Date: Tue, 30 Aug 2011 10:56:10 -0400
From: Damon Ellison Ellison <damon9888@hotmail.com>
Subject: Exploring Adam 7

I have never had, either before or since, such a sex-drenched cluster of
days as that visit from Adam. It was an ecstatic experience in both the
literal and figurative senses of the word--a prolonged orgasm, it sometimes
seems to me in my memory, as making him cum was just as delirious an
experience as when he did it to me. I felt outside of myself for the entire
time, and yet so fully sheathed in my flesh and the pleasures it could
bestow.  Whatever my cock-centered fantasies had been before came to seem
trite as Adam and I went so far beyond what I had once only tentatively
imagined. I lost track of the times he came in my mouth, my hands, my ass;
I lost track of the times I came in his. Never again would I be able to
sustain that frequency of sex and orgasm without my cock becoming a hollow,
aching pole. But always, however much we had sucked and fucked in the
preceding hours, my cock was ready again, springing to hardness at the mere
thought of his body, his skin, his mouth, his cock. And his own beautiful
organ was just as ready and willing.

Rereading the installments I've posted here, I hope I haven't slipped into
mere pornography ... it feels at points that this saga has become an
exercise in "and then we fucked in THIS room in THIS position." Certainly,
it gets a little repetitive, but I hope I've managed to communicate some of
the endless novelty and newness that those acts had for me. However often I
sucked his cock in those three days, it was like I was coming to it again
for the first time, that it was always this tremulous and exciting
adventure. That certainly is what fuelled our constant fascination with
each other--at no point did I ever get bored, at no point did the prospect
of him sucking me or fucking me or vice versa ever feel rote. Each orgasm
was its own little universe of ecstasy that only left us wanting more.

Which is not to say we didn't strive for novelty ... every position we
could imagine we tried, every place in the apartment, every surface that
could bear our bodies. He fucked me from behind, missionary style,
spooning; I rode his cock facing him, facing away, sideways; we were tender
and loving, slow, whispering endearments; we dominated each other,
demanding submission and worship, making each other beg for the cock we
wanted, needed, to be fucking us; we lay beside each other, not touching
each other's cocks, and wound each other up describing what we wanted to do
to each other, until we practically came from mere words, and then we would
enact the scenes we had described. We sucked each other endlessly,
sometimes fast and hard and hungry, sometimes excruciatingly slowly. We
69'd for an hour and a half on one of the days, licking and nuzzling,
backing off when the other was close, finally making each other cum
simultaneously in ecstatic explosions in our mouths. We came on each
other's faces, chests, bellies, backs, asses. We used our semen as massage
oil, as lube, as flavoring. He wrote his name in his cum on my chest and
then ate it off me. We learned the rhythms of each other's cocks, came to
know what each twitch and pulse and swelling meant and used the knowledge
to torture each other. I kept him on the brink of orgasm for twenty minutes
with the tip of my tongue tapping on the skin just beneath his cockhead;
when I ran my fingernail up the underside of his shaft it was enough to
make him spurt on my face.

Our vocabulary came to run the gamut between gentle endearments and cruel
commands. But it centered mostly on a small collection of verbs and
adjectives, as most sex talk does, with "fuck me" being the most frequently
uttered command or request or plea. We found new ways to worship each
other's cocks in words, new ways to describe how hard the other was, how
delicious his shaft, how delectable his cum. But again, as we approached
orgasm these words narrowed to a small selection, barely coherent,
expressing the simple need and want we had in the presence of each other's
skin.

I could go on. But I also don't want this story to simply become a string
of pornographic sex acts (well, more than it has already). I hope everyone
reading this saga has enjoyed it--I hope you have gotten hard while reading
and, finding a passage you found particularly arousing, fumbled your belt
and pants open and sat rereading my words as you stroke yourself to
orgasm. I hope, perhaps, you did not reach for the tissue when you came but
let yourself spurt ecstatically on your bare stomach. Because, and this
perhaps goes without saying, writing these chapters has had very much the
same effect on me. It takes somewhat longer to write than other pieces of
the same length, given that certain moments overcome me and I have to
paused and loose my pants and close my eyes as the memory of those moments
ten years ago. I cum and fall into a reverie of happy remembrance and have
to put aside the story for a few hours while I recover. Alas, the
masturbatory effect of these memories does not have the same perma-erection
effect of the original experience ... which, I suppose, is to be
expected. Without Adam before me in his nubile, almost-eighteen-year-old,
newly sexually awakened state, my cock needs its recovery time.

