Get Them Off

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Get Them Off

A tale by Ivor Sukwell

 

"Get them off, then, Rob," and I did, pushing them down and using my feet to get them off completely.

No shyness, no awkwardness, no embarrassment, no hesitation; this was the moment that had been inevitable for almost two months, the moment I'd been waiting for, the moment I'd been wanking for.

I'd hoped it was going to happen; my father had only allowed me to go on condition that he looked after me, made sure I behaved, and when he said he would arrange for me to share a room with him so he could make sure I wasn't doing anything I shouldn't be doing, my father had reluctantly given me permission.

We weren't just sharing a room, we were sharing a bed and no way was I going to be a scared little virgin; not now, not this time. Not like I had been before when I let him see it.

We were in the toilets, having a pee and I had the sudden thought that he'd gone for one when I did because he fancied me. I had no reason to think that; he'd never said anything suggestive or even patted me on the back or anything, so I had no reason, apart from being less than three weeks into being fifteen, to think he was after me or even thought that I was anything worth being after if he had a thing for boys; no reason at all to think I was anything special.

I'm not gay; I know that for a fact. I've had tit several times, tried, so far unsuccessfully, to get at minge, and more than anything else I want to get my cock in one, so what came over me, why I suddenly decided to let him see what I did have that was special, I still have no idea. But I did, and he looked and I rushed from the piss trough into a cubicle because I was suddenly scared and embarrassed, because if I hadn't, he wouldn't have just seen a boy's just finished pissing cock, he'd have seen one getting hard!

He never said anything about that incident, never gave me a secret smile or a wink or anything; it was like it had never happened, except that I wondered after what would have happened if I hadn't fled, if I'd let it swell and let him see me hard.

I'd wondered about it, thought about it, and, yes, wanked about it as well. So why was a perfectly normal, straight boy wanking about something like that? I'd wondered and thought about that as well, knowing that I shouldn't be and wondering why I was.

Sexually confused and mixed up only just fifteen? Yes and no. I knew I'd started to bone up because I was letting him see my cock, letting him see it because I wanted him to see it and wanted him to like what he saw, and though he'd never said a word then, or after, I knew he'd looked and liked what he'd seen and something in me liked that he liked what he saw and that had scared me.

Yes, I know that does sound mixed up and confused, but really it wasn't at all. I'd managed to work out, or perhaps `wanked out' would be a better way of putting it, that I'd let him see it because I wanted him to know that I knew he liked me and somehow or other I wanted to be sure he didn't just like me because he wanted to get at what I showed him, but at the same time I wanted him to want to get at it.

I had no reason then to think he was after my cock, but I was sure he did like me and I just needed to find out if he just ordinary liked me or liked me because I had a cock and how important my cock was in his liking of me, and I wanted it to be very important, just not the most important thing of all.

Perhaps you have to be just fifteen, or can remember something of what it's like to be only just fifteen, for this to make any sense at all, but at the time, six whole weeks ago, it made perfect sense to me. If he was just after my cock he would have said, or done something when I let him see it, but he hadn't.

He'd looked and I knew he liked what he saw and I knew he liked it, not because it was a boy's cock but because it was my cock and that's why I'd started to get hard and had to hide.

None of this went through my mind while I was working my briefs off underneath the bedclothes, that had happened when I saw that the room we had contained only a double bed and that somehow or other he had contrived for me to spend a week sleeping with him and I knew I was not going to run away and hide again.

"Better take off what you want to take off," he said when we went up for bed. We'd all had a good time and I'd been slipped two gin and tonics – G&T because it looked like lemonade – so I was well relaxed. Not pissed, just pleasantly relaxed and gently buzzed.

I stripped down to my briefs and hopped into bed, keeping my briefs on because I wasn't at all sure that anything was going to happen though I was hoping like crazy that it would. He'd never have got a double bed for us if he didn't want something to happen, would he? I so hoped not!

