck his cock until he deposited a huge load of sperm into my eagerly waiting mouth. Then he just zipped up and left, leaving me there on my knees, his cum dribbling out of my mouth.
When I was cleaning myself in the bathroom I felt like something was bothering me. I had missed something important during my fantasy. I tried to focus. The scene in the locker room... the tiger... the guys talking about getting girls to put out... It was something I had heard Dylan say.
Then it hit me. I could hear Dylan's voice bragging inside my head.
"Look guys, when I take my guitar and start singing cheesy tunes, even the most uptight chicks get wet enough to spread their legs for me."
And then I heard someone say:
"Yeah, I've heard you sing. Dylan's a fucking rock star, guys. No wonder he gets so much pussy."
Dylan could sing! And he played the guitar! He was talented! We were saved!
There were a couple of big problems, though. The first one was Dylan's reputation. Our band was supposed to represent our school as a respectable institution of education with high moral standards. Dylan, on the other hand, was well known for his contempt and general disrespect for institutions and regulations. As an infamous pussy hound his low moral standards were also notorious. I knew that Mr. Carson's first reaction would be a firm `NO'.
But obstacle number 1 might be overcome because Mr. Carson wasn't really a strict man and he wanted his students to succeed. Besides, I knew how to handle him.
Obstacle number two was way harder. We would have to persuade Dylan to join, even temporarily, a band that played classic rock and was made up of a wimpy bass player (me), a nerd behind the drum set and an insecure misfit playing the keyboards. Why would he do that? I had to find a way to convince him before even thinking of approaching him.
A few days later I plucked up all my courage and approached Dylan while he was chatting with his friends at the park near our school. He was lounging on a bench, legs spread wide and feet resting on his skateboard.
I walked to the bench, took a breath and looked him in the eye.
"Hi Dylan, there's something I wanted to ask you. Could I have a word with you, in private?"
He smiled and looked at his friends to make sure he had their full attention before answering.
"I don't need to get my cock sucked right now. But thanks for asking."
His friends roared with laughter at his witty comment while I stood in front of them, my face now beet-red.
But when they had had enough fun at my expense, Dylan stood up and put his hand on my shoulder, guiding me away from his entourage.
"Okay, kid. You got two minutes," he said and sat down on another bench.
Kid? I was almost a year his senior. And yet somehow it sounded natural to me.
When I explained my plan to Dylan, he started to laugh right away.
"Hehehehe, join a fucking band of losers? No fucking way! Seeya, kid," he said and got up.
But I begged him to listen to my offer for just a brief moment. He sat down reluctantly and I made my case.
It would be only four gigs. The state band competition and three additional gigs at nearby schools. We would stay three nights in a motel, paid by the school, of course.
And then I revealed the ace up my sleeve, the bait I had worked out after doing some discreet background investigation. I knew Dylan had recently put together a skate punk band, but they had no place to practice. And I was the student responsible for the new music studio at the school.
"So, after rehearsing with us a few times and doing the shows with us, you could use the back room of the studio to practice with your own band. You could even make a demo recording. I would be your studio engineer -- totally free of charge."
I could see my sales pitch had made an impression on him. He inspected me with his intense dark eyes that were partly covered by floppy chestnut-colored locks with auburn stripes.
"How long can we use the studio?"
"As long as you are a student in the school."
He smiled.
"That would be almost two years, if I don't get expelled."
I smiled back.
"Better be a good boy then."
"I want to have my own room in the motel."
"Sorry, no can do. We have only double rooms, at least two guys in each, separate beds. I was gonna share with Jake, but you can choose any roommate you want. As long as it's a guy."
"Do you fart a lot?"
"No."
"Snort?"
"Not that I know."
"Take a shower every day?"
"Yup."
"They say you're a faggot. Is that true?"
I blushed.
"No," I lied.
He looked amused.
"Are you gonna make a pass at me if we share a room?"
"Absolutely not," I said, my voice shaking a little.
"Okay."
"You'll do it?"
"You got wax in your ears, dude? I said okay."
"Thanks Dylan. Really appreciate this," I said and extended my hand.
He flipped me the bird and walked away.
I was going to spend three nights in the same hotel room with Dylan. How could I prevent my cock from being hard all the time?
Dylan showed up at our first rehearsal almost on time. He inspected the studio with an approving smile and tuned his electric guitar. And then we started to play.
