Date: Thu, 26 Dec 2002 11:35:04 +0000
From: guess who? <spunkmachine@hotmail.com>
Subject: Anthony's Orgasms 4

"ANTHONY'S ORGASMS"

by Bambino

Author's disclaimer: The following a work of fiction.  All characters are
fictitious; any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.  Any
descriptions of adults and minors engaged in sexual activities are
imaginary and bear no relation to real events. The subject matter of this
story is pure fantasy and is not intended as a representation of the
author's lifestyle or ideology.  As a work of literature this story is
protected under the First Amendment to the Constitution of the United
States of America.

The author retains the copyright on this work.  Distribution or posting of
this work without the author's permission is a violation of that copyright.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _


CHAPTER FOUR

On the TV screen a big-titted blonde squealed and whined as a
dissipated-looking stud plied her with his formidable equipment.  Howard's
modest collection of straight porn had been left behind by a former
room-mate.

"One thing's for sure," said Howard, breaking the silence.

"What's that?" said Anthony, who hadn't blinked in minutes.  "If you
weren't here, my dick would be out and I'd be jerking it off."

"I... I don't mind," said the boy after a moment.  "You could if you want."

"With you sitting right here?"

"I won't look, I'ma watch the video."

"Yeah, but... I'd feel funny doing it by myself while you just sit there."

"Ohh...."

"Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you wanted to join in, then I wouldn't be the only one."

"Both of us jerk off? Right here?"  Anthony wore a crooked, undecided
smile.

"Why the hell not? If it's cool with you for me to jerk off, it's cool with
me for you to do it too."

"Aiight," agreed Anthony suddenly, with a kind of conspiratorial
excitement, "let's jerk off."

As often happens when one is suddenly faced with the fulfillment of a
lifelong wish, the surprise Howard felt was not so much for the fulfillment
of the wish as for ever having doubted that such fulfillment could happen.
The course of events had seemed so inevitable, so untortuous, that their
present outcome took on an almost everyday quality.  Almost.

Howard fumbled with his belt and zipper.  Anthony, stretching up off the
couch to disencumber himself of his own complicated pants, looked sidelong
as the older man's bulging briefs came into view.

"'Cept mines is kinda small, okay?" the boy warned, "so don't be makin' fun
of me, aiight?"

"I never would," said Howard, his voice a little shaky.  "You're a growing
boy and mine was puny at your age."

"Okay.  Here it is.  Check it out."

Anthony slid his pants and boxers down to his knees.  And there it was.
Howard felt his pulse throbbing in his ears, which felt hot.  His mouth
felt dry.  He tried to swallow.

It was far from small, considering the boy's age and size.  A good five
inches, the shaft thick and banana-curved, impossibly hard, the head blunt
and so smooth it shone.  It was a lovely cinnamon-brown shade, deepening to
raw cocoa at the scrotum, which was loose and baggy, and so hairless it
shone.  The big balls reposed between the boy's satin-smooth thighs like a
pair of well-fed autocrats.  Anthony put his thumb at the base of his thick
erection, pointing it straight up, proudly exposing his burgeoning manhood
like a trophy.  The little patch of jet-black pubic hair was confined to a
neat triangle, and had not yet begun to spread to the inner thighs or
scrotum.

"See?" said Anthony, "It ain't that big."

"It's plenty big for your age, kid," Howard reassured him.

"Dang, look how big yours is though," Anthony blushed.

"Yeah, but mine's full-grown.  Yours is only halfway there."

"I got big balls though, huh?"  The boy cupped his scrotum, lifted up the
hefty testicles.

"Huge," agreed Howard, "bigger than mine -- so there you go."

"Ha, ha!" railed Anthony, pointing at Howard's balls, "I got bigger balls
than you!"

"Yeah, and I bet they're full of you-know-what."

"Hell yeah, I got milk," he giggled.

Howard pushed his pants down, sat as close to Anthony as the spread of
their legs would permit.  He took hold of his cock and gave it a few
tentative strokes.

"Let's see how you handle that thing," said Howard.

"Like this."  Anthony unceremoniously wrapped his fist around his uncut
boner and began beating it with purpose and style.

