Rooming with Dylan

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 Two

"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."

"Good. It's nice to know I have an eager cocksucker on call in case I need one," Dylan said and switched off the light.

In the morning Mr. Carson texted in the band group that we were going to have a little chat in the conference room of the motel. "We need to discuss tonight's show, guys."

I went downstairs with Dylan. I had slept well and felt elated. So far we had had a great road trip and, best of all, I had learned to know Dylan. He even hinted -- well, more that hinted -- that he might let me suck him off.

"By the way, my friends call me Russ," I said when we walked towards the reception, offering him my hand.

"Now, why the fuck would I wanna know that, Stevens?"

I laughed, as I had half expected something like that.

"I have no idea whatsoever, Dylan."

We sat around a conference table, and Mr. Carson started the meeting by forcing out a reassuring smile.

"Last night went really well, guys, what with the juniors being present and all. Thank you for that. It is very, very important that we keep the same standards tonight. It is a Friday night after all, and the staff at Bedford High are a bit worried there might be some unruly people. So, I need to know that I can trust you guys, alright?"

We murmured our yeahs. Even Dylan seemed to be muttering something. Carson looked at him. He seemed always to be a bit nervous when Dylan was around, sensing his strong personality and contempt of authority figures. This time he tried flattering.

"Dylan, that's a very suitable name for a talented musician."

"Huh?"

"Well, you know. Bob Dylan?"

"Who?"

We others tried to hold back a laugh. During a break at one of our rehearsals we had chatted about old school rock stars. Dylan said he loved Bob Dylan's lyrics and the fact that "he's such a fucking badass".

"Well, he is one of the greatest..." Carson started but then he saw us snickering.

"Never mind. Let's talk about behavior onstage."

He lectured us about the importance of decency while we pretended to be listening. Even Dylan looked serious and nodded several times.

"Look Dylan, I know you love to perform and we all know that the audience likes you. But your behavior at the first show at Brentwood High was unacceptable. The muscle shirt you were wearing was... uhm... indecent. Please tell me I won't have to see it tonight."

Dylan looked the teacher in the eye, all somber.

"The tank top was a mistake, I understand it now. I promise I'm not gonna wear it tonight."

The teacher nodded, clearly pleased. `How stupid can you get?' I marveled silently in my mind.

"And please do something about the rips in your jeans. Can you promise me that too?"

"I promise. My manager will take care of that," Dylan said, pointing at me with his thumb.

"Awesome. Russ, you'll help Dylan to prepare his outfit for the show?"

"I can do that, Mr. Carson."

"Good. Guys, remember, I'm going to check on you before the show. If someone looks inappropriate, the performance will be canceled. Got that?"

"Yes Sir."

The man beamed. But I knew Dylan well enough to guess that Carson's smile would vanish in the evening, and most likely so would Dylan's right to practice with his band at the studio.

We went back to our room. Dylan threw himself on the bed and took out his phone.

"Now, how the hell do you expect me to fix your jeans," I asked.

"I dunno. You're gonna have to figure out something if you want me on stage tonight," he said.

Well, luckily figuring things out is one of my strongpoints. I went for a walk, found a hardware store and came back. I showed Dylan my purchase: a roll of blue duct tape.

He laughed.

"Good thinking, Stevens."

We had the rest of the day free until showtime, so we went to catch some burgers and spent most of the afternoon chilling by the swimming pool of our motel. Some of the girls of our entourage were there too, which inspired Dylan to show off his jumping skills, somersaulting into the water and walking on his hands around the pool while the girls and I admired his smooth moves and the way the muscles of his shredded body moved.

Then it was time to get ready for the show. Dylan dropped his board shorts and took a shower. His stage jeans were on the bed, so I spread them out and pulled out a ten-inch length of the duct tape. The two-inch wide tape covered the rip in the thigh and crotch and would probably hold through the show if he didn't spread his legs too much.

He came out of the shower, toweling his hair. I pointed at the jeans on the bed.