I have one more chapter to write after this little interregnum, to describe
the bittersweet end of those unreal three days with Adam. But don't worry:
there is a sequel, and if these chapters have proved pleasurable and
enjoyable, I will definitely write about re-encountering my divine lover
five years later. But I am vain and horny by nature, so please let me know
how much you've enjoyed this story so far--and whether it inspired a
"break" from whatever work you were doing before sneaking a peek at
Nifty. Knowing these stories have pleased and aroused readers is a huge
part of the pleasure of putting them out there. I have loved getting all
your emails, and like any addict, I want more.

Like I said, I have one more chapter to go after this, and hopefully I can
end on a particularly hot note. But for those who have read this much of my
little introspective entr'acte, here's your payoff:

The morning of the day before he had to go, I woke up to feel his hands
roving over my chest. I was lying on my side and he was spooning me; his
lips were at the nape of my neck. The room was still dim--it must have been
before six in the morning. He was pressed up against me, and his cock was
hard and insistent, resting in the cleft of my buttocks. He had fucked me
before we drifted off to sleep a mere few hours ago, and it was still slick
with lube and cum. So was my ass, for that matter, and I felt my hole
twitch in want as he slowly ground his shaft against me.

I pretended to still be asleep, murmuring as I might through slumber. His
hand dropped to my cock and, finding it getting hard, circled it with his
fingers and gave it a squeeze. I had to suppress a moan; I had to resist
the urge to press my ass back against him. I wanted to see what he would do
with my sleeping self, and my heart suddenly raced at the thought of
"waking" with him fucking me.

His hips became more urgent, and he slowly stroked my cock as he licked and
bit and nuzzled the back of my neck and my shoulders. I could hear his
breathing getting ragged, and I wondered for a moment if the friction of
his cock in my crack would get him off. But after a moment I felt his hips
shift. His hand squeezed my cock, and I felt his slide down my crack,
seeking, stopping as the head came to rest in the divot of my anus. Again,
I had to resist a moan, settling for a sleepy whimper. With a long,
ecstatic exhalation, he slipped himself slowly into my ass and my muscles
there involuntarily squeezed him as he entered me.

By now he had fucked me over half a dozen times, as I had him. My ass was
still tight, but no longer painful if he entered me slowly. And after two
days of fucking, my nerves were alive to the sensations. Twice more I had
cum to the simple feel of him fucking me, to his amazement and envy. I
would have called myself by then a born bottom if I didn't love fucking him
so much too. Even now, though my eyes were closed and my face turned away I
knew that his eyes were slits of desire and I knew the expression he wore,
his mouth slightly open and his lip twisted at one corner.

He paused as his cock slid home, and then began to fuck me in long, slow,
delicious strokes. His hand matched the tempo of his hips, and soon I was
leaking enough precum that he could slide his hand easily up over the
head. Time to slowly wake up, I thought, and moaned, pressing myself back
against him when he thrust. I matched his movements as he fucked me,
bringing my ass down on his cock a little faster and a little harder every
time.

"Oooohhhh ..." I moaned. "Yessssssssss."

He licked the nape of my neck. "You like that?"

"Fuck yes. Fuck me."

"Fuck you how?"

"Fuck me hard."

"Like that?" He thrust hard and deep, holding it there, and I cried out in
pleasure.

"Oh, fuck yes. Just like that. Make me cum."

He sped up his hand's stroking. "Only if you make me cum."

"Cum in my ass."

"Yessss. Fuck. I love your ass. So fucking tight."

"I love your cock. So fucking big. And hard."

"Oh, fuck. Yes. Right there. I'm going to cum soon."

"Yessss. I want you to cum. Fuck me. Fuck me."

"Ohh. Oh. Fuck. Are you close?"

"Yes. Fucking close. I want to cum in your hand. I want you to cum in my
ass."

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Yessss. Yes. Yes. Right there. Ohhh, fuck."

"Oh yes. Fuck me. Fuck meeeeee ..." Shuddering, I rammed myself back on his
cock and came in an ecstatic burst in his hand.

"Ahhhhhhh ..." He thrust hard as I ground back against him, and I felt his
cock grow and pulse, felt him explode deep inside me.

"Oh, jesus ..." I murmured as he clung to me, panting. "God, I love morning
sex."

... TO BE CONTINUED

*****

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, and want more, please let me know
at damon9888@hotmail.com