Had the FBI opened the door right then and barged into the room, Howard
would not have been able to pull his eyes away from the spectacle they had
waited so many years to behold.  Like a cat watching a canary, he was
mesmerized its every aspect: by the deft motion of Anthony's competent
little hand as it pistoned up and down the stiff shaft; by the elastic
miracle of nature that was the foreskin, alternately concealing and
revealing the little helmet of flesh it protected; by the sheer wonder for
the fact that here, in his presence and proximity, a real twelve-year-old
boy engaged openly and freely in vigorous, lusty masturbation.

Howard reached for a bottle of lotion on the end table, squeezed out a
palmful and worked it into his own, circumcised cock.

"Ever try it with lotion?" he asked the boy.

"Nah."

"Here -- try some.  Feels nice and slippery, just like a pussy."

He proffered the bottle; Anthony stopped stroking and held his penis up
while Howard dispensed a dollop onto the head.

"Now work it in till it's nice and slick."

"Ahh, this feels tight."

"Let me know when you need a refill.  It dries up after a while."

"'Kay."

Ten minutes passed, during which Howard had come close to erupting several
times, but had managed to hold back.  For the first time in his life,
holding back was a challenge.

Suddenly Anthony stopped, let go of his dick, gave a sigh of fatigue.

"What's the matter?" asked Howard, praying the boy wasn't having late
second thoughts.

"My arm's tired."

"Oh.
  Well, why don't you switch?"

"Both of 'em is tired."

"Want me to help you out?"

"How... you mean jerk me off?"

"Sure, what's a buddy for?"

"Aiight.  Jerk me off then."

And Anthony planted his hands at his sides, relinquishing his penis.
Howard leaned over, gently offered succor.  For a few moments he did
nothing but hold it, as a monk would hold a holy relic, then he anointed it
with more lotion and slowly resumed where the boy had left off.

For a while Anthony placidly watched the big hand stroking his dick, then
returned his attention to the TV screen, and took on a detached attitude.
Howard took this as an indicator that he was free to do as he wished with
Anthony's body, so long as it resulted in his pleasure, and moved close to
explore the wondrous miracle of the pubescent boy's genitals at close
proximity, meanwhile allowing his hands to occasionally venture further out
in both directions, over stomach and thighs.  He tried to seem
matter-of-fact about the business, and not too reverent, but Anthony seemed
to enjoy what he was doing -- or at least he voiced no objection.

The boy's genitals were more fascinating than anything Howard had ever
seen.  It was a more beautiful, more perfect organ than an adult phallus.
The glans, a shade paler than the shaft, was bulbous and shiny-smooth, like
a polished burl of mahogany.  Parting the little urethral slit with both
thumbs, Howard saw that the inner passage was moist, lubricating: a
delightful forecast of the ejaculations to come.  Squeezing gently,
kneading the firm shaft from base to hip, he coaxed a glistening bead of
pre-seminal fluid to the surface, like a glycerine tear.  It welled,
dribbled down the swollen knob to the knuckle of Howard's thumb.
Moistening his fingertip with the clear syrup, he encircled the exposed
corona, spiraling down to the wide flange, coating the retracted prepuce
with a film of shiny wetness.  Squeezing forth another globule of the
unctuous pre-flow, he ran his fingertip over the sensitive frenulum just
beneath the cleft of the glans, rubbing the nerve bundle in tiny circular
motions, while holding the penis stationary at its base with his left hand.

Anthony was not unresponsive to these ministrations; he closed his eyes and
expanded his legs as far as his pants would allow.

"Does that feel good, Anthony?" asked Howard in a lullaby voice.

"Yeah," murmured the boy.  "Keep doing it..."

Anything you wish, my prince.  Even as Howard's thoughts raced he sought to
control himself, to pace the seduction without rushing it.  All too soon
the event -- perhaps the most memorable of his life -- would be over; he
wanted it to last as long as possible.  If only he could freeze each
moment, capture its essence, make the ephemeral eternal.  It seemed tragic
that such moments were doomed to end and exist only in the afterlife of
memory.  Things he had hardly dared imagine were taking on reality, and the
emotional results were different from any he had known or anticipated.