"That should do it."

He picked up the pants and inspected them. Then he smiled and ripped the tape off.

"Maybe so. But first you're gonna do something for me."

"Oh?"

He threw the towel to me and rummaged his bag until he found his white Calvin boxer trunks. He pulled them on -- can you imagine how hot he looked in them -- took the ripped jeans and pulled them on too, slipping his leg carefully through the damaged area. He positioned himself in front of the mirror and snapped his fingers to me.

I sat down on the floor with the tape roll between Dylan and the mirror waiting for his instructions. I had a strong inkling that he had no intentions to keep his jeans intact on stage. And I was right, of course.

"Carson told us to do something about the rips, so we gotta do something man, he's a fucking teacher after all. Tear it all the way to the seams on both sides."

I grabbed the edges and pulled them apart until the rip ran all the way to the outer seam. Then I did the same to the inner side, and the denim gave in easily, exposing his underwear. But the denim was worn so thin around his crotch that the rip turned upwards, forming a triangular tear.

"Ooops," I said.

"That's okay," he laughed.

"Now the backside."

He turned around, took the Leatherman tool from his side pocket and used it to draw an invisible line on the denim under the back pocket. The line started at the outer seam of the unripped leg and ran all the way to the bottom of his buttock. Then he gave the tool to me.

Very, very carefully I made a cut in his jeans near the outer seam. Then I started to tear it wider towards his ass. I stopped when it reached his butt.

"How about this?"

He turned around and inspected his backside in the mirror.

"All the way."

The worn denim gave in easily and I found my fingers touching the bottom of his butt through his Calvins.

"You touch my asshole you die, Stevens."

He turned himself back and forth in front of the mirror.

"You can tape it up now."

I pulled out a length of tape, pinched the edges of the rip together and started to cover the gap on the front side with the tape. To press it firmly in place I had to -- was allowed to -- rub it with my fingers all the way from his outer thigh to his crotch. When I reached the fresh tear right above his package he brushed my fingers aside and fixed it himself. Then he let me tape up the rip on the back of his left thigh.

And then it was almost showtime. Carson stood at the door of our bus and inspected everybody's appearance. He shook his head in disbelief when he saw Dylan's taped-up jeans but said nothing. It didn't occur to him to check on Dylan's backside, so we got in with no problems.

Playing to a live audience was fun again, and this time it was Friday night. Everybody in the crowd was on party mood, and many of them probably under influence of some sort of no-no substance.

And then Dylan stepped forward for his grand solo again. I wasn't surprised to see that he had unbuttoned his shirt, and just as he had promised, he wasn't wearing the tank top, revealing his bare chest and abdomen to the audience. He ran a few steps forward and slid towards the edge of the stage on his knees and spread his legs before shredding off. I noticed he had pulled loose one end of the tape so it swung between his legs in a very suggestive way. The girls in the front went crazy.

Sadly, it was our last song, and we weren't allowed to play encores as the next band was already waiting for their turn. But when Dylan finished his solo and we were playing the final cords, he turned to us and said hastily:

"Pour some sugar on me!"

A juicy song from the eighties band Def Leppard. We had jammed it during rehearsals, and we picked it up quickly.

We played the first verse of the song, and Dylan sang the risqué lyrics that describe a sex-act with very thinly veiled euphemisms. Then he got up, handed me his guitar and ran back to the edge of the stage with his mic and sat down, his legs hanging over the edge among the girls. Immediately a few of them leaned closer and placed their hands on his thighs.

"Are you ready?"

The girls screamed and Dylan started the second verse.

"Pour some sugar on me C'mon, fire me up Pour your sugar on me I can't get enough..."

Female hands were all over Dylan's pants, and very soon all of the tape was gone. I saw one of the girls stuff a length of tape inside her blouse.

Nothing could hold back Dylan now. He slipped down from the stage right into the middle of the herd of girls gone wild.

