Date: Tue, 3 Oct 2006 12:00:43 -0400 From: Captain Swing Subject: Worth Every Penny 3 This story contains explicit scenes of sexual contact between males of various ages, including teenagers. It is intended for the entertainment of adults who wish to read it and are permitted by law to do so. It is wholly fictional; the narrator's experiences do not represent those of the author. The author does not advocate or condone the actions or the opinions contained herein. ________________________________________________________________________ The high I got from my afternoon with Carlos lasted me for the best part of a month. The little thirteen year old Puerto Rican kid had been everything I had hoped for: cute, cooperative, likable and sweetly naive. I spent every free moment thinking back on my day with him, his smooth small brown body, his mischievous smile, his hard, spurting dick. Yet inevitably, after a few weeks, the irresistable urge began to grow, deep in my being. I needed some cock. Oddly, however, I wasn't sure I wanted to see Carlos again. A second time with him would be anticlimactic: a major part of the excitement had been Carlos's inexperience, his almost-innocence. I had loved being the first guy to fondle him , to overcome his nervousness, to undress him, to blow him. All of that would be missing the second time. That might not matter-- I'd blown his older cousin Miguel dozens of times, and enjoyed each one. But there was also the matter of the risk involved. By having sex with a young kid like Carlos, I was risking catastrophic consequences. I wasn't sure I was willing to take that risk for a mere repeat of the previous encounter. Using the motel room for a quick anonymous tryst, however, had brought another idea to the forefront of my mind, one that had been percolating deep below the surface for months: I was considering asking Miguel if he would fuck me. I hadn't been fucked for years, since before I was married. It had never been my favorite activity-- I much preferred oral action--but one of my boyfriends in college had been a fucking fiend, and I'd taken his six fat inches up the ass many times. In recent years, my sex with other guys had mostly occurred in places like the arcade where I met Miguel, places where fucking was almost impossible, even if I'd wanted it. It was a chance glimpse of a young man at the Exchange who resembled my college fucker that made me think of him, and of how it had felt to have him up me. It didn't become an obsession, merely another possibility to consider from time to time, but as the exhilaration of my experience with Carlos began to fade, the idea began to grow. I had no idea how Miguel would respond to the idea of fucking me. He was straight, after all, and might consider fucking a guy a much different proposition than being blown by one, When I called him, about a month after my afternoon with Carlos, I didn't mention my plan, merely asking that he meet me at the arcade the following day. Miguel agreed, but I thought I detected a certain hesitation in his response, an almost-reluctance that had never been there before. I worried that Carlos had told him something that annoyed him, but I couldn't think what; I couldn't believe Carlos had told Miguel about me paying him fifty dollars to kiss me. Carlos had seemed so desperate that Miguel never know about that. Miguel was at the arcade when I got there and we went into a booth as usual, but my misgivings soon returned. He let me fondle him, and open his pants, and play with his cock as always, but he seemed more withdrawn, less cordial than he usually did. I sucked his cock to the satisfaction of both of us, but the customary amiability was missing. When I tried to make conversation, he answered me in monosyllables. Finally I had to confront him. "Miguel, did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me about something?" "No." "Did Carlos say something about me you didn't like?" "No. He said he had a good time. He said you were OK." "Then what? There must be something. You act like you're mad at me about something, but I don't know what." "No." There was a long awkward silence while Miguel looked like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally he blurted out "I'm not going to do this anymore." I was stunned. "Do what? You don't want to meet me here anymore?" "No." "Why? What did I do?" "Nothing." "Then why? You must have a reason." He was silent for a few moments, then spoke, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I shouldn't be doing this shit. I'm getting too old for this. My girlfriend's gonna have a baby and I shouldn't be letting some guy suck on my cock like this. I should be a man." I was quite literally speechless. My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish as I tried to formulate a response. Finally I came up with "Miguel, doing this doesn't mean you're not a man. I know you're just doing it for the money. