Date: Thu, 23 Sep 2004 17:51:20 +0100
From: vindacatrix@ntlworld.com
Subject: "Rent - part 3"

Rent - part 3
(M/M, Anal)
Copyright C.J. Davies

Standard disclaimer - don't read if you're under 18, easily upset
or have problems (serious or minor) with gay-themed erotic stories.
If your country/area of residence says this is naughty and illegal,
well, I'm afraid I don't have a "get out of jail free" card you
could use.  Please, use your common sense.  Whilst the characters
in my story may or may not practice safe-sex, you really should.
Not that you're foolish enough to eschew condoms merely because
fictional characters don't use them, are you.

This story, or any part of it, may not be copied, re-edited, sold,
or molested in any way without my saying it's okay.  I still have
specially trained winged-monkeys that are right now watching you,
and they're authorised to attack should they see you disobeying this.
They have sharp teeth, those monkeys.  Re-posting is okay, as long
as you leave this preamble in place and full credit is given where
it's due.  Any comments, criticisms or offers of gifts and/or sexual
favours may be made to vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com

If you fancy reading some more of what I've written (it's slightly
less porny, I ought to warn you), you're welcome to check out my
site www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk

Many thanks to the lovely people who have written to me already; I hope you
enjoy part three.

Chris


-----------o-n--w-i-t-h--t-h-e--s-h-o-w--(-a-g-a-i-n-)--------------


Rent (part three)


I could feel the warmth of his wrists taut against my shoulders
as they supported the feline curve of his back, arching up from
where our groins mashed together, slick and unwieldy.  The soft
hair on his legs brushed against my own, as with some natural
instinct I wrapped mine around his thighs and pulled him closer
to me.  His cheek felt smooth, downy, against the side of my
face, as he ran the probing tip of his tongue around the
crenulations of my ear.  I felt my hips begin to buck under his
weight, grinding myself against his hardness, forgetting in that
moment all that I'd done, that I'd become, to be with this one
boy at this one moment.

His murmur to me was half-heard and half-felt, a gentle flood of
air into my ear that made the damp flesh there squirm.
"What do you like doing?"
And with that question my ardour fled... because suddenly I was
again an inexperienced, blushing boy, trapped beneath the
practiced body of a professional fag.  I turned my head away
from him, ashamed, and the same time angry at myself for my
embarrassment; for it being me who felt so ill-at-ease, and not
this man who flouted so readily, so lasciviously the social mores
I had always laboured within.  I felt again the blush rising across
my flinching shoulders and across my cheeks, but more than
that I felt his eyes upon my face, quizzical and childishly curious.
"You don't have to be coy about it... I've been asked to do all-
sorts," and I realised he had mistaken my innocence for high
perversion, that he believed me bashful for my fear of asking
him to subjugate me, or piss on me, or to dress up in schoolboy
clothes and whimper for me, his rough headmaster.  My eyes
began to prick and I fought the urge to squeeze them shut,
knowing the tears would only ooze out in geriatric spurts rather
than telling streams.  Self-consciousness flooded my body, and I
was hyper-aware of my crotch against his, the pressure of my
legs around his, the firmness of his stomach as it pressed
against my own.
"This is... well... it's kinda my first time..." I eventually managed,
stuttering over my words as I swallowed back the anxiety in my
throat.  He smiled.
"Yeah, you told me.  You've never paid for company before."
My sigh was heavier than I meant it to be, as I felt goose bumps
across me despite the warmth in the room and the warmth
radiating from him.  Honesty, or the prospect of it, anyway, gave
me the courage to meet his eyes.
"No, I mean... this is my first time..." and, with the overkill I'm
known for, "...with a guy, I mean... y'know... sex."

I expected him to laugh or to snigger, to roll his eyes maybe or
look at me with a searching gaze as if the taint that had
preserved my virginity would become visible with my confession.
I expected the reaction I got from friends whenever sex as a
conversation arose: a few, loaded comments that conspired to
say "what's wrong with you", phrased as a question but meant
as a statement.  I quarter-expected him to leap up, as if my
asexuality was contagious and to lie with me any longer might
jeopardise his livelihood.  He did none of those things.

Our first kiss had been hungry, unexpected, borne of lust and
my long-repressed desire, of my inescapable draw to someone
who showed any kind of interest in me.  This kiss was different,
no less passionate but also tender, the thickness of his lips both
firm and easeful against my own.  With one distant synapse I felt
myself harden again, insistent at his pelvic bone, creeping, as it
lengthened, through the slickness and drool that had leaked
between us.  Whilst in my head the thought "but where next?",
because this confession had always been my stumbling block,
the wall around my sexuality and, for all its inconvenience and
my fury at its constraint, I nonetheless felt secure and knowing
within its boundaries.  Such thoughts were quickly pushed
aside, however, at the insistent wriggle of his tongue between
my teeth, duelling with my own, and the gentle laying of his full
body, torso-to-torso, upon my own.  The pressure on my chest
was exquisite, and I found myself hugging around his back and
lethargically running my nails down the gullies of his ribs.  Softly,
at first, in full strokes from spinal valley down to his muscled
sides, then stronger, more resolute, digging into his flesh and
raking across in sore, red arcs, hearing and feeling him gasp
and hiss into my mouth, bite my lips and force my head back
deeper into the pillow.  His hips ploughed down against me,
thrusting and lifting and thrusting again, until I could feel with
every rotation the contours of his cock against my own, and the
dull ridge of his hip bone sweeping with breath-taking, dizzying
effect across the incredibly sensitive head.  Opening my eyes I
saw him looking full at me, a combination of lust and
understanding in his gape, and as I clawed deep into his waist
and his eyes widened and body tensed, I came, explosive and
long, between our clenched bodies.