"Cause I'm hot, say what, sticky sweet From my head, my head, to my feet..."

The female wave in heat seemed to swallow him, and his shirt was ripped off in an instant. He managed somehow to scream on a few more lines until he had to escape the crowd. He managed to push himself to the front and we pulled him up while some of the girls grabbed his legs and tried to pull him back.

Dylan got back to his feet and grinned triumphantly. He was covered in sweat, his hair was a mess, and he had lipstick on his cheeks and neck.

"That was so fucking awesome," he declared to us backstage.

"I agree. But I'm afraid you're gonna have to say goodbye to your right to practice in the studio, Dylan."

"Fuck the studio. You're my manager, take care of it."

Mr. Carson was furious, of course. He herded us all straight to the bus; no partying for our band that night, thanks to Dylan. The other guys were sulking at him for ruining their Friday night; I, on the other hand, felt proud of him. He was a guy who did what the fuck he wanted and he was so fucking hot that all the girls and some of us guys yearned for a chance to lay their hands on his body.

Dylan sat next to me, seemingly unconcerned of any kind of critical judgment directed his way, and played around with his phone that kept beeping for incoming messages.

We reached our motel and were ushered to our rooms by Mr. Carson. Dylan's phone kept beeping.

"Bitches are lining up. Already got like two dozen messages like this," he said and turned his phone around so I could read it:

"Dylan, rmbr me? I squeezed your ass. Msg me pls..."

"Haha, I actually remember this ugly chick groping my ass. Dream on, fatso."

He kept reading the messages looking unimpressed, but then he suddenly got excited.

"This one was hot as fuck! She wants to meet. What's the address of this dump?"

I told him and he typed a reply quickly. She texted back instantly.

"She'll be here in twenty minutes. No time for shower," he said and rushed to the bathroom. I watched through the open doorway as he washed his hair and torso under the faucet, dried them frantically with a towel and finally added an exaggerated amount of deodorant. He even stretched the waist of his jeans to spray some cologne down there.

I knew he would tell me to get out so that he could fuck the girl. But somehow it had started to feel natural for me to wait for him to tell me what to do, so I just sat there and waited.

"Get me a clean shirt," he told me through the doorway.

I found one in his bag and handed it to him. He put it on in front of the mirror and inspected his reflection, arranging his hair with his fingers until the wet locks were in perfect order.

"Ready for business," he stated with a self-content smile.

Then he turned to look at me, trying to look apologetic.

"Sorry man, but now it's time for little gay boys to take a hike. This should take about an hour. Call first to see if we're done."

"Yes Sir," I said sourly and picked up my hoodie. I felt jealous.

I sat in the lobby browsing some old magazines, checking the time from the clock on the wall. Minutes went by slowly, but then I got a message.

"I'm done. Get me a turkey sandwich and a Coke from the burger joint on your way back, willya."

On my way back? The burger joint was like half a mile to the opposite direction. But again I found myself following Dylan's instructions as always.

I had just paid for sandwiches and sodas for the both of us when my phone buzzed. I checked the message.

"lol she wants round 2!"

It started to rain when I walked back towards the motel carrying the paper bag. It was just past 9 PM and the entrance to the lobby was locked. The only shelter in sight was an abandoned outdoor grill corner with a wooden canopy, so I sat down on a bench there. It turned out that the canopy leaked pretty bad, and cold rainwater kept trickling on me regardless of where I would sit on the bench.

Minutes really dragged on this time as I kept glancing at the door of our room, hoping it would open soon to spit out that bitch whose guts I already hated even though I had never even met her.

I tried to protect the paper bag by keeping it under the plastic picnic table, but my hoodie became gradually wetter and wetter and I started to shiver.

At last, the door of our room opened and a girl came out. This time Dylan's one night's stand was a busty blonde. I had to admit that she looked sizzling hot. He came out after her, shirtless, wearing his regular skinny blue jeans. His belt was unbuckled and the top button was open. I could see his hair was all messed up.