Dylan wasn't a great guitar player but he had talent. His singing voice was good -- not outstanding but because of his huge confidence, he didn't hesitate to use it and his good looks would make the audience forgive the occasional vocal slip.
And I enjoyed rehearsing with Dylan enormously. He was funny and charismatic, constantly joking and making fun of us, and I could have spent all day watching the movements of his slim body. He often lifted his shirt to scratch his abdomen, revealing a flat stomach with natural washboard abs. He didn't seem to have an ounce of fat in his body and he clearly enjoyed showing it off.
Dylan cracked up when Mr. Carson, our music teacher and tour leader, showed him our matching stage outfits: dark-blue silky pants and shirts with embroidered sleeves.
"No fucking way I'm wearing those faggy rags."
After lengthy negotiations, it was agreed that Dylan would wear his own dark-blue shirt and jeans.
"As long as they are clean and decent," Mr. Carson stressed. Dylan just smiled at him.
We were surprised when Dylan came to our dress rehearsal dressed in a clean and intact dark blue shirt and matching jeans that were quite decent looking in my eyes. But I knew Mr. Carson would frown on the tight fit and the ripped knees. I was right.
"Those jeans are too tight. Don't you have any looser ones," he asked when he saw Dylan's outfit.
Dylan glanced down at his jeans and smiled, chewing his gum.
"They are not even tight enough."
"And there are holes in them. Don't you have anything intact to put on?"
Dylan kept looking at him with a condescending smile that was guaranteed to infuriate any adult.
"I come from a poor family. This is all I got."
I chimed in.
"Compared to pants that many young people wear these days those are really modest, Sir."
Mr. Carson grimaced. He knew there was nothing he could do about Dylan's outfit if he wanted the band to have a singer and a guitar player.
"But no more holes in your jeans, young man. Is that understood?"
"Sure," Dylan said, smiling.
We traveled to the state capital on a school bus. There were fifteen of us: two teachers, our band, a jazz band and an all-female a cappella singing group. The two-hour drive was dull and eventless, as most of us hadn't gotten much sleep the previous night, some being nervous because of the upcoming performance and one of us mainly because he would be sleeping in the same room with the main character of his wet dreams.
We got to our motel and were assigned our rooms. Dylan unlocked ours and stepped in. He stopped on his heels in the doorway.
"What the fuck is this, dude?"
I had to stand on my toes to look over his shoulder. I knew immediately what he was talking about. Instead of the single beds we had been promised, we were expected to share a "queen bed" as the guy at the reception called it when we complained about the mistake. He also informed us that no extra beds were available.
The bed in our room was maybe 75 inches wide, wider than my own bed back home, but not much.
"What are we gonna do?" I asked Dylan.
He shrugged.
"I don't know about you, but I know what I'm gonna do if you don't keep your hands inside your half of the bed. I'm gonna fucking kill you."
We decided not to let the little bed problem bum us out. Our stage time was only four hours away, and we were expected to be ready for transport in an hour, dressed in our stage clothes. I turned my back politely to Dylan while we changed.
I had no problems with my costume, but Dylan was not satisfied in his. He posed in front of the mirror in different angles.
"I want more rips in these pants."
"Mr. Carson won't like that, Dylan."
"Fuck that old cocksucker. I want to show off for the chicks in the audience. I want their pussies to get wet while they watch me. I need your help."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I'll show you," he said and reached into a side pocket of his backpack.
He took out a Leatherman tool and snapped out the little scissors. Then he positioned himself in front of the mirror again. He cut a little hole in the thigh of his jeans about an inch below his crotch level and broadened it a bit with his fingers, revealing a slice of the white inner pocket.
"It has to look like it has been ripped, not cut. You do the ripping and I'll tell you when it's right."
That sounded way too good to be true. I swallowed, walked over and stopped in front of him, not knowing if I should just start ripping his jeans or wait for further instructions.
"Get down so I can see myself in the mirror while you do it. Now start ripping but just little by little."
I swallowed again, sat down on the floor with my legs crossed and pushed two fingers through the rip. I could feel his firm upper thigh through the cotton of the pocket. I pulled the edges of the hole apart and the denim gave in with a crackle.
"Pull the pocket out of the hole."
I stuck my finger in again and took hold of the pocket. I felt bare skin against the back of my fingers when I pulled the pocket out.