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean you're a queer or anything." "I know that. I'm just not going to do it, that's all." He stared straight ahead at the film that was soundlessly playing on the small screen, though I don't think he was really watching it. I instantly knew that there was no point in arguing with him, that his mind was made up. Accommodating as he always was, there was never any way to make Miguel do something he didn't want to do. I tried anyway. "But Miguel, I give you good money for, like, twenty minutes work. It's like a job. Even with the time it takes you to get here and go home, you're still probably making a lot more than you make at your real job." "I don't care," I was floundering. "What if I met you in the Bronx? We could go to that motel." "No! Christ!" He sounded disgusted. I was getting desperate. "What if I paid you more? What if I gave you, like, three hundred?" Miguel was angry, for the first time since I met him. "Look. I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do it for three hundred, I'm not going to do it for three thousand. You think you got so much money you can just get whatever you want. Well maybe you can, but I'm not gonna do this no more no matter how much money you got," I sat silent. In the entire scope of my life, this was actually a pretty small event. It was like finding out that my favorite brand of beer wasn't going to be made anymore. That wouldn't mean there wasn't going to be any more beer at all. I could find another brand. And I could find another dick. It was the suddenness of it that was such a shock. I'd come to count on Miguel being available whenever I wanted him. And I actually kind of liked him. It would be easy to find another cock, but not so easy to find a moneyboy I felt so comfortable with. Suddenly I thought of Carlos, and without thinking I spoke aloud. "What about Carlos?" "What about him?" "Can I still see him?" I had, for the moment, forgotten that I hadn't planned to see Carlos again anyway. Miguel hesitated for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't think so. He shouldn't be doing this shit either. He'll get to thinking it's an easy way to make money, and he'll turn into a little whore. Fuck that." I didn't know what else to say. I figured there was nothing to say except goodbye. I started to reach for my wallet when Miguel, still not looking at me, spoke. "I could maybe find you some other kids if you want." I was as stunned as I'd been by his previous bombshell. "What? Other kids?" "Yeah. There's a bunch of other kids around that would probably let you suck their dicks if you paid them. You like young kids. I could set it up. If you want." Just like that, Miguel turned from the perfect hustler into the perfect pimp. Three weeks later I was back in the Bronx. I still had that small knot of fear in my belly, knowing that I was risking disaster by dicking around with young kids, but I had to smile when I saw the next young victim Miguel had rounded up for me. It occurred to me that there was probably an inexhaustible supply of young teenage Latino boys in New York--literally inexhaustible: by the time I'd blown them all, more would have sprouted up to take their place. Today's catch seemed promising enough. He was Miguel's height, shorter than Carlos, but pudgy. I had told Miguel that it didn't really matter what the kid looked like; average looks were fine, so long as the kid wasn't grotesquely fat or gruesomely ugly. Most important was that he be willing and able: willing to have me molest him and able to pump out loads of sperm. Jorge looked like he fit the requirements. He had a round, childish face with full, almost kewpie-doll lips and a smooth complexion, lighter in tone than Miguel or Carlos. He almost looked more Italian than Hispanic, not that that mattered. A mop of black curls completed the picture. His baby face and his baby fat made him look somehow less sexy than Carlos, more child-like than adolescent, more like you'd want to pinch his cheek than suck his dick. I wouldn't hold that against him, so long as he had the requisite goods tucked inside his pants. His pants were blue jeans, of course, but tight where Carlos's had been baggy. The curves of Jorge's full butt were so inviting I had to stop myself from carressing it right there on the street. I didn't expect to fuck the kid, but the idea of running my fingers over that lush ass while I blew him was irresistable. Unlike Carlos, Jorge was excited and eager right from the start. Most likely he knew Carlos, and my previous little sperm-factory had given a good account of his escapade with me, probably editing out the embarrassing part about kissing me. Jorge couldn't wait to get in the car and be on his way to the motel. I quickly settled with Miguel, and off we went. With no nervousness to overcome, I immediately reached over to fondle between Jorge's sturdy legs. He giggled happily. I saw no need to waste time on ice-breaking. "You got a big dick, Jorge,?" I asked. He giggled again. "I guess. Kinda." "Let me see." Without a moments hesitation he reached down and unzipped, reaching inside to fish out his prong. I felt it, a rubbery, surprisingly thick, specimen, more than satisfactory. I played with him as I drove, and felt him thicken and harden. By the