Dylan seemed to be lighting what looked like a cigarette, cupping his hand to protect it from the wind. He took a long whiff and kept it inside before blowing the smoke out. I wasn't too innocent to get it: he was smoking a joint. He offered it to her, but she smiled and waved no. They chatted and giggled while he enjoyed his spliff, protected under the platform roof that covered the entrance to the rooms. When it was finished he extinguished it on the railing and shot the butt away with a snap of his finger.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and slipped her hands inside the back pockets of his jeans, and I hated her even more for having to witness that. After a long kiss she left. When she was out of sight I got up, crossed the road in the pouring rain and climbed up the stairs. I unlocked the door and stepped in. Dylan smiled when he saw the paper bag in my hand.

"You got myfucking food, dude!" he giggled. I could see he was pretty high.

I put the bag on the table and Dylan attacked it right away. He sat down and started to wolf down his turkey sandwich. I noticed he had red marks on his neck which by morning would most likely turn into colorful hickeys.

"This fucking sandwich is cold, dude," he said between bites, looking at me accusingly. I chose not to argue about that.

"I hope you had fun," I asked in an icy tone which he failed to recognize.

"Oh yea, she was way better than the first one, whatshername," he said munching on his food.

"Awesome pussy muscles and she really knew how to use them," he said and demonstrated his experience by spreading and closing his legs.

"Good to hear you enjoyed yourself while I waited outside in the rain."

Dylan cracked up with his mouth full of fries. Some of them dropped in his lap and he brushed them down to the floor with his fingers.

"Hahaha, that's so fucking funny! That must've really sucked for you! I'm banging a hot chick in our room while you wait outside in the rain for me to finish. Fucking hilarious," he laughed and slurped his soda.

I sighed. I reached for the bag to get my sandwich only to find that it was empty. I looked at Dylan, who was already starting on his second helping.

"Yeah, hilarious," I sighed.

I watched him hoover my sandwich, knowing that I couldn't be mad at him. First of all, he didn't give a fuck if I was happy with him or not. And besides that, I knew I was deeply and hopelessly in love with that arrogant, irresponsible, selfish, rude... and adorable young man in front of me. I could've watched him all night. His whole body seemed to be constantly alive, moving his outstretched legs back and forth, scratching his balls, dropping bits of food on his flat stomach.

I had secretly hoped that he would let me give him head that night.

"Dylan, I guess you don't want me to..."

"Want what?"

"You know. Me to ..."

"What? Speak out man," he said and threw the empty burger bag towards the table. He missed and it dropped on the floor.

"You don't want me to... suck you off?"

He snickered.

"Naah, I don't need it now, not after a double fuck."

"Oh. When do you want it then?"

He seemed to be getting himself again, slowly getting over the effect of the weed.

"I want it when I want it. When I need a cocksucker, you'll be the first to know. I promise."

He saw the disappointment in my face and laughed.

"Awww, look at you. You look just like a puppy who has lost his toy."

"I'm fine. It's just that you promised..."

He cut me off.

"No I didn't. I didn't say it would happen today. Well it didn't. It might happen tomorrow or on Christmas Day next year or never for all I know. I haven't even given you the job as my cocksucker yet."

"But you said..."

"No I didn't. I said it's good to know that I got a cocksucker like you on call in case I happen to need one."

Someone knocked on the door and I went to open it. Mr. Carson stared back at me, still looking mad.

"Is Dylan in?"

"Over here."

Carson poked in to have a look himself.

"So he's doing something right for once. Don't go out anymore, guys. Curfew starts now, understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"And clean that awful mess," he said, pointing at the table, and left.

Dylan seemed to have already forgotten our discussion. He took out his phone and browsed it for a few minutes, occasionally typing replies to messages. Then he said without looking up.

"But we could do a dry run if you want."

"Dry run... of what?"