I hoped, almost hopefully expected that as soon as he was in bed with me he'd go for me, if not straight away for my cock at least a cuddle or something to get things started, but nothing!

No way was it going to be like that moment in the toilet again, so if he wasn't going to do anything, then I had to.

"If I get a bit restless, bits of me might make contact with bits of you," I made, or tried to make, a joke of what I wanted and knew I wasn't supposed to want.

"You must have worked out that I like you far more than I should," he said after what seemed like an ages' long pause.

Of course I'd worked out that he liked me, why else would he have got a double bed?

"A lot, lot more," he said, and that confused me. "Too much more," I heard him say and in the darkness someone turned a light on in my head.

That much?!

I didn't know whether to yell `Me too!' and hurl myself into him or slither for safety to the far edge of the bed. I'd wanked about him liking me enough for it to be my cock he wanted, not just a cock that happened to be mine, but now he was telling me that this wasn't just about cock, it was about me.

I'm fifteen and two months, straight as they come and in bed with a man more than twice my age waiting to get wanked off by him because he likes me and I like him and I need some sex and at fifteen and two months any sort of sex will do, and now he's telling me that he hasn't got me into bed with him so he can get at my cock but because he's nuts about me!

This was way more than I'd imagined, but now it all made sense and I had to deal with it. This was why he'd never mentioned a word about that time in the toilets; this was why he'd never even laid a finger on me; this was why he was always around me whenever there was the chance; this was why he'd never even hinted in any way that he wanted to get at my cock, because he wanted so much more than my cock – he wanted me.

He didn't want me to have sex with – he'd take me without sex being involved at all because he wanted me that much!

I could feel his body heat, inches only away under the bedcovers and my cock was solid in the prison of my briefs and I knew his would be the same and I knew he wouldn't take what he and both our cocks wanted unless I wanted him to.

"Sorta guessed, I suppose," I muttered in the darkness, though that was only partly true.

"Can you handle it?"

"Think so."

"Bits of you making contact with bits of me could prove awkward for you."

"Won't be."

"If they did, how do you rate your chances of getting through the week unwanked?"

"About zero."

Then, at long last, he did something and I felt his hand on my briefs covered solid cock.

"Ready and waiting," too dark to see, but I knew he was smiling.

"Yeah."

"Get them off, then, Rob," and I did and then I'm in his arms, naked pushed against naked and I've never felt so happy in my life.

His hand pushes between us and finds my hardness and closes round it and it throbs with delight at finding out what it's like to be held by a hand not mine and I have to know what it's like for my hand to hold one that isn't mine and my hand is down there as well, between us and thrilling to the feel of cock and the power of cock and I want to tell him that I'm his to do anything he wants with, but I can't because he tries to kiss my ear but I move my face so he kisses me on the mouth instead and our mouths are both open and our tongues are battling.

It's not a gentle kiss, it's a full-blown mouths locked, lip-grinding, tongue-twisting spit-swapping kiss and it goes on and on while we hold and savour cocks and push legs between legs so as much of us is against us as it is possible to get and that is nowhere near enough.

Then he's not kissing me anymore and my cock is in his mouth and I'm whimpering with how it feels and twist and turn so I can at least get at his cock with a hand while mine is being sucked and he has a hand on my leg, stroking it and feeling it while he sucks me and I want him to stop sucking me so I can suck him and I never before even thought about sucking a cock and now I'm desperate to have his in my mouth.

When I finally get it there it's the best thing ever that I've had in my mouth and I'm greedy for it, mouth filled with cock, lips sliding up and down on it, tongue flicking around it and wanting all of it in though I can't manage much more than about half and that half is stretching my mouth and is nowhere near enough because there's more left that isn't in my mouth and I want it all.

My jaw aches and I can't do it anymore and we're kissing again instead of sucking cock and his hands are all over me and mine are digging into him and trying to make him have even more of me and even in my horniest of fantasy wanks I never imagined anything could be like this and I want it to go on and on and never stop.

