Date: Tue, 10 Oct 2017 14:49:34 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Ravens Claw 12

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritaria/ravens-claw/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of
that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my
characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of
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*****

"Yes!" Matt wanted to die again with the childish yip in his voice. Howie
leaned in and muttered something in his ear that Matt could not make out
over the pounding of his pulse and the whole-body quiver that the man's
warm breath caused as it caressed his ear. Even after Howie moved back to
the front of the class and joined the critique and commentary, Matt could
feel his heat, smell his musk, taste his need. He lost himself in a vague
and formless symphony playing in the key of Howie.

*****

Raven's Claw 12: Shock & Awe (P4)

By Bear Pup

*****

Sean proceeded to suck a very satisfying load out of each of the remaining
students, starting with Jackson. The black muscle-stud had always been
vocal when getting head from girls and that translated fairly well. The
main complaint was his use of terms like "girl" and "sweetheart" and other
feminizing phrases. "No husband," Sean explained, "wants to feel
emasculated. Switch those terms out for 'stud' and 'daddy' or, if you want
the insult-as-compliment thing, use 'fucker' and 'bastard'."

Aaron was blushing purple throughout even though he'd already sampled
Sean's incomparable oral skills. He was unable to verbalize at all, even
though he made up for it with moans, whimpers and whines that were nearly
as expressive as words. Paul was the polar opposite, dealing with the
instructions by trying to "direct" Sean's efforts with specific
instructions instead of encouragement and hints.

Ned did exceptionally well except for a slip when he said, "Oh, God, Bobby,
your mouth is driving me insane!" No one corrected him until they went
through the video.

Sean doubled-down on his Irish burr as he solemnly intoned, "Boyo, I'm
afeerrrrin' that I'll have to make it my mission ta'get'ya'ta call every
other cocksuckerrrrrr 'Sean' for the rrrrrrest of your life! I think
anotherrrr half-dozen should do it." The whole room erupted in laughter at
the look, not on Ned's face but on Bobby's.

For his own turn, Bobby was again shy, but not as tongue-tied as his
brother, Aaron. He tended to murmur and whimper the words. Sean said it was
a very sexy rush but also made it damned hard to understand. Vincent's only
black mark was that he clammed up, entire body clinched and not even
breathing, when Sean finally took him to heaven. He looked rather more like
he was passing a kidney stone than having a mind-altering ejaculation.

"Okay, men," Howie wrapped up the lesson, "you don't actually have homework
for Sex tonight. We don't want you to be graded on how well you get a
blowjob until we've trained you how to give them to each other. Even Sean's
jaw can only take so much abuse." This got a laugh and a mock-indignant
protest from Sean who made it quite clear he was up for another round or
two for the whole class.

Cooking that night was a reverse. The boy-instructors let their mates do
the cooking and simply guided and corrected. Vincent was about in tears as
Aaron and Ned proceeded to mutilate the pasta. When it came to the
churrasqueira station, Paolo nearly wept when Jackson and Ned got
preoccupied (with a little help from Bobby) and one side of the picanha
burned.

To everyone's shock, not least of all their own, Aaron and Jackson
basically nailed the biscuits. They were a little tough from a heavy hand
with the flour while kneading, but otherwise really good. Jackson leaned
down and let his warm breath tickle Matt's ear. "It's all about the coach,
Coach." Matt yipped when Jackson pinched his ass for emphasis.

All of the guys found plenty of time to work in small groups on the
"approachable" posing. A guy none of them had seen before entered the
Social Room, lanky and a bit nerdy in an H&M-model kind of way. His eyes
(what you could see behind the glasses) and lips made him look oriental and
his high, sharp-edged cheekbones were striking. He struck up a few
conversations, introducing himself as Rob.

Bobby asked, "So what do you do? Are you an instructor on things we learn
later?"

Rob smiled wickedly, "Nope. Let's see how to break this to you
gently... Ah! Yesterday afternoon you called me 'Mr Big Brother' before
practically dragging Jackson and Aaron out of the room when I played a
sound clip." Bobby literally choked on his smoothie and spewed some of it
onto his chest.