He gave me a serious look. But I could see the familiar mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Dry run of you being my cocksucker of course. If I'm gonna use you, I need to know that you can do it exactly the way I want. How do I know that you're not the worst fucking cocksucker in the fucking country? You gotta prove yourself to me, Stevens."

"Well, how am I gonna prove myself if you won't allow me to suck it?"

"By starting from the basics. If you're gonna be my cocksucker, then you must do exactly what I want. You gotta make yourself useful. Understood?"

"Yea."

He pointed at the table.

"Lesson number one. Carson told us to clean up that mess. Why is it still there?"

I looked at the sandwich wrappers, half-chewed fries and other garbage he had scattered on the table and floor. I knew he was testing me, to find out if I would really do whatever he told me. I was immediately thrilled of the game he had started, and I replied:

"Because I haven't cleaned it yet," I said.

"You got it."

He focused on his phone again while I started to pick up the leftovers off the floor. Then I cleared the table and wiped it with tissues.

"I'm done."

"Good," he said without looking up.

"What's lesson number two?"

He looked at me and smirked.

"You just can't wait, can you?"

"Well, I just thought..." I said, unable to finish the sentence.

He kept looking at me and I could see he was totally making up the lessons on the wing.

"Lesson number two is about understanding your place as a cocksucker."

"Okay. What's my place then?"

He spread his legs and pointed at at spot on the floor between them. I felt a warm wave in my crotch when I moved in front of him, stood between his legs and waited for his next order. He pointed at the floor with his finger.

"Have a seat, gay boy."

My growing hardon made my moves a bit clumsy when I got down and sat on the floor with my legs crossed. He beckoned me with his finger and I inched myself forward until my upper arms were touching his legs.

"As my cocksucker you would always be available to me. Are you ready to accept that?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes... yes Sir."

"Good boy. This is your position where you wait for my permission to do whatever the fuck I want. You may never touch me without my permission. Is that clear?"

"Yes Sir."

"That ends your class for today. You can get up now."

I didn't move. I felt so disappointed. Our little game had become so hot, and I wanted to go further into it. Submitting to that cocky younger boy's will was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.

"Could I have one more lesson?"

My question came out like a whine.

He laughed.

"No."

"Please, man."

He just watched me with a sly smile, amused by the sight of me sitting on the floor between his legs and practically begging him to humiliate me.

"You're an eager little faggot, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Say it."

"I'm an eager little faggot. Please, Dylan."

"Haha, you're so fucking pathetic."

He pondered his next move for a long time with that mocking smile on his face.

"I'm not sure if you're ready for this yet."

"I am, really."

"Okay then. But remember, you wanted this yourself. I'm gonna ask you some questions and you're gonna answer completely honestly. If you pass this interview, the job as my cocksucker will be yours. Got it?"

"Yea. Got it."

"What do you dream about when you jack off?"

"What?"

"You heard me. What do you dream about when you jack off?"

"Dylan, please. This is too fucking embarrassing."

"Oh no, you agreed to this. Besides, I'm doing you a favor."

"A favor? How?"

"Look Stevens, we both know you have some serious sexual issues going on inside your head. The way I see it, you can get over them by telling me about them. I already know you're a homo. And yesterday you told me that you want to suck me off and swallow my cum. I also happen to know that you like to sniff my boxers and socks. Now let's get the rest of it out of your system. All you need to do is talk to uncle Dylan."

I knew he had opened a gate for me, but I was scared to death to walk through it and get everything out in the open. I was so ashamed of some of my secret desires that I had never, ever thought of sharing them with anyone. But then I reasoned to myself that if Dylan wanted to blackmail me or ruin my life just for fun, he already knew more than enough about me to do that. And in some strange way I felt I could trust him. Yes, he was reckless and yes, he liked to make fun of me in front of others and yes, he was irresponsible. But I knew he wasn't evil. Besides, sitting between his spread legs and looking at his crotch at close range weakened my resistance considerably.

"What was the question again?"

"What do you dream about when you're jerking off?"

I took a deep breath.