"Take off your shirt," Howard said softly.

Anthony opened his eyes; they looked slightly fogged with bewilderment.
"Huh?"

"Let's take off your shirt... you don't want to get cum on it."

"Okay."

With his shirt off and pants shoved all the way down to his sneakers,
Anthony was divinity to Howard's starved eyes.  They ran over the smooth
pectoral cusps, the hard flat abdomen segmented even when relaxed, the
brown, muscular legs: everything vulnerable beneath his unimpeded touch.
Even in his fervor Howard recognized the irony that the boy was more at
ease than he, and taking the situation in stride.  Clearly Anthony's mind
was nowhere but in the present, without any thought for anything else in
the universe.  Alas, thought Howard, The Tao of Boy-Love! He forced himself
to join Anthony in his unthinking bliss; together they would occupy a
private bubble of suspended time, in which all that mattered was the
pleasure of appeasing their desires.

"Thanks," said Anthony, "I think I can take over now."

With some reluctance Howard relinquished the boy's dick to his own hand.
But instead of taking up his own -- for he knew he would cum if he touched
it -- he gently fondled Anthony's wonderfully big balls as an enhancement
to the stimulation the boy was providing his penis.  Five more minutes
passed.  Anthony's breath was becoming shaky.

"Want me to keep this up?" asked Howard, unceasingly massaging Anthony's
balls.

"Yeah..." panted the boy, beginning to fret with excitement.  "Feels
good..."

Another minute later Anthony's breathing was becoming vocal.  Looking up,
Howard saw that the boy's sweet-tough face was suddenly congested with
lustful strain; he was at the brink.  Howard's mouth hung open in empathy
and awe for the sensations which would shortly overwhelm the juvenile
little body, like a tidal wave overwhelms a village.  He knew it was
inevitable, and that it had happened before, but to be witness to it
brought him a sense of unreality, transported him to a delirious state of
enthrallment, as if he participated in some sort of holy miracle.  The
dream of years had become reality, and he almost dared not believe that it
was really happening.  The boy was going to cum.

The process was graphically evident on Anthony's face; his features
tightened and scrunched together as if he were working up a monumental
sneeze.  As the pressure mounted be began to twitch all over; the muscular
cords in his neck stood out in relief.  His breathing quickened to a
trembling shortwinded pant: h-huff p-puff, h-huff p-puff, h-huff p-puff!


Under Howard's caressing fingertips the scrotal sac thickened, constricted;
he felt the active young testicles move and squirm like live, autonomous
things.  He watched in amazement as the pubescent gonads pulled in to
wrench themselves in their pockets alongside the base of the penis, almost
disappearing.  The rifle was cocked -- now it must FIRE!

"Okay," Anthony hissed in an urgent voice, "here it comes."

Howard immediately crooked his arm around the boy's shoulder, pulling them
close together.  It was like trying to embrace a racing greyhound during
its lunge toward the finish line: all lean muscle taut and quivering, open
jaws panting.  Howard's right hand, ceaselessly fondling Anthony's drawn-in
testicles, dropped between the silken legs, to squeeze and coax with
fingers jabbed gently into the rigid penile root which now more than ever
protruded beneath the scrotum.  Anthony sucked in his breath, held it
behind lips tucked under his teeth.  Howard felt a tremor ripple through
the base of the stiffened penis.  At the same time the boy released his
pent breath in a loud puff, together with a spray of milky semen that
jackknifed an arm's length into the air.  The farthest clot hit Howard in
the face, causing him to hiss a startled exclamation of his own as the warm
fluid pelted his cheek.  The rest of the streamer laid a trail of
glistening puddles across the quivering torso from shoulder to navel, like
a strand of irregularly shaped pearls.  In Howard's arm the cumming boy
shivered and writhed, his legs twisting and kicking, buttocks clenching
like fists.

"Jesus," Howard found himself saying, in strangled whisper he barely
recognized for his own voice.  "Jesus fucking Christ..."