time we reached the motel I was cheerfully masturbating him, and hard myself. I had a moment of panic when the door of the room next to ours opened just as Jorge and I were going in. A black woman, whom I instantly pegged as a hooker, came out with, presumably, her customer. They glanced our way but continued to their car without comment. Once in the room, I was a bit startled to discover that Jorge had stuffed his dick back in his pants but hadn't bothered to zip up. I hoped the hooker and her John hadn't noticed, or didn't care. Without undressing him, I reached into Jorge's fly and pulled his cock out again. I toyed with him until he was hard again--he'd softened a bit between the car and the room-- and stepped back to admire the effect. I got a kick out of it: a short, little-boy- looking kid, fully dressed in the young-kid uniform of bluejeans, teeshirt, sneakers and windbreaker, with five or six inches of hard cock sticking straight out in front of him. Jorge saw what i was doing and turned slightly to admire himself in the mirror; he seemed to get a kick out of it too. He laughed. "I oughta walk down the street like this." "You should." I knelt down in front of Jorge and went right to work blowing him. He sighed in contentment. It was a shame to waste the bed, but it would have been more of a shame to miss the chance to rub his soft young melons as I sucked. I soon decided that they'd feel even better bare, so I helped Jorge off with his clothes. It was a bit of a struggle to work his hard-on back through the fly of his jockeys, and slip them off, but we managed. I had him leave his teeshirt on, but he was otherwise naked. I knelt down again, reinserted him in my mouth, and continued to caress his well- upholstered asscheeks. Just to see if he was as skittish as Carlos, I slipped my fingers into his crack a few times, even once or twice brushing across his hole. He didn't say a word, but maybe because he was too busy enjoying the attention I was paying to his knob. Jorge's dick was definitely bigger than Carlos's, and thicker even than Miguel's, though probably no longer. Unlike those two, he was uncut, but his loose foreskin rolled back easily, allowing me full access to his pretty pink head. I had had plenty of experience sucking cock on my knees, though not much recently, and I did a fine job on Jorge, if I do say so myself. He showed his appreciation soon enough by filling my mouth with a nice creamy load, thicker and more copious than Carlos could produce, which I happily guzzled down. As near as I could figure out, Jorge was only slightly older than Carlos--they were in the same class at school--but puberty had evidently kicked in earlier. Not only was his cock considerably bigger, the curly bush that topped it was thicker and more extensive. I noticed that he had a nickel-sized smudge of hair under each arm too, when I had him strip off his shirt to stand fully nude in front of me. I don't know if Rubens ever painted adolescent boys, but Jorge's body had the healthy, lush, abundance of the Cupids and goddesses in Renaissance paintings. I suppose technically he could be considered overweight, but he didn't strike me as fat. His fleshiness, coupled with the rosy olive glow of his skin, made him look good enough to eat. I intended to feast on the best parts all afternoon. I told Jorge to turn around, and he complied without question. His butt was a definite work of art and I rubbed the perfect globes with both hands, marveling at their glossy roundness. Gently I pulled them apart, and studied the little pink rosette hidden there. It was clean and hairless, but seemed a bit bigger and more prominent than Carlos's had been. Without thinking, I asked the question that popped to mind. "You ever been fucked, Jorge?" Once more he giggled. "Not really." What the hell kind of answer was that? It seemed like pretty much a yes-or-no question to me. "What does that mean?" Giggle, giggle. "My cousin, like, tried, but he was too little." Hmmm. Interesting. "How old's your cousin?" "I don't know. Like nine or so." Hmmm again. "Did you fuck him?" "Yeah. Lots of times." Giggle, giggle giggle. It occurred to me frrom Jorge's way of responding, the look on his face, and his constant giggling that he wasn't particularly bright. In fact, he verged on being simple-minded, perhaps even borderline "mentally-challenged," or whatever the current euphemism is. That raised a certain issue. Granted, having sex with any young kid involved exploiting his immaturity, but taking advantage of a boy who was "not all there" was a bit much, even for me. Jorge seemed willing, and to be enjoying himself, and he wasn't inexperienced, but still... My misgivings were suddenly overwhelmed by Jorge's abrupt question. "Can I fuck you?" I was staggered. It was such an unexpected direction for the encounter to take. I couldn't imagine a boy as young as Jorge suggesting something like that to an adult, even considering my obvious taste for perversion. But the suggestion was irresistable. I had largely put aside my thoughts of being fucked after Miguel's "retirement," never even thinking of