"Being a cocksucker."

He didn't flinch.

"You dream about being a cocksucker. A cocksucker needs a cock to suck. So, whose cocksucker are you? In your imagination, I mean."

"A hot young guy."

"So, you are that young guy's cocksucker. Tell me about the scene."

Letting it all come out was surprisingly easy.

"I'm on my knees in front of him. He won't let me suck his cock unless I beg for it. So, I beg him while he laughs at me and calls me all kinds of names."

He smiled.

"I love this guy already. What kind of names?"

"You know, nasty ones. Fag, faggot, queer, cocksucker, sissy."

"Homo? Perv?"

"Yea."

"But you love that, don't you? Being on your knees while this guy humiliates you, it makes you hard, doesn't it?"

"Yea."

"Tell me about the guy. What's he like?"

"About my age. Cocky. Very good-looking and sexy. Tight body. Big cock. Straight but willing to use a cocksucker sometimes to get off."

Dylan frowned and looked at me with his intense dark eyes.

"Dude, that's me you just described. You dream of me when you jerk off, donthca?"

The moment of truth.

"Yea."

"Oh fuck. Well I guess I should've figured that. It's kinda hot actually. You think I'm so fucking hot that you jack off at night thinking about me, is that right?"

"Right."

"Haha. Well, go on. Then what?"

"You tell me to unzip your jeans. You're wearing those colorful Ethika boxers with the tiger."

"Holy fuck! You've been stalking me in the locker room, you fucking little perv!"

"Well I saw you wear them there once. Couldn't get it out of my mind ever since."

"Chicks dig my Ethikas. Now I know fags like them too. Tell me more."

"You tell me to sniff your package and lick the tiger."

"You lick and sniff my package. That's some fucking weird shit, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess," I admitted.

"Then what?"

"Then you grab my hair and dig your dick out of your boxers."

He leaned closer, grabbed my hair and pulled my head forward until my nose and lips touched his bulge.

"Like this?"

"Yes."

"Wanna kiss my dick good-night?"

My mouth felt suddenly dry.

"Yeah."

"Are you a good kisser?"

"Gotta say no. Don't have much experience, I'm afraid."

He let go of my hair.

"I'll teach you, gay boy. Lube your lips with your tongue and then puff them out."

I followed his instructions, and he laughed.

"You look like a fucking suckling pig, Stevens. Now, practice with the back of my hand," he said and offered me his hand in a pope-like gesture.

I wetted my lips, puffed them out and pressed them on his hand.

"Now suck in real good."

I sucked in with a slurpy sound.

He laughed.

"It's supposed to make a smack, not a slurp. Try again, gay boy."

I tried again a couple of times until I was able to produce a smack that satisfied Dylan.

"Good. Now try again and use your tongue too."

I kissed his hand, sucked in and let my tongue feel his skin. It felt amazing.

"Good. Now listen up," he said, and wiped the back of his hand on my shirt.

"I need to get off at least once a day. Every fucking day, two or three times a day on weekends. I've got multiple girlfriends of course, but finding a place where I can fuck them in the middle of the week is hard, so I actually get laid maybe twice a week. As for the rest of my boners, I gotta take care of them with my own hand," he said, demonstrating it by making and "O" with his fingers and jerking it on top of his bulge.

"That means jacking off maybe a dozen times a week. I sure could use some change in that. And that's where you come in, Stevens. You could be my pole shiner. You would suck me off like three or four times a week. Maybe more. Anytime I want. Are you up to that?"

I didn't hesitate a split of a second.

"Yes. Yes I am."

"No questions asked?"

"Yea."

"Totally on my terms, with me doing nothing in return?"

"Of course."

"Good. Then it's official now. Your assignment as my cocksucker starts next week."

That was exactly what I had wanted to hear but yet I felt a bit disappointed. I had hoped he might want a blowjob right away. He saw it on my face and laughed.