"N-N-N-N-N-No way!" Bobby's eyes were huge.

"Sorry, man, but yeah. I'm one of the eyes in the sky. When Howie is
talking about Patriot Tech, I'm one of the folks on the other end of
it. It's called Monitoring & Psych and is a pretty important part of the
Raven's Claw success story."

"That's, um, seriously creepy, man. You know that, right?" Bobby was
horrified at what the guy -- a hot-looking Asian stud sitting right next to
him! -- obviously must have seen. A steady mantra built in the back of his
head, 'Oh-ma-God-oh-ma-God-oh-ma-God-oh-ma-God...'

Rob sighed but still smiled. "Yeah, I get that. But it's a critical part of
getting all of you ready to be amazing husbands to some of the
most-discerning and sought-after First Husbands in this part of the
Protectorate. And you will be. You guys are incredible, sexy, smart and
really, really nice guys. Men will be fighting over every one of you, you
know." That thought shook Bobby, but in a very... interesting way as he
digested that he might not only be desirable, but prized. Rob couldn't help
but tweak the beautiful young stud a little more, though. "Anyway, I never,
ever have to pay for porn!" He left Bobby sitting, completely agape.

About thirty minutes before the alarm would chime, Howie stood
up. "Tonight's sleeping arrangement will be a bit different. Aaron, you're
with young Rob, here. Matt is with me, and Paul will room with Chef. Ned,
you're with Jackson tonight and Bobby will room with Vincent. So, why three
adults? The first real use of points was tonight." Matt suddenly blanched
as he realized with a sudden shock that he was about to be outed. He tried
to catch Howie's eye to no avail. "Matt asked for, well, for *me* for a
night and paid the points."

Matt went from paper-white to cherry-red in an instant as every guy on the
team swiveled to look at him. "Shiiiiit...." Vincent's voice was low but
suffused with awe. "We can d-d-d-d-do that? For real? Damn. Matt, you
fucking bastard, you have all the luck! Why didn't you guys tell us that
was possible?"

"Because Matt was the only one of you with balls enough to ask!" Far from
mocking Matt, the blushing young man realized that most of the guys were
openly envious and a bit impressed (if shocked) that he, quiet little Matt,
had even broached the subject with the guy they all thought of as Coach,
with all the intimidating nuances that brought with it. The main buzz,
though, was how much it cost.

"Which -- balls that is -- brings us to the next subject. We'll not get
into specifics since we do points once a day now, but most of you need to
seriously up your game. The top TWO have combined scores that almost equal
the bottom FOUR!" A mad scramble for digidesks left Jackson grimly
satisfied but determined; he was rising slowly but was at least not losing
ground. Ned and Bobby were disgruntled but Paul was openly concerned. After
the rest of the guys went back to normal conversations, he approached Howie
who was standing well apart, far enough away that they would not be
overheard.

"Um, Coach. Can I have a minute? You know, just us?"

"Sure, son. What's up?"

"I'm not only in last place, I'm falling further and further behind! What
am I doing wrong, Coach?"

"Since you're calling me Coach, I assume you want the brutal truth?" The
hunky little Brazilian nodded. Howie made sure they couldn't be overheard
and growled, "Fine. Stop going through the motions and get with the fucking
program, kid." He grabbed the boy's shoulder and turned him to the room at
large. "Your six teammates are some of the nicest, sexiest people you'll
meet for the rest of your life, Paul. And the staff here is, well, pretty
damned hot and easy to get along with as well. Learn to get into them or
resign yourself to a miserable life of jacking off and moping."

Paul looked, really looked, at the men in the room. He was shocked when it
struck him that Howie was right. Every one of them was a hunk of one type
or another, and all of them were amongst the best guys he knew. 'But it
doesn't *matter*!' he screamed to himself. 'I don't care if they're sexy or
hot or anything else. They're GUYS.'

"But Coach! What if I don't, you know, find them attractive? If I'm
not... into them?"