having a kid do it. The sudden image of the stocky little cherub in front of me ramming his big-boy cock up my ass was mind-blowing. My cock twitched in my pants, joining every nerve in my body in signaling its excitement at the idea. A bizarre notion that I had never considered even ten seconds earlier suddenly became my sole goal in life. I'm sure my voice was shaky as I answered Jorge. "You really want to fuck me, Jorge?" "Yeah. Can I?" "I'm not sure yet. Have you fucked anybody else, besides your cousin?" "Yeah." "Who?" Jorge thought a moment. It was an obvious effort for him. "I forget his name." "But who was he? Where'd you meet him?" "At church." "At church! What was he, the priest?" "Yeah." "You fucked your priest?" It wasn't exactly earth-shattering news, but it still came as a bit of a shock. "Yeah. Not the regular priest. Some other priest. He was, like, visiting him or something." "Did your regular priest know about it?" "Yeah." This was fascinating. If only it weren't so hard pulling the story out of Jorge's dim mind. "How do you know?" I asked. "He was there." "He was there? What, did he watch?" "Yeah." Jorge acted like his story was the most ordinary thing in the world. Maybe where he came from it was. He sat on the edge of the bed next to me and I gently toyed with his hardening cock, hoping to keep him interested enough to continue his tale. "But your regular priest didn't fuck you?" "No." "Why not?" Even as I asked it I realized what a bizarre question it was: how often do you have occasion to ask "Why didn't your priest fuck you?" Jorge shrugged. "I don't know." "Does he do other stuff with you?" "Oh yeah." "Like what?" This was maddening, but riveting. "Like you did." "What do you mean? He sucks your dick?" "Yeah. Lots of times." "Do you suck his?" Jorge looked uncomfortable at the question. "I don't know. I'm tired. Can I fuck you now?" "In a minute Jorge." I wouldn't pry into subjects that bothered him, but I wanted more, if he'd tell me. My cock was straining at my pants already, so I unzipped and let it out. Jorge looked at it with mild interest. "Has anybody else besides your priest sucked your cock, Jorge?" "Yeah." "Who." "You." Poor kid. I felt sorry for his stupidity, even as I wanted to strangle him. I managed to control my impatience. "Yeah, I know I did, Jorge. Anybody else?" He thought. "Yeah," (Through gritted teeth) "Who, Jorge?" "The priest that I fucked. He sucked my cock too." "Anybody else?" "My cousin. And some friend of his. And some guy in the park. I think two guys in the park. And Ramon." Jesus, this kid got around. "Who's Ramon?" "He's this guy that lives on my block. He sucks everybody's dick." His giggles were back. This Ramon sounded like my kind of guy. "Wow, Jorge, you're a real little stud. Did you fuck any of these guys too? Or just your cousin and the priest?" I wanted to add "and if so, which ones," to forestall the answer 'yeah,' but I didn't. "No. Just them. Can we do it now?" I had been masturbating Jorge the whole time he was answering my questions, and he was obviously ready for some more action: small globs of moisture dripped down on my hand as I covered and uncovered his glans. My own cock was doing a bit of leaking too. I felt a surge of excitement as I stood to undress, and only a tad more degenerate than usual. Letting a thirteen year old kid fuck me would no doubt send me to an even deeper level of Hell, but maybe a step or two higher than if I were to fuck him. Luckily, I don't believe in Hell. A bit of a gleam came to Jorge's dull eyes, and a grin to his lips, as he contemplated what was ahead of him. Undoubtedly, the kid loved to fuck. I retrieved a tube of lubricant and a condom from my jacket. I hadn't expected to need them, but I didn't get where I am today by being unprepared. I hesitated about using the condom. I preferred not to, and probably wouldn't have if it had been Carlos who was about to fuck me, but Jorge had been a little too generous with his cock for me to take a chance. He seemed familiar with the operation when I handed him the packet and began to lube him up, so maybe his priestly conquest had used one too. I greased up my ass and lay down on my back pulling my legs up and back Jorge giggled as he got into position above me. "You know what to do, right, Jorge?" "Uh-huh." He moved closer. "I haven't done this for a long time. Don't go too fast at first, OK?" "I know." It had been a very long time, and I didn't expect much restraint on Jorge's part. When I felt the blunt tip of his pole touch my hole, I steeled myself for his assault. To my surprise, he didn't ram himself home with one thrust. He pushed ahead with firm resolve, but paused once he'd managed to force his dickhead through my tight aperture. The pain was bearable, but strong enough to remind me why I'd never been a big fan of being fucked in the first place. Jorge waited. His timing was uncanny: just as I had gotten used to the intruder in my chute and begun to actually welcome its presence, he began to push deeper, the discomfort of the incursion being balanced by the pleasurable sense of fullness. Even so early