"Oh no, I'm not gonna let you suck my dick tonight. I told you, I don't need to get off now. But you've behaved like a good boy today, so I'll let you kiss my cock good-night, so you can get acquainted with him. You guys will be seeing a lot of each other in the future after all. Wanna give my cum-sling a kiss, gay boy?"

"Yeah."

He looked at me for a long time with a little smirk. The he took hold of the pull of his zipper.

"Are you absolutely sure you wanna do it," he teased me.

"Yeah."

"Then ask me nicely."

"Dylan, I really wanna kiss your cock goodnight. Please, let me do it."

He leaned back and pushed his pelvis towards me.

"Okay then. You may unzip me."

His belt was already unbuckled and the top button of his jeans unbuttoned, so I reached out and pulled his zipper down. Then I was staring right into the bulge of his white Calvins that seemed to have a yellowish tinge already.

He pulled his boxers below his balls and left his flaccid cock hanging out. The he grabbed my hair again and pulled my head closer, so that his dick was right in front of my face. I felt it touch my nose, and I sniffed it. Besides his musky sweat and piss I sensed a sweet, unfamiliar odor... something fishy.

"Dylan, did you use a condom today?"

"Nope. All the babes in this town seem to be on the pill."

"Well, did you wash it after... you know... after fucking her?"

The bluntness of his reply took me by surprise.

"That's none of your business, Stevens. No questions asked, remember? My cocksucker doesn't need to know where I'm coming from or if I've washed my dong or not. Well I haven't, and now you have exactly three seconds to put your lips on it or I'll put it back. One... two..."

Ignoring the fact that his dick had been pumping the insides of a girl's wet pussy just a short while before, I leaned closer, and for the first time in my life I experienced the life-changing feeling of touching another boy's penis with my lips.

"Remember: lube, puff, suck, lick."

I gave Dylan's cock a long, wet kiss and tasted the silky skin my tongue. I could've kept doing that all night.

"Wanna suck it a bit?"

"Yeah. Please."

"Okay, but just a little, so that you get the feel of it. Open up."

I opened my mouth and he pushed his soft cock in. I instinctively closed my lips around it. He snickered.

"Yeah, just as I thought. You're a born cocksucker, Stevens. Watch your teeth," he said and pushed a bit deeper.

It slid in smoothly and I loved the silky feeling of his foreskin sliding on my lips. He stopped for a brief moment to see if I had problems and then continued by pulling back and then thrusting in again a couple of times, as if testing if my mouth was good enough to be fucked.

Suddenly he cracked up.

"This is so fucking awesome, hehehe! My cocksucker is cleaning my dick from some random chick's pussy juice."

Then he pushed in a bit more. I started to gag and he pulled back.

"That was a very good start, gay boy. I'm gonna take a shower now. You can jack off after that. You need to get off real bad, don't you?"

It was more like a nonchalant statement than a question, but I confirmed it.

"I do."

"Of course you do. You just had my dick in your mouth," he grinned.

I felt elated after finally sharing my darkest secrets with another person. Until that day they had seemed way too shameful to tell anyone. But now Dylan knew everything and seemed to be totally cool with it. And, I would get to spend more time with him. Well, I knew that my task would be merely pleasuring him, but I also knew I couldn't get enough of it.

I kept reminiscing the touch and taste of Dylan's cock on my lips and tongue until he came out of the shower, butt naked. His wet bangs were hanging in front of his eyes. The red marks on his neck were already turning to purple. I noticed he had two hickeys on his lower abdomen too.

"Your turn, gay boy. You'll find my boxers and socks on the floor as usual. Now that we have a service contract, you may even take them home with you, but I want them back clean next week. Okay, cocksucker?

"Yes, Boss," I said and rushed to the bathroom.

Are you disappointed that Russ didn't get to really suck off the boy of his wet dreams yet? Well, you're not even close to how disappointed Russ himself is. But what happens next? If you want to read more, please drop me a line or two:

bencoolen@protonmail.com