"I've got sad news for you, son. Back in the bad old days, a damned high
percentage of husbands didn't find their wives particularly attractive
after a couple years, and vice versa. The average marriage lasted only
eight years. Sex and relationships were so tightly tied that it was
inescapable. Cheating and running around destroyed families at a staggering
rate; even if the couple stayed married, they often hated each other for
the rest of their lives. Son, do you know what the divorce rate is in the
Protectorate? About six percent, and only one percent of breakups will
dissolve an entire family. Food for thought, kid."

"So," Paolo said slowly and thoughtfully, "you're saying that the... the
rules of the game have changed and I'm still trying to play the old way?"

"That's a not a bad way to put it, sport, but the bigger issue is how much
the game has NOT changed. Before Arrival Day, if you were determined to
wait for the perfect woman, you'd likely have been lonely for a damned long
time. The same is true now, only you would be trying to attract the perfect
First Husband, plus an all-perfect cast of co-husbands, son. And if you are
determined to wait for that AND straight sex, Paul, you are completely
screwed. Instead, you need to find a man or group of men who you can *love*
and let the sex part take care of itself. For now, as you learn? Well, no
one in this group is an asshole and they're all, well, pretty easy on the
eyes, son..."

Paul spent the rest of the evening in deep contemplation of the guys he'd
known as teammates and now needed to see... differently. They were still
The Team, the Freedom High Wrestling Patriots, but they were
also... more. In some indefinable way, Paolo realized with a bit of awe,
they were closer, stronger, more interactive. Jackson, at that moment, had
reached out and goosed Matt which got him a shove from Aaron who'd been
trying to combine a serious conversation with some shy flirting.

Ned and Bobby were talking intently to each other, half-turned to face one
another on a bench. They had always been inseparable friends. Paolo smiled
at the pose since it was so much like seeing the two sitting on the wall in
the school courtyard during lunch... except for the fact that Ned had one
hand running up and down Bobby's arm and Bobby was caressing Ned's thigh
and occasionally smiling down at Ned's dripping cock. Vincent was in a
deep, food-related conversation with Chef, but kept flashing seductive
looks to Ned and/or Bobby, whichever happened to be looking up at the time.

When the chime rang to go to bed, Paul met Wit at the doorway. As they
entered the chef said, "Call me Wit, Paul. And when we're in private, do
you really like Paul, or is Paolo better for... being alone?"

Paolo blushed, "I, um," he coughed, "Paolo is b-b-better. I use Paul to
make it less, you know, exotic at school. But, uh, my brother always called
me Fedelho..."

"Okay. My Portuguese is rusty but... your brother called you 'Brat'?" Wit
chuckled, delighted.

"Well, to be fair, I called him Pum."

"Okay, that's adorable. What did os pais [the parents] think about you
calling your brother 'Fart'?"

Paolo giggled, "I said it was short for Puma. You know? The cat?"

Wit smiled warmly. "Would you like to sit and talk for a while, Delho?"
Paolo was taken aback that the chef knew Portuguese pet names frequently
used to trailing syllables instead of the leading ones. The Brazilian
wrestler felt a quiver in his belly; Tiago had always used the same
diminutive. Sitting with the older man, it made him feel small but also
safe and comfortable. He felt like a little kid and decided... he really
liked it. Chef made him feel so warm and loved.

He snuggled against the taller man and sighed when he felt one long arm
wrap around him and begin to absently stroke his upper arm. Paolo's voice
shook a little as he confessed, "I've been stupid, chefe." The Chef smiled
to hear Paolo slip to his title in Portuguese.

Paolo purred inside when Wit's hand began massaging his neck as his voice
caressed his soul. "No, Delho, you've been brave. Maybe a little too brave,
Paolo."

"But I *have* to be brave. You, I mean Tiago, always said so. Men have to
be strong. We have to be brave and tough and protective."

"Yes, my little Fedelho, but sometimes it's okay to be the one who is
protected. Tiago protected you, right? And loved you?"

"Not like that!" Paolo stiffened a little and moved to pull away but Wit
pulled him back.