Then he's sucking me again and it may have been a few minutes or a few hours since my briefs came off, and that doesn't matter because time has come to an end and all that matters is that my cock is in his mouth and I'm going to spunk up.

I don't need him to tell me that he wants me to shoot in his mouth and that's where I want to shoot as well, my cock spunking in his mouth, my spunk filling his mouth, my spunk being swallowed and eaten, my spunk becoming part of him.

There's no after-spunking downer like there often is when I wipe up after a wank; there's nothing to wipe up – he's eaten all of it, which seems weird, gross and natural all at the same time.

"What's it like?"

"What?"

"My spunk."

"Silly question; it's your spunk."

I hold his hand and snuggle down for some sleep.

I don't sleep; I may have dozed a bit but I'm on too much of a high to sleep properly, my mind is in a whirl. Not a brain-hurting whirl, more of an almost disbelieving whirl. I've just had sex; okay it was sex with a man but still sex, real, proper sex, and it made no difference that it was a he and not a she who had sucked me off and eaten my spunk. My spunk had been eaten, and eaten because it was my spunk and I feel all sort of floaty and glowy inside because my spunk has been eaten.

I'm replaying in my mind how good it felt to have my cock sucked, so good that the memory of it is so strong it seems real, and I realise that it's not a memory at all and that it is real and I'm being sucked again. I can't work out how this is happening; I remember dreaming about feeling and being felt, getting sucked and sucking and now it's happening again and I've just got to have my mouth filled with his cock again.

I like his cock in my mouth nearly as much as I like mine being in his; the wonderful hardness of it, the incredibly horny knowing that I'm sucking cock and how right, how natural it seems to have my mouth filled with cock.

He must think the same because he pulls his cock away from my greedy mouth and starts sucking me instead, and he's wanking me at the same time so I know he wants more of my spunk to eat and I hear myself moan as I shoot for him.

I do sleep, and I dream all night of being sucked and wanked and kissing passionately and spunking in his mouth so he can eat it and when I open my eyes again it's light in the bedroom.

He's awake and I think of letting him have me again, but for some odd reason, I've woken up soft, and that never happens.

I have this thought that although he's eaten my spunk he still hasn't had a proper look at me, only that quick glimpse in the toilets before I got scared and went and hid in a cubicle because I was getting hard. I crawl up the bed, pushing the covers back and kneel beside him so he can have a proper look at all of me, everything on show from head to knees, and it is on show, I'm not letting him have a look, I'm displaying myself for him and I want him to look and look and like what he's looking at.

It's nothing at all like that time in the toilets where I started to get hard just because I knew he could see; I'm almost completely soft, even though it's morning and I'm always hard in the mornings.

I expect to harden up for him to see, but I don't, a slight chubbing is all that I can manage and I snigger because that makes me look a bit bigger soft.

"It must be tired," I grin, a bit embarrassed by staying soft.

"Not surprised," he grins at me, and his isn't an embarrassed grin, it's a complicit one, and I know he means he had fun with it last night, "You any idea how many times you spunked?"

"Three, I think." I remember being sucked off twice and sometime in the night waking up with a needing-to-be-wanked hard on and starting to wank because I needed to and didn't think or care that he was in bed with me, but I must have woken him because he took over and wanked it for me, and that had been super nice, just laying there and getting tossed off.

"And the rest," he smirks at me, "Seven altogether."

"Seven?" I squeak. I do remember dreaming about him doing me, but they weren't dreams at all! No wonder it was staying soft!

"Seven," he confirms and gives me a little kiss just above my pubes, "Don't think it needs a morning one today."

"Perhaps not," I snigger and go in search of my briefs. I want to stay naked and let him do me another seven times, but that's going to have to wait until tonight.

One thing is dead certain – he's not going to have to tell me to get them off when we go to bed again!

 

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