"Good. Now go on. I want the babes to see my boxers."
I tried to swallow again but my mouth was too dry. I ripped his jeans past the pocket until my fingers met thinner fabric. I was now touching Dylan's underwear, dizzyingly close to his genitals, and I could feel the heat radiating from his scrotum. I removed my fingers and Dylan started to play air guitar to the mirror with his legs spread. His turquoise boxer trunks flashed through the rip. He looked hot, and very close to the brink of indecency.
"Rip another half-inch."
This time my finger met something soft. I nearly fainted when I realized I was touching Dylan's ball sack! He seemed to be too busy admiring himself to notice, and I quickly pulled my fingers out. Dylan played his imaginative guitar again.
"Yeah. That's good."
Mr. Carson was standing at the door of the bus, making sure no one would be left behind. Dylan walked past him with a polite smile, holding his sweater so that it covered the fresh rip in his thigh. I sat next to him on the bus and had a hard time trying not to stare at his crotch.
When we got to the stage all our worries vanished and we just enjoyed playing in front of the audience. We knew we had no chances to win any of the available prices; some of the competing bands were so good. We played classic rock and roll and to my surprise many young people in the crowd joined in the chorus.
Halfway through our song list Dylan stepped forward for his solo and stopped just at the edge of the stage. I was stunned to see that he had somehow managed to strip off his shirt, wearing now a tight black tank top he had hidden under it. His jeans were hanging so low that the waistband and the top part of his turquoise Hollister underwear were visible. Girls started immediately to push their way through the crowd towards the stage. Dylan spread his legs and started to show off.
Dylan wasn't a great guitar player but he knew his rock and roll clichés. He went down on his knees on the very edge of the stage and leaned back, spreading his legs wide so that the girls in the front looked straight into his scrotum. The chicks went wild and extended their arms to touch the legs of the sexy young guitar hero. Dylan let them feel his thighs for a minute until his solo ended and he stood up again. Before retreating, he smiled and winked at a pretty redhead, who had screamed and stared at him wide-eyed and felt his leg with greedy fingers.
After the gig we rested backstage for a while, elated from the experience, and planned to celebrate it somewhere with sodas and ice cream.
But Dylan had no intention to join us.
"I got some hunting to do. Have fun, kids," he said and left.
I was back in my room well before our strict 10 PM curfew, but Dylan didn't show up. I must say I wasn't surprised. I knew Mr. Carson would check on us before he went to sleep, so I put in motion a little deception plan. I messed up Dylan's side of the bed a bit to make it look like he had been using it. When Carson knocked on the door, I made a quick dive to the bathroom and turned on the shower before opening the door.
"Where's Dylan?"
I pointed to the bathroom door.
"Taking a shower. You want me to go get him?"
"No need for that, I'm glad to see he respected the curfew. Must say that was a positive surprise," he said and closed the door.
I did some reading until 11 PM and felt ready to get some sleep. Still no sign of Dylan. I knew he could take care of himself I just hoped he hadn't gotten in any trouble with the law. In that case I would have been in deep trouble, too.
I was soundly asleep when I woke up to hushed voices in the room. One of them belonged to Dylan. But the other person in the room was female. They whispered and giggled, and I could hear them exchanging wet kisses. I opened my eyes and let them adjust to the dimness of the room. The motel had a giant neon sign right outside our room, and the worn curtains couldn't keep the light completely out. I saw what I had already guessed: Dylan had brought the adoring redhead from our gig to our room.
The girl took a wine bottle from her handbag, and they both took a swig; Dylan helped himself to another one, too. 'You're doing great, Dylan,' I thought to myself. 'You've been on this tour for less than 20 hours, and you have already broken curfew, gotten yourself intoxicated and brought a girl into our school-paid shared room. What next, drugs?'
"I better get going," she said.
"Stay for a little while. Please, I just wanna cuddle a bit. Just a few minutes," Dylan said with his sweetest voice.
After some feeble objections just to keep up appearances, the girl agreed and sat down next to me on the narrow bed, while Dylan brushed his teeth in the bathroom. I could smell her perfume, which made me grimace.
In a minute Dylan reappeared. He had lost his shirt and the girl looked at him, biting her lip.
Dylan sat down on the bed too, kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jeans.
"What are you doing, Dylan? You're not gonna..."