"No, Paolo, not like 'that'. But like men. That's a huge thing we learned
after the Raven's Claw arrived: Love and sex are different. It's best when
the two happen together, but guys have loved each other forever, especially
the toughest. The greatest group of warriors ever known, the Sacred Band of
Thebes, was considered invincible. Why? Because the group of 300 were
paired, each with another man he deeply loved. They would do anything for
each other, and no army could match them because of it."

"Were they... you know?"

"Lovers, too? Usually. Most were lovers because that was part of their
bond. Sex cannot replace love, but it can reinforce it. Love makes any man
stronger. When it's love with another man, that power is squared. When you
are part of a family, the love of your various husbands -- and yours for
them -- make you so much better, both as a group -- a family -- and as an
individual."

"But I don't want to be a woman." Paolo cringed at the whine in his voice
and was a bit shocked when Wit popped the back of his head sharply.

"Listen, babaca," Paolo was brought up short as much by the use of his
mother-tongue's word for asshole or douchebag as having it applied to
himself so harshly, "if you think I'm a *woman* because I love my husbands,
you can fuck right off. Howie; is that a *woman*? Sean? Go tell Ben, our
Arabic muscle-stud, that he's a *woman* and let me know how it feels to
have your balls turned to mush."

"I'm sorry. I'm so confused." That earned another, slightly-softer,
head-slap.

"Bullshit, Fedelho," the chef's voice was frustrated and impatient, "you're
not 'confused', you are a stubborn little shit. And you're so stuck on
machismo -- that's same in Portuguese as Spanish, right? -- that you can't
open your eyes and see what's in front of you." Paolo looked up at Chef's
fierce eyes. He was awed to see real strength there: the strength of will
he had always, his entire life, thought was the essence of manhood. It had
been there in Howie and in Ben as well.

"W-Will you teach me, chefe?"

"No, Dehlo." Wit's voice was sad. "I don't know if it can be taught, Paolo,
but I can show you. I know you have an excellent palate because you are
Brazilian and it's required." That got a chuckle. "So, we'll treat this as,
well, an exchange of tastes. Lay back and I will show you how to appreciate
a real stud's body, how to bring out the power and the strength and the
manliness, how to make love to the *man*, not his sex parts." He guided
Paolo back as he was talking and the young man was tense on the
bed. "Relax, dear little potro [colt], relax."

Wit started by running his hands up and down the young man's arm. "My God,
Delho, your arms are so powerful. You worked hard for that, didn't you?"
Wit stroked along the thick thighs and bulging shoulders, "You are strong
and in the prime of life. I can't imagine the dedication it took to build
this body." He could feel the proud young man relaxing under his praise and
kept murmuring things like that as he explored the strong young physique.

Paolo stiffened again as Wit's tongue flicked out and licked between his
pectorals, then sighed involuntarily. "Mmmm. You taste like beef, my young
bull, beef and the spice of fidalga peppers, almost as hot as you are." The
last was murmured at Paolo's shoulder, making him shiver as chef licked and
teased the shell and side of his ear, then trailed his tongue down the
boy's neck.

The chef took his time, licking, teasing and, above all, praising the hot
Brazilian wrestler. Within a quarter-hour, the kid's cock was leaking
copiously and had created a wide pool of slick in the cove of his rock-hard
abdomen. Wit pulled back and Paolo was shocked to realize that his eyes had
closed and he was panting hoarsely. "Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Why did you stop?"

Wit chuckled and let a smile suffuse his voice. "That, Delho, is making
love to a MAN, not to a cock or an ass, but to a MAN like you."

"B-B-B-B-But! But I'm dying. Please, please, chefe! Eu te implore! Please?"

Wit laid back languidly. "Implore or beg all you want, little man. How
about you show me what you learned, Dehlo, and we go from there?"

Paolo bit his lip, driven by sharply-conflicted needs. He desperately
wanted relief, but also wanted to protect his masculine self-image. Paolo
saw the man's daring, taunting smile that seemed to say, "Are you man
enough for this, little boy?" and he knew what his decision had to be.