in the process, I loved the idea--the concept--of having Jorge inside me, occupying me, taking me---fucking me. When his chubby young dick rubbed against my button, the pleasurable part of the act totally overwhelmed the painful. The concept became irrelevant. The sweaty, primal, physical act was all that mattered. Jorge fucked superbly, at least as well as the best fucker I'd ever had in college. He quickly adopted a smooth, deep rhythm that filled me completely on the in-stroke and teased me into desperate longing on the withdrawal, usually managing to tweak my prostate in both directions. And he had the instinct--or the training-- to know when to break the rhythm, to torment me with short sharp jabs or soothe me with long slow glides. I was very glad I'd already blown Jorge. By taking the edge off his ardor I had enabled him to prolong the magic act he was performing in my ass. I looked up at his chubby face: the childlike look of joy he wore totally belied the completely grown-up performance he was giving down below. Streaks of sweat covered his rosy cheeks and his lips were parted in a blissful smile. He caught my eye, smiled even more broadly, and to my surprise he spoke. "I fuck good, don't I," "Christ yeah." I nearly added "Where did you learn to fuck like that," but I didn't want to know. Besides, unless his cousin was incredibly precocious, I knew the answer. I was pretty sure I could thank the Holy Roman Catholic Church for the blessings I was receiving. Even the greatest fuck can't last forever, My own cock was throbbing wildly as Jorge's did its yeoman's work in my guts. I shifted position a bit so that Jorge's belly would rub against my dick, pressing it between his body and mine. I was getting close when one particularly artistic thrust of Jorge's cock sent such an electric jolt through my system, radiating out from my prostate, that I immediately began to spew my pent-up load, sending thick dollops of cream into the gap between Jorge and me. His continued thrusting began to produce a wet squishing noise as he whipped my warm cum into a messy froth. Maybe my coming sent him over the edge, because almost instantly he made three or four savage final thrusts, let out a few deep groans, and unloaded,as deep inside me as he could go. He breathed heavily for a moment and then slumped his tired, sloppy body down onto mine, resting. I slowly stroked his damp back and his exquisite buns, breathing deeply myself as I recovered from Jorge's assault. I marveled at his skill, and had to wonder if ever in his life he'd develop a talent for anything else as impressive as his prowess at fucking. We both recovered within a few minutes, and a shower was next on the agenda: we were both slimy with sweat and spunk. Jorge showed no surprise at my intention to shower together, and while I enjoyed rubbing my hands all over his sleek slippery body, his passivity somehow made it a less erotic experience than my shower with Carlos. After we dried off, I asked Jorge if he was hungry: he was, of course. I started to dress, planning to bring food back, when I realized I wouldn't be comfortable leaving Jorge in the room alone. I didn't think he'd like it either. I glanced out the window: there wasn't any noticeable activity in the lot. I'd have to risk taking Jorge with me. We got to the car without anyone seeing us, as far as I could tell. Jorge was excited about going to McDonalds. Once we'd left the motel, I had no worries about being seen. The chance of encountering anyone I knew was virtually zero. I doubted that anyone in my my office had ever been to the Bronx, except maybe, like me, to Yankee Stadium. Even the lowliest interns and new recruits, who couldn't afford Manhattan rents, lived in Brooklyn or New Jersey. It was possible that some of the cleaning people came from the Bronx, but in the highly unlikely event that one of them saw me, I doubted they'd recognize me, so far out of context As I ushered Jorge into the restaurant, I was suddenly struck by something else. I felt a surge of excitement as I realized that I was getting away with it, that I was virtually flaunting my criminal accomplishment. In their wildest dreams, no one in the restaurant would possibly imagine that the nice white gentleman treating the cute little Hispanic boy to a burger and fries had not twenty minutes earlier been having that very same little boy's fat Hispanic cock rammed up his ass. I could barely keep from laughing out loud as the feeling of giddy elation filled me. I had realized even before that moment that there was an element of my relationship with Carlos and Jorge, with Miguel even, that had nothing to do with sex. Oh, the sex was the biggest part of it, but the boys filled a deeper psychological need too. My life, enviable as it was, every now and then felt like the world's most comfortable prison. My every move, every action had to fit within a very narrow rut. Most of the time I liked it--I enjoyed my job, loved my family-- but I hadn't completely killed the need to break free once in a while, to rebel. It's not that, even deep down, I wanted to get caught--far from it. But having sex with thirteen year old kids was the most outrageous, most dangerous, most rebellious thing I could possibly do. And having one of those little kids fuck me, and then blithely take him out in public--to McDonalds!