"Oh no, baby. It's just so hot in here," he smiled and kissed her.
The kisses became quickly more passionate, and the couple lay down on the bed. When Dylan climbed on top of her I could see that he had already a hard-on in his boxers. He fondled her leg and slipped his hand under her skirt.
"Be careful, don't wake him up," she said hastily.
Dylan let out a raspy laugh and looked at me. He saw that I was awake.
"Forget about him, he's gay."
"He's gay? Really?"
"Yeah, a homo. Not out yet, but I can spot a fag when I see one."
The girl giggled at his bluntness and Dylan winked at me. I felt unbelievably humiliated, being forced to listen to them discuss my sexual orientation like I wasn't even there.
I will spare you the details of the lengthy foreplay that I had to witness. Bottom line is, as you have already guessed, pretty soon the teen couple was fucking right there next to me so that the whole bed was rocking, and the springs of the mattress were squeaking.
The morning sun of the early summer was already casting light into the room. The girl was almost completely hidden from my eyes amongst the pillows and sheet, but it wasn't her I wanted to see. I stared at Dylan's naked body next to me, his upper body raised up, supported by his strong arms and his loins and buttocks moving rhythmically up and down, back and forth, as he thrusted his cock in and out of her pussy. The muscles of his shoulders, back and buttocks flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed, as he fucked her more and more powerfully.
I didn't know much about sex then, but I could see that Dylan was already an expert fucker. She kept moaning and panting and feeling Dylan's back and squeezing his buttocks while he fucked her brains out, making me feel jealous. He changed pace every now and then, slowing down, rolling his hips while thrusting into her and then increased force and pace again. His hair hanging down, his forehead looked already sweaty, and I could see beads of sweat running down his shoulder blades.
And then he slowed down and started over again. Eventually her moans got louder, until she reached her orgasm with a long moan of pleasure. Dylan kept fucking her until he reached his own climax and then they recuperated for a long while, panting and exchanging kisses, whispers and giggles while I pretended to be asleep.
The strong smell of pussy and straight copulation disgusted me, but despite that my cock was hard and pulsing, begging for relief. Dylan was a fucking stallion and I had just watched him prove it.
There was hardly room enough for the three of us on the bed, but Dylan squeezed himself down between me and the girl until I nearly dropped down on the floor. I pushed back a bit and he got a little more comfortable. Then he grabbed the pillow from under my head and fell asleep in an instance.
I on the contrary, didn't get much sleep that night. Having Dylan's naked body so close to me, feeling his heat and smelling his body odor kept my cock hard and my mind awake. He was sleeping on his back, sheet tangled around his legs, and I drank in his strong shoulders, flat stomach and lower abdomen with my eyes. He hadn't bothered to shave or even trim his body hair, and a bush of chestnut-colored hair surrounded his genitals and formed a continuous love trail up to his navel. I had already noticed that he had tufts of similar hair in his armpits.
Then he moved his arm and rested it on top of his head. My face was now practically in his armpit that was still hot from the efforts of fucking. The closeness of his body and the manly odors I was breathing in were making me crazy.
I didn't dare to jack off in the same bed with two other teens so I considered locking myself in the bathroom to jack off. But the essence of Dylan's naked body next to me was like a magnet and I couldn't leave it, fearing that might have been a once in lifetime chance to experience it.
At some point I had fallen asleep, briefly waking up to see the girl gather her belongings, now fully dressed. She turned to look at Dylan, and I quickly closed my eyes but still peering through my eyelids to see her content smile when she looked at the young man who had provided her satisfaction. She leaned down to kiss Dylan's neck lovingly, and to brush his silky hair. Then she was gone.
The alarm of my phone woke us both up at 7 AM. I killed it and looked at Dylan.
He gave me a weary, self-satisfied smile.
"Did you enjoy the show?"
I frowned.
"Well, I would've preferred to get some sleep, but you didn't leave me much choice."
He laughed.
"Yeah, I guess I didn't. But she was a decent fuck. Not the best I had but she was alright for a one-night stand."
"Just get up, Dylan. Our bus is leaving soon. I'm gonna go grab some breakfast."
"I'll be right down," he said and rolled to his side.
Breakfast wasn't much, but I managed to gulp down a cup of stale coffee and a donut that tasted like the best before date was already way behind. Then I returned to our room and found Dylan fast asleep.