Paolo found himself lost in the novelty and sensation of exploring a man's
body, not as an assignment but as a challenge... and a pleasurable one. Wit
was decidedly vocal with his praise and encouragement, rewarding each
stroke or lick or tease with a shudder or a sigh or a growl. He kept using
words like bull and stud and veado [stag] and other hypermasculine terms
that stroked the boy's ego so hard that his cock leaked a steady
stream. When he ventured south and encountered Wit's raging hardon, he was
already a little sex-drunk. He let his hands keep exploring and Wit moaned
loudly as the boy caressed his balls and tentatively roamed up his cock as
well.

Wit reached over and pulled one of Paolo's legs over him and sucked in the
thick, meaty foreskin, making the little stud yelp in delight. Wit let his
tongue explore and probe underneath, sucking the precum and
not-quite-yet-smegma that had built up since Sean's blowjob. He growled
loud and low when Paolo stuck out his tongue and gave Wit's cockhead a
single, hesitant swipe.

The flavor astounded the young man. It was subtle but so utterly male, so
filled with the essence of sex and heat, spice and power. He licked more
firmly, in a kind of quiet awe, reveling in the sounds he extracted from
the very, very male chef. The rush of power that shot through him made him
moan again and spurt dogwater into the older man's mouth. Wit caught the
hint quickly and began to slurp and moan gut-deep, a penetrating and
masculine rumble of satisfaction. All the while, he was taking the
Brazilian cock deep in his throat to maximize both the sensation of sucking
and the vibration of his voice. Within five minutes, he felt Paolo's orgasm
approach and decided to let the floodgates go on his own impending climax.

Paolo had never felt like this, not ever. He was, well, sucking a COCK! But
at the same time, he was shocked to the core at finding that he was on top
of the world with the apparent control he had over the hot, older man by
just pleasuring the head of his dick. The vibration and convulsive
contractions of Wit's throat finally sent him into a bear-growling
orgasm. With no real warning (at least none the boy had ever learned to
watch for), Wit's cock began to fire. Paolo was so deeply consumed in his
own Rapture that he got one good mouthful before pulling back in horror.

Without even thinking, his body responded: something creamy in mouth,
therefore swallow. Wit's dick spewed surge after surge, more a lava
eruption than an explosive volley. Paolo looked at the creamy goo flowing
over the hand that holding Wit's manhood steady and it struck him that he'd
just swallowed some of, of, of THAT! And yet there was a tiny voice back
there that went, 'Damn, he's sucking the cum out of my balls and I've got
him moaning and writhing and *cumming* with pleasure. I could get used to
this. Oh, and, well, it didn't really taste that bad...'

Paolo rolled and pivoted to lay next to Wit, looking at the man as they
both caught their breath. Nothing about the man's heaving chest or
satisfied smile was effeminate. As much as the Brazilian stud tried to
scream at himself, he didn't feel used or degraded or womanized. In fact,
he felt more powerful and, yes, manly than at any time in his life.

Wit turned and purred, "THAT, Delho, is how a MAN makes love to a
MAN. There's nothing prissy or efeminado. It's raw, fucking animal sex,
stud." He let a boyish gleam show in his eyes and voice. "And a damned fine
cardio workout as well!" Paolo laughed and the tension (and the mental
howls of machismo) simply melted away... at least for a while.

In the control booth for Monitoring & Psych, Travis was having conniptions
and trying desperately to grow extra eyeballs. Walter Grayling ('Chef' or
'Wit') had just given an awe-inspiring master course on masculinizing gay
sex to the most-resistant subject they had, leaving Travis a dripping
mess. But then there was Howie, pretty much King Stud for the whole lab,
with Matt, the kid whose every look and movement screamed, "TAKE ME!!" The
third monitor showed Rob and Aaron -- Travis whimpered and thought, 'Best
to watch that in reruns.' Travis had always loved to watch Rob, but seeing
him completely lose his cool with Aaron was too much.

Bobby and Vincent were the easiest on the eyes. Bobby was gorgeous and
Vincent was a flat-out Italian Stallion who'd suddenly discovered his
softer side. His physical dominance over the slightly-smaller and
stunningly-beautiful Bobby was obvious, but so was the way he used that
power to bring out Bobby's own masculine force. Bobby knew (and liked) that
he was being controlled by the fierce young teammate, but relished the
tenderness he felt -- and the shudders and moans he could elicit with a
lick or a stroke or a word.