-- was the ultimate step. I couldn't get any further out of my rut than that. Even if I was the only one who knew, that was enough. I was, for a while at least, a real outlaw. As I watched Jorge happily wolf down his food, I smiled at the thought that I was laying a pretty heavy symbolic significance on one chubby little Latino dimwit. And the symbolic significance rapidly began to fade, as the physical reality of him came back into focus. I looked at his cute innocent face and pictured the young but sexy body I'd so recently enjoyed. Fuck the symbolism---I wanted his dick again. When he'd eaten his fill, I hurried him back to the motel. I received an unpleasant jolt when we encountered the same black whore in the parking lot, with a different customer. Her glance at us was a little longer this time, but she walked on without saying anything to me. I hoped the dirty laugh I heard behind me wasn't directed at us, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. I'd already started fondling Jorge in the car, and I kept it up as soon as we were back in the room. Predictably, the quick response was a giggle and a hard-on. I wasted no time in stripping Jorge naked, and practically threw him on the bed, ripping off my own clothes and diving down between his legs. Grabbing his thick cock, I kept it occupied with one hand while I concentrated on his balls with my lips and my tongue. His sack was bigger and fuller than Carlos's, and not so baby-soft. It was hairless, though, and I kissed and licked and slurped on it in a frenzy. Apparently Jorge was not so ticklish, and he didn't complain when I took the whole pouch, with its two medium-sized nuts, into my mouth and practically chewed on it. Moving on, I lavished some wet tongue on the inner area of his plump thighs, then moved back behind his balls. I didn't lick his asshole--I didn't want to, OK?--but I got close. Both of us were huffing and snorting as I worked him over, and suddenly both of us couldn't wait any more. I was just starting to move upward when I felt Jorge's hands reaching down for me, with the same purpose. I swallowed his dripping cock in one gulp, pushing the loose hood down off the glowing helmet, and swabbing up the tasteless juice he was producing with my tongue. I bobbed and sucked and lapped at his throbbing shaft as he flexed his hips, try to drive deeper into my throat. Possessed by an urge even more perverse than usual, I stuck a finger in my mouth to wet it, then reached down to circle around his rosy hole. Jorge missed the one brief instant he might have had to protest, so I stuck the fingertip in. Hearing no squeals, only a muffled grunt, I shoved in to the second knuckle.. I finger-fucked Jorge in rhythm with my efforts on his dick and, soon, with his shallow moans. The moans grew louder. Desperately, I probed Jorge's tunnel, searching for his prostate. Finally I found the little button and jabbed at it vigorously. Jorge gave an almost inhuman cry, and helplessly filled my mouth with five or six strong jets of his youthful sperm. Once I'd swallowed all of Jorge's load, I quickly moved up on the bed, embracing him tightly and rolling onto my back, taking pleasure in the weight of his chunky little body pressing down on me. I had Jorge press his legs tightly together and stuck my rock-hard shaft up between them. Thrusting upwards with sharp jabs, I desperately fucked Jorge between his legs, his fleshy thighs nowhere near approximating a butthole, but serving their purpose very well. Jorge somehow realized what I was trying to do, and did his best to cooperate, holding his legs tight and trying to match my movements. My six thick shots of cream must have jetted three feet in the air before splashing down, mostly on Jorge's back and rump. I slowly rubbed the mess over Jorge's smooth skin as we lay tangled together, breathing deeply, not speaking. When I was sufficiently recovered, I knew it was time to call it a day, and led Jorge into the bathroom for another quick shower. To my surprise, Jorge rapidly boned up again as I squished soapsuds between his legs. Almost before I realized what I was doing, I was leaning on the bathroom sink while Jorge enthusiastically fucked me again. It wasn't until he was happily filling my ass with cum that I remembered we hadn't used a condom. It gave me a sudden sick feeling of concern, but it was too late to worry about it. We got ourselves together, dried off, and got dressed. I had thought to bring twenties instead of fifties, and Jorge's dim eyes shone a little brighter as he happily shuffled the bills in his hand, I was vaguely aware of some activity in the parking lot as we left, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to us as we drove away. I dropped Jorge off near his house and went back home to my family, my head whirling. To be continued....... Comments welcome: grubsnort@comcast.net ( Captain Swing)