I sat down on the bed and shook his shoulder. Touching his bare skin made my cock stir.
"Dylan, wake up! We gotta go in ten minutes."
He opened his eyes but covered them with his arm.
"Oh fuck."
He smelled his armpit.
"I'm rank as fuck, I gotta take a shower. Dude, pack my bag and take it to the bus. But leave a clean change of clothes for me," he instructed, got stiffly up and headed for the bathroom. I had the opportunity to stare at his firm ass as he took the few necessary steps to get to the bathroom door. I noticed that his buttocks were almost completely hairless except for some downy dark hair at the edges of the crack.
He didn't ask for my help, he just gave me an order. Yet somehow it felt natural to do what he said without objections. Since the previous day Dylan had grown enormously in my eyes; he was a proven man, he did whatever he wanted and he had sex whenever he wanted, he acted like a rock star, and I was still just a shy, closeted gay virgin.
I started to gather his stuff. I picked up his shirt off the floor and dropped it into the bag. I had to search a bit before I found his turquois boxers and white athletic socks under the bed. I picked them up and looked at the boxers. Dylan had been wearing them while playing on stage and teasing girls, and he had been wearing them while he was making out with that girl. I felt a sudden urge to smell them. I sat down on the bed and stared at the bright bundle in my hands. I brought it close to my face, took a breath through my nose, and sensed the odor they were giving off. I knew I had to smell the pouch that had contained his manhood. I turned the boxers inside out.
Hearing his voice behind me startled me.
"Dude, I ran out of tooth... what the fuck, Stevens? God, you're sniffing my dirty boxers you little perv!"
"No!" I yelled, horrified, and threw his underwear into the bag.
I looked up. Dylan was looking at me with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and a smirk on his lips.
"Can't blame you gay boy, I'm hot as fuck. You can sniff my boxers if you want, I don't mind," he teased.
I picked Dylan a clean t-shirt and a pair of white athletic socks. I would never have believed I would get the opportunity to choose what kind of underwear he would put on, but now I did. The white Calvins in his bag looked sexy, but the leopard-patterned American Eagles matched my wet dreams better. I folded the clothes for him on the table and carried our bags to the bus.
We pulled off our second gig like seasoned professionals. Dylan kept a lower profile now that there were younger kids and several teachers among the audience, and he even kept his shirt on for the entire show.
After the gig we planned to get some fresh air and see some of the sights of the state capital. No one was surprised when Dylan told us he had other plans. Halfway through our little sightseeing tour I excused myself too. I wanted to get back to the motel as soon as possible: I would have the room to myself while Dylan was out, and I needed desperately to jack off.
I unlocked the door with my key card and stepped in. The sight in front of me made me stop on my heels. Dylan was lying on his back on the bed, legs spread wide, wearing only the socks and the leopard-patterned boxers I had picked for him in the morning. He was holding his phone in his left hand, staring at the screen intensely, biting his lower lip. A lascivious bulge was stretching the front of his boxers and he was rubbing it with his right hand.
"Close the door, asshole."
I woke up from my trance and realized that anyone passing by could see Dylan. I closed the door and stepped in, not knowing what to do.
"Get me some tissues."
I went to the bathroom and handed him a wad of tissues.
Dylan moved to the right side of the bed -- my side -- and placed the tissues on the blanket between his legs. Then he patted the empty space next to him.
"Take a seat, gay boy, and make yourself useful."
After some hesitation I sat down on the bed. Dylan handed me his phone. I looked at the screen. He was watching a video of a young guy getting a blowjob from a big-boobied blond girl.
"Hold it up for me."
"What?" I asked dumbfounded.
"What?" he mimicked.
"I want you to hold the phone for me so that I can use my both hands, dumbass."
"Oh? Okay." I said and held the phone in front of his face.
"Not so close."
I moved it a bit.
"Good. A bit more volume."
I found the right button and pressed it until the slurping sounds from the blowjob and the gravely exaggerated moans of the guy were loud and clear.
Dylan started to rub his chest and abs with his left hand while his right hand continued to work on the bulge of his boxers. Soon his fingers found their way under the broad waistband and I could see them working on his growing hard-on. Then he pulled the waistband down and his cock sprang out.
"Haha, look at that! This bad boy sure needs some relief," he said and grabbed his dick.