They'd started with a kiss that rapidly escalated to an eel-wriggling orgy
of moans, groans and squishy orgasms. Three from Bobby at last count and
two... hold it... hold it... yepper; thar she blows, lads! Three now from
Vincent as well, and there was no hint that they would break the kiss
before someone had to go in the with the Jaws of Life. Travis knew that we
would have to hit sleepy-time with the sub-vertebral implants when playtime
expired.

Jackson and Ned, on the next screen over, had a fascinating dynamic. They
kissed well, Ned half-atop the ebony muscle-man, but neither seemed able or
willing to flow into that special zone with the other. It may have had to
do with the level of flirting that the black stud had been up to earlier,
but it didn't explain the lackluster performance of the normally-direct
Ned. They finally rolled to each side, sighing in frustration, and simply
jacked each other off. Each knew something wasn't clicking, but neither of
them understood what it might be.

Howie had chosen to dose himself with a trio of Ravensclaw, Inc.,
pharmaceuticals. One was a marvel that helped a man relax without making
him sleepy or stupid. He knew that Matt would need careful handling. The
others were part of his evening smoothie, and both were normally used on
subjects. One vastly accelerated recovery time and semen production and the
other made body-orgasms (like nipple or ass play) far easier to obtain. He
wanted tonight to be everything Matt dreamed of.

Howie was laid head-to-foot on the bed, one leg cocked up and the other
draped over the side of the bed, to present Matt with the most-erotic scene
he could envisage when the door opened. It worked, in spades. Matt stepped
through the door and made a sound that caused Howie to quickly check the
kid's crotch. It was the kind of shuddering, whimpered gasp that normally
accompanied someone coming in their pants... not that anyone wore pants in
the lab. Howie saw a spurt of dogwater ejected with enough force that it
actually flew a few centimeters up from Matt's achingly-hard cock before
falling back to coat that very respectable dick.

What Matt saw when he entered really did temporarily fry most of the boy's
circuits. He was frankly in stunned awe at the sight. His father, Coach
Sparks, was a hypermasculine bully and a seriously-evil person, but to a
gay boy growing in his shadow, the man looked on the outside like a
god. Howie dwarfed him in every dimension. He was taller, more muscular,
broader of shoulder, hairier and... there was no other way to say it,
seriously fucking hung. But what nearly made Matt cum standing in the
doorway was something his father had never had: kind, smiling, welcoming
eyes and a soft smile that spoke of true warmth and caring.

Matt wrenched his feet from the carpet where they felt rooted, forcing
himself forward, his vision literally fading at the edges and seeing only
the massive Hercules lying in front of him. He stopped when he got to the
bedside, feasting on the sight of the armpit fur where Howie had one hand
above his head, the hair dripping with sweat and perfuming the room with
musk. The nipples, the cock, the heavily-carpeted pecs. But always, always
returning to those magnificent eyes. Matt didn't realize it but Howie was
watching just as carefully as he tried to judge just how close the boy was
to hyperventilating.

"Wh-Wh-Wh-Whu?" Matt aborted that attempt and swallowed spasmodically. "Wh,
what...?" His brain refused to even finish the question. His eyes tracked
as one of Howie's massive arms came up and a huge finger pressed against
the boy's lips. His breathing went from quick gasps to nothing in that
instant.

"Shh. This is all about you, Matt. You 'paid' for the night, son," he
growled low with a huge and kindly smile, "so do whatever strikes you. If
you want me to do anything," the massive bear of a man sat up with
startling speed for someone of his enormous size and moved his mouth to
Matt's ear, rumbling, "anything at all, just tell me." He kissed Matt's ear
and relished the quiver it sent through the young man. Howie lay back, this
time against the wall, moving his massive thighs to frame the young
athlete's legs. Howie pitched his voice in an intimate near-whisper that
Matt had to strain to hear. "What do you want first, Matt? Tell me son, or
just... take it.