More semen gushed out, propelled in quick little gouts by hard involuntary
pulses deep under the root, to which Howard's prodding fingers were by no
means unattuned.  Meanwhile Anthony thrashed and writhed in his orgasmic
seizure, alternately blowing and gasping air through ruffled lips.  Anthony
continued to maul his penis, and thick, fragrant sperm continued to surge
from it.  The runny white cataracts flowed over his knuckles, down the
hollow of his thumb and wrist to saturate the sparse pubes.  Wincing as if
his eyes stung, he turned and buried his face in the crook of Howard's
shoulder, breathing hard against his neck and uttering plaintive little
cries.  In a madness of passion, Howard kissed the boy's head, ran his lips
over the plush hair, echoed his sweet sounds in sympathetic ecstasy.
Words, redundant and ineffectual, half-rose to his lips; he wanted
whimpering testimonials of pleasure, confessions of absolute surrender and
vulnerability, but the primal vociferations issuing from the boy's throat
between gasps and swallows were far more eloquent than any soliloquy.

Anthony gave one last, violent paroxysm to shudder out the last
electrifying kinks of his twelve-year-old orgasm, straining and buckling
off the bed, his spine twisted and his head rolling back into the crook of
Howard's left arm.  The animal energy was awesome, profound.  Here was the
true Anthony, his virile animus bared!

A minute passed and neither moved.  No sound was heard except the boy's
rasping breath, its slow decrescendo to normal respiration.  Howard slowly
reached down to the hollow of Anthony's chest, dipped his fingers in the
pooled semen, trailing ropy mucilaginous webs, still lukewarm and filling
the room with the heady perfume of puberty.


"Holy shit," he thought to himself, "four-foot-nine and ninety-five pounds
-- and nothing but cum inside!"

Anthony finally went limp with a happy grunt of relief.  "Damn," he sighed,
"that was tight."  For twenty seconds neither moved.  Then, suddenly, the
blonde on the TV screen exploded in a shrieking, hysterical orgasm.

"You're late, bitch," said Howard.  They both burst out laughing.

Another minute of quiet bliss ensued.  Howard, in accordance with an
impulse that seemed for the moment completely natural and ordinary, touched
his fingers to the moist rim of the boy's parted lips, giving him a taste
of his own sperm.  Anthony, rapt in the fading tingles that still radiated
through his devastated body as never they had before, at first made no
reaction.  After a brief delay he asked softly, "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know," said Howard apologetically.  "I guess I couldn't help
myself... sorry.  I happen to like the taste myself."

Anthony licked his lips uncertainly.  "The taste ain't so bad, it's just
the idea..."


"Sorry."

"'S'okay."  Anthony turned on his side, let an arm fall across Howard's
chest and his face fall against his neck.  He sighed blissfully.  For a
long while the two nuzzled; Howard dared not move his arm, even as it began
to fall asleep, for fear that the boy would shift from his embrace.  Even
with pins and needles benumbing the limb, he felt a contentment so profound
and all-encompassing that he gladly would have taken a stroke of paralysis
if it meant lying in the same position till death with Anthony in his arms.

"So..." said Anthony softly, "I guess this makes us fags, huh..."

"Well... did you like what we just did?"

"Yeah."

"So why use a word like that?"

"I dunno."

"There are lots of words people use for other people who do things they
think are bad.  If everyone respected each other's privacy, there wouldn't
be any words like that..."

"Okay, but... are we?"

Howard took a deep breath.  "I am gay, Anthony... I'm attracted to other
guys, especially beautiful young guys like you.  But lots of boys your age
experiment and it doesn't mean they always turn out gay."

"For real?  You're gay?"

"Couldn't you tell?"

"So am I gay cuz of what I did with you?"

"Well, you like girls, right?"

"Of course!"

"Well, do you get a boner looking at a guy's body too?"

"No."

"So then you're probably not gay."

"But I liked what we did just now, and you're a guy."

"Okay, but why did you like it? Because it felt good or because you're
attracted to me and want to have sex with me?"

"Well, I just felt horny and it felt good when you touched me, that's all."

"So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

"Then if you've decided nothing's wrong, then nothing's wrong."

"Okay."

"Okay... you okay?"

"Me? Yeah, why?"

"Just wondered."

"Okay."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


(To be continued...)

The author welcomes feedback: spunkmachine@hotmail.com