My arm was already becoming numb, so I lay down on my side next to Dylan and rested my head on the pillow. My face was only a couple of inches away from his hair, and I could smell his shampoo.
"Dude, I can feel your breath on my cheek. Move."
"Sorry," I said and inched my body down until my right cheek in level with his shoulder. Now I had a ring-side view down along his taut body, and I watched mesmerized as his abs moved and his hips wriggled on the bed.
Dylan pulled his boxers down and kicked them off. His cock was now free from all restrictions. He hooked his legs and spread them wide, and his left thigh ended up resting on mine. He put his left arm behind his back and started to jerk his cock in his right fist.
My arm became numb again. After some hesitation I rested it on his chest, and he let me do it, probably because it helped me keep the screen steady. I could feel his heart pumping under the warm, already a little sweaty skin.
The young guy in the video was fucking the girl now, and the lewd sounds grew louder. I glanced at Dylan's face. He bit his lower lip, occasionally licking it a bit, which was sexy as fuck.
The couple on the screen changed positions and the guy started to fuck her doggy-style.
"Rewind to the spot where they started missionary," Dylan ordered with a husky voice.
I fumbled with the unfamiliar phone, trying to find the right spot, but I was too nervous, and Dylan was too impatient to wait.
"Gimme the phone," he grunted.
I gave it to him and he found the right spot in a few seconds. He didn't hand it back to me, however, but held it up with his both hands, supporting his elbows on his chest. That helped him keep the screen steady but made him unable to keep jerk his cock, of course. But Dylan had a solution for that.
"Jerk it," he snapped.
"What?"
"Are you fucking deaf, dude? Jerk it for me."
I looked at the sturdy penis, fully hard, pointing right to my eyes. Precum was oozing out of the slit, and the shaft glistened with the slimy substance. His cock looked both intimidating and tempting.
I inched myself towards the foot of the bed and reached with my arm towards my line of duty, supporting it on his lower abdomen. My fingers brushed through his bush until they touched the root of the hard shaft. I wrapped my thumb and index finger around Dylan's cock. For the first time in my life I touched another boy's genitals and knew immediately that I was doing the right thing. No more pretense.
"Squeeze it while you jerk. Harder. Like that. Good. Keep doing that."
"Yeah. Yeah dude, let the bitch have it. Fuck her for me bro," he mumbled.
After maybe five more minutes I felt his cock starting to pulse. I knew he was close. Soon I felt Dylan's firm abs tense under my arm. His slim waist arched up, lifting his butt in the air, and then he let out a grunt.
"Ffffuckkk!"
With that he released a shot of cum on his belly and chest -- the shot was so powerful that only a few tiny ricochets landed on my arm.
"Ahh..." he moaned and splashed out two more shots. The last one was the weakest, and some drops of his jizz landed on my arm.
Dylan panted for a minute or two. Then he looked at me and flashed a shit-eating grin.
"Did you see that?"
"Yeah."
"You enjoyed watching it, right?"
"Well, yeah."
"And got some on your arm, hehehe!"
He scooped some cum off his abs with his finger and held it up.
"This is called stud-cum. Do you like it?"
"I dunno."
"You don't know? Well, let's find out."
He brought his finger right in front of my eyes. Then he moved it down and rubbed cum on my upper lip.
"I bet you'll love it."
I breathed in through my nose and sensed the sweet, luscious odor of young man's semen.
"Well?"
I nodded yes, too embarrassed to speak.
"Yeah, of course you love the smell of my cum, gay boy. I'll let you taste it too," he said and scooped up more cum. He pressed the slimy finger on my lips. I could feel the stickiness of the cum as he rubbed the tip of his finger against the sensitive skin of my lips.
"Come on, taste it, gay boy. Mmmm, yummy."
I parted my lips and let him push the finger into my mouth. Then I closed my lips again and he pulled his finger out, leaving the cum inside.
The taste of Dylan's sperm was strong but I didn't find it unpleasant at all. On the contrary, my first thought after tasting it was that I hoped that he would let me taste it right off the source, shooting his load straight into my eager mouth.
Dylan fed me two more large drops of his cum without any objections from me.
"There you go. Have you ever tasted cum before?"
"No."
He snickered.
"Well now you have. You're a cocksucker, did you know that?"
His bluntness took me by surprise, and I blushed. Despite him calling me repeatedly 'gay boy', I hadn't actually confessed my sexual desires to him.