Matt raised his shaking hands and, back to hyperventilating, ran them up
the powerful, furred, ham-like legs. Howie let out a long, satisfied sigh
that gave the shy and timid boy a boost. When his hands flowed up the
abdomen, across the belly and continued, Howie moaned out, "Oh, God,
Matt. I love that, baby." With half the subject group, 'baby' would have
sent them into panic, but it simply made Matt's pulse race, mouth water and
cock spurt again.

When Matt got to Howie's nipples, the huge man hissed in a breath and, as
if by reflex, jammed his big paws behind his head, creating an extreme
bicep pose in the process. Matt gasped and his breathing deepened as the
musk hit him. He ran his hands into the deeply-furred pits, then brought
his wet fingers to his nose as if hypnotized. The young cross-country
runner whimpered at the intensely-erotic scent.

At the loss of contact, Howie pleaded, "Oh, God. Don't stop, Matt. Fuck,
baby, you're killing me. Please, please do that again!" The big hulk was
only slightly exaggerating. The nerve stimulant along with the eroticism of
the boy's ministrations and look of awe and hunger were making him quake
with desire. Matt, hardly daring to breathe, began to stroke and gently
tweak the nipples with one hand and tease the armpit hair with the other;
Howie let out and ecstatic moan.

Matt leaned in, intending to kiss the giant (or at least try). As he did
so, his dripping cock plowed through the thick, sculpted and wiry hair of
Howie's crotch and speared upwards alongside it, sped on by his own copious
leakage as well as Howie's effusion. The sensation undid him. He tried
desperately to stop the impending eruption but was far, far too late.

Matt howled in despair and mortification as he started to unload and was
shocked senseless when Howie's huge arm pulled him forcefully into a
kiss. Suddenly, even through the soul-deep kiss, another sensation
penetrated the young man's mind. Howie was humping against him even harder
than he was hunching into Howie's crotch. Howie bellowed straight into
Matt's lungs and the man erupted vigorously, clamping Matt's face to his
with one hand, and the youthful body to the squelching, frothing mess in
their crotches with a powerful paw at the small of the boy's back.

Matt was heaving with sobs as Howie rocked him gently and cooed through the
rest of their diminishing orgasms. "Fuck, kid. That was amazing!" Matt's
head snapped up. He was so utterly humiliated by his quick trigger -- for
God's sake, a single TOUCH! -- that the words were like a physical
slap. "If I hadn't charged you only one point for the night, stud, I'd have
to offer a rebate!"

Matt stared at him in frank awe. "Y-Y-Y-Y-Y-You aren't, you know,
m-m-m-m-mad that I, well, didn't last...?"

Howie pulled the boy's chin up and kissed him sweetly and firmly on the
lips before staring deep into the frightened, worried eyes. "First thing:
it's your night, boss; you pick when and where and how we cum. Second, I
know damned good and well that we both have plenty more where that came
from." He broke the gaze and pulled the boy even closer, nuzzling his beard
along the kid's sensitive neck. He umble-rumbled, "That is... if you still
want to? Cuz that's third. I fucking sure as hell hope you want to." He
kissed and nibbled along Matt's clavicle then came back up to look into the
young athlete's eyes.

Howie nearly crapped when he found, not the doe-eyed, shy, terrified youth
looking back, but a ravenous beast of a man in full rut. He simply stared
in awe at the transformation. Matt dove into another kiss, this one fueled
by furious, insatiable need. It was hard to shock the jaded and
incredibly-experienced muscle-bear, but Matt came close. The little man
took them both on a rollercoaster sexual thrill ride and Howie was just an
awe-struck and very, very satisfied passenger.

Matt would frequently flip them (or, to be honest considering the size
difference, hinted with his body enough that Howie moved as Matt wanted) so
the massive stud was on top, but at every turn the young man was utterly in
control. He dragged six -- SIX!! -- loads out of Howie's nuts through the
night. Howie cursed the fact he'd told the control room that they were not
to pull the plug no matter how late the session ran and mourned the
body-orgasm enhancer he'd taken. With the next breath, he was thanking God
that he'd taken plenty of the Qik-Recover. He doubted that he could have
survived, at least not without crippling the rather-important, low-hanging
jewels that Matt drained over and over. 'Jesus! Six times!' The
awe-inspiring thought kept echoing through him.

Rob had also come loaded for bear. He'd watched the tapes and read the
reports about Aaron's "superpower" and had enough Qik-Recover in his system
to keep a football team leaking jizz for a night. By the morning, he was
only halfway-disappointed that the effort was in vain. He was draped as
seductively across the bed as his whipcord Asian body could be (which was
rather impressive) and was hard just thinking about the evening when Aaron
entered.

Aaron walked in and smiled. He really was learning a lot from Carter; Rob's
pose was a bit *too* perfect, too artful. He let his gaze wander over the
features that, without the glasses, was even more exotic with the
clearly-Asian eyes. The body was ideal, a slender, elegant torso without a
hint of delicacy. You could see the definition at the ribs and hips. Aaron
walked over without any real preliminaries, slowly overcoming his shyness
to run a hand along the man's thigh, reveling in the shiver his touch
produced.

"Your skin is so smooth. You, um, you d-d-d-don't mind me touching you, do
you?"

"No, but I'd be a lot happier if you touched more. Aaron, you are so
beautiful."

The young jock giggled and blushed deeply t the unexpected
compliment. "Then you're blind without your glasses!" He let his hands move
up to caress Rob's sides and the man sighed deeply.

"My God, Aaron, you're so fantastic that it's hard to believe I'm in here
with you. I am honestly in awe." Aaron blushed crimson but smiled.  Rob was
often verbal, but rarely forward in sexual situations. The stud wrestler's
"magic mojo" was starting to take its toll on the Asian man and he felt
more and more compelled to make Aaron happy. No, more than happy; ecstatic,
exultant, transcendently-wonderful! He moved forward and captured the
youth's hands, pulling them to his lips and kissing them, sucking each
finger like a cock. He knew that this was one of Aaron's strongest
Sexually-Charged Zones (SCZs) and his heart leapt into his throat as he
felt the boy melt into him and whimper.

While Rob was considered a versatile lover, he preferred to be taken, to be
the recipient of desire. Tonight, though, his overwhelming need was to make
love to this amazing guy. Over the next two hours, he brought Aaron to
three screaming orgasms. During the second, he found himself spontaneously
cumming, blasting onto the side of the bed with no comprehension of how or
why. The pleasure feedback alone from Aaron's Rapture blasted through his
brain and punched his launch button to his intense shock and delight.

Whenever Aaron slipped into sleep, Rob wrapped his own long body around the
teen protectively. Whenever Aaron stirred, he again made sweet love to the
captivating young wrestler. By the morning wakeup, Aaron had gotten perhaps
five hours of sleep... and the same number of orgasms. Both Rob and Aaron
were exhausted, bleary-eyed and utterly-sated as they cuddled and murmured
to each other.

As the morning wakeup announcement droned on, Aaron spontaneously started
to writhe atop Rob while intensifying the kiss, using his body, night-sweat
and still-creamy loads to blow the lanky Asian's mind. The sensations (and
Aaron's mojo) were enough that Rob began screaming in his childhood mother
tongue -- Xiang, even though he didn't even have the vestiges of an accent
any longer -- as he came explosively, quite-literally convulsively, giving
Aaron an early morning bronco ride that left them both completely
breathless. As the man gasped for air, Aaron looked into his shocked and
awe-struck dark eyes and said, "Good morning, beautiful," and kissed him
again. Rob, in that instant, knew he'd never felt such joy in his entire
life.

<eof>

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 36 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/
Beaux Thibodaux: 27 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
The Heathens: 29 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/
Culberhouse Rules: 14 chapters .../incest/culberhouse-rules/
Raven's Claw: 12 chapters .../authoritarian/ravens-claw/
Ashes & Dust: 7 chapters .../rural/ashes-and-dust/
Maybe Next Time: 7 chapters .../authoritarian/maybe-next-time/
Irma's Boys: 1 chapter .../adult-friends/irmas-boys/