"No. But I don't think I am one. I've never sucked anybody's cock."
"That only proves that you don't know you're a cocksucker yet."
"Why are you saying that? I'm not a cocksucker."
He laughed aloud.
"You shoulda seen the look on your face when I offered you the first glob of my cum. You looked so fucking embarrassed, but you wanted it so much that you let me do it. And when I pulled my finger out, you looked guilty as fuck, hehehe! But you let me do it again. Only a cocksucker would do that, everybody knows that. You're a born cocksucker, Stevens, just admit it!"
"I dunno." That was all I could come up with.
"You dunno, hehehehehe!"
I hoped Dylan would stop teasing me. But on the other hand, I hoped he wouldn't. And he didn't.
"Here, have some more!" he instructed and without the slightest objection I obliged, again and again while he snickered at me. I thought my cock was gonna explode.
Then I got my senses back and got up.
"I'm gonna wash my hands now." I said.
"No, I'll go take a shower first."
He grabbed his boxers that were still bundled around his right ankle and pulled them on.
Dylan's shower seemed to take an eternity. I needed desperately to get to the bathroom and jerk off.
Finally, the bathroom door opened, and Dylan came out drying his hair with a towel. I devoured his slim, tanned body and manly cock with my eyes.
He saw me staring at him longingly and gave me a condescending smile.
"Your turn, gay boy. You can jack off in the bathroom. I left my boxers and socks on the floor. But wash them when you're done. I don't want to see your drool on my underwear."
Dylan took for granted that a guy like me would want to jack off sniffing his dirty boxers and socks. And he even ordered me to wash them.
'How arrogant and rude can a guy get!' I thought as I locked the bathroom door.
Then I picked up the socks. The idea of sniffing his socks hadn't occurred to me before. But I knew I had to do it. I sat down on the toilet and sniffed the scuffed socks. The smell wasn't too strong, and I didn't find it repulsive at all. In fact, I found the idea of humiliating myself by sniffing that cocky straight boy's socks a huge turn-on. But I was so horny that I knew I didn't have much time before my cock would erupt, so I put the socks aside, rolled out some toilet paper and took my cock out. Then I picked up the leopard-patterned boxers and turned them inside out. The pouch was white on the inside and I could see fresh yellowish stains of Dylan's precum. The stains were still moist.
I pressed the pouch on my face and took a deep breath through my nose. Suddenly my world was filled with the essence of a young stud: Dylan's precum, Dylan's sweat, Dylan's balls, Dylan's piss. I managed to take two more whiffs and briefly lick the stains of his precum before I shot a huge load of cum into the wad of paper.
I sat on the toilet recovering for a while, then cleaned myself and washed Dylan's underwear before unlocking the door. He had already turned off the light above the bed, so I navigated my way in the darkness through the room to my side of the bed.
"Good night," I said but got no answer.
I was tired from lack of sleep on the previous night and felt relaxed and content from the release I had finally gotten. I closed my eyes and drifted through a pleasant warm fog towards the wonders of sleep when Dylan poked me in the ribs with his elbow.
"Dude, wake up!" he said and turned the light on.
I opened my eyes.
He turned the lamp so that the light pointed at my face. I had to blink a couple of times.
"Would you like to suck me off?"
I gasped. I knew the answer of course, but I tried desperately to protect the last shattered pieces of my manly pride.
"I dunno, man."
He snickered.
"Think carefully, gay boy. If you say no, that's final. That's it, you'll never get your lips around my dick. But if you say yes, I just might let you suck it someday. I just might let you get down on your knees and unzip me and fish my cock out of my pants and beg for my permission to start sucking my fucking cock, Stevens. How's that?"
Holy fuck! Was he reading my mind? He had just described the scene of my favorite fantasy.
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I would like to suck you off."
"Okay. But let's make this clear. You are ready and willing to take my fucking cock in your mouth and suck it until I shoot my fucking cum down your throat? And you're gonna thank me afterwards?"
"Yeah."
"I'm not gonna do anything back to you, I'm not a fag. Is that clear?"
"Yeah."
"Good. It's nice to know I have an eager cocksucker on call in case I need it," Dylan said and switched off the light.
Getting back to sleep had suddenly become very difficult for me.
If you want to read more, please drop me a line or two:
bencoolen@protonmail.com