For a second we lay still, Adam's lips scant centimetres above
my own, my face flushed and damp and my hands still cupping
him in his firmness.  Breath heaved through my rasping lungs,
trapped beneath his weight.  In the clarity of my afterglow, I felt
him move against me again; tiny, scribing motions from his waist
downwards, smearing my juice from groin to stomach.  The
tension there surprised me, the sudden knowledge that I was
still angrily, painfully erect despite my release.  The cloying
scent of spunk began to echo in the room, its bleachy edge
coloured with sweat and our shared musk.  For the first time I
grinned at him, and he returned the smile, his face illuminated
and glowing.  His hand moved deftly, slyly between us, fingers
tracing patterns in the goo, scooping and sliding until he raised
them to our faces, ran them in their warm sliminess across my
lips and then his own, before dipping down again to kiss me
chastely.  I tasted myself, familiar, and yet changed by his body
and his presence, and purred with pleasure.

As he rolled off me, and to my side, I caught a glimpse of his
flanks, scored by my ministrations, though miraculously I'd failed
to break the skin.  Then, as they slipped out of sight, my
attentions turned to the travesty that was my chest, my stomach
and the matted, creamy tangle of my pubic hair, all smeared and
glistening with gobs and slides of sweat and come.  He trailed
his fingers back through this slick, abstracting shapes and
curves and contours on my baulking stomach, occasionally
brushing the deliriously sensitive flare of my cock which saw me
hiss and buck.  Lying on his side, facing me, he groped his oily
hand down, past the jerking shaft and around to cup the tight
clench of my balls, matting down the hairs there and proceeding
southerly, tenderly, with greased digits prising between the
cheeks of my ass and zeroing in on my innocent hole.
"So I'm your first?"
I half-heard his question, the rest of my senses focussed utterly
on the foreign sensation of his fingertips tracing orbits around
my asshole.  His touch was soft, inveigling; a leading massage
that lulled that guileless part of me into acquiescence.
"Yes... for proper sex, I mean" I burbled, caught in the giddiness
of his fingers' slow, shallow advance inside of me.  I felt the
familiar stretch, well known from my dalliances with vibrators
and dildos, only this time the intruders moved sinuously and
unexpectedly, twisting and probing with my own seed as
lubricant.  Adam's thumb lay hooked in the crease between
scrotum and thigh, as his fingers slyly demanded - and received
- entry.  Meanwhile, my hands did their utmost to rip through the
duvet and take hold of the mattress, as I reared and contorted in
my fervour.  The swollen head of his prick brushed rhythmically
against me, drawing glistening strings of pre-come between us,
as the force with which he drove his fingers into me increased
until he was fucking at me with their full length.  I groaned
unashamedly, paranoia and reserve lost in the sensation, as he
began to raise his legs up and underneath my thighs and, in the
process, part fold me over and splay my ass to deeper assault.

The scent of boy-love in the room had been joined by the smell
of my tail, but I leeched from Adam's glorious lack of concern
and watched with raw eyes as he raised himself to kneel
between my gaping legs.  All the time his digits continued their
delving, curling exploration of my sensitive insides, by turns
brushing or gouging at the broad, flat hump of my prostate and,
to a chorus of my gasps, causing my cock to belch a languid
drip of pre-come onto my twitching abdomen.  Peering down my
body, I could see his prick bobbing promisingly, as he ran his
spunk-slick fist from its wide base to the tip until it shone wetly.  I
whimpered as he drew his hand from me, leaving my hole
gaping obscenely and the full length of my crack sodden, before
bending down between my thighs to rest his weight one-handed
beside my head, my legs pinned back, and kissing me.  Below,
he pressed the blunt head of his cock to the spasming lips of my
ass and, hips swivelling scrumptiously, pressed it past the
meekly-protesting muscle there to slot tightly into the hot
confines.  He exhaled.
"So... fucking... tight..." and I was too far gone in the sensation
to berate him for his clich‚, the sensation of being torn in two
and of being filled so completely, so utterly and so unusually
that for a moment I forgot to breathe.  Just for a moment, mind,
as he further lodged his swollen length inside of me, and I
gasped at the shards of lightning pain that slashed me from
crotch to coccyx.
"Jesus fuck" and then he smothered my mouth with his own and
I couldn't say any more, only squeal monstrously as the organs
in my lower body, whose purpose and nature I couldn't be sure
of but of whose presence I was convinced, were made to
rearrange themselves in order that his delving prick be newly
accommodated.  And through that pain and jiggling, jumbling
insanity came the exquisitely excruciating jolt of my prostate, as
it rumbled beneath the pulsing friction of his intruding meat and
shot spurts of liquid honey to the each pleasure receptor within
gushing distance.  Because then so easily the raking agony of
his thrust and parry and thrust became the raging screaming
pleasure of being well and truly fucked, long-dicked, nailed and
screwed, and of their own accord my loins pressed back against
him as if demanding "more, more, you thick-cocked bastard".
And I may have even said that out loud.

It's hard to describe how it felt.  There was the immediate
sensation, yes, of having Adam's inches wriggling through me,
tweaking my innards and making me froth at the mouth, and
there was the though that this was my first, that Adam was the
first man to fuck me, that I fucked with.  And all my doubts about
him, and the relative morality of paying for his attentions, paled
away to nothing as he brushed his thumb across my lips, smiled
a million-megawatt smile, and asked me
"Having fun yet?"
before scoring his cock balls-deep into me over and over and
over again, the prickles of his buzz-cut pubes grazing against
my balls each time, until I rocked beneath his rigid form and
screamed out to anyone that would listen that I was coming,
coming, coming.  My ass clamped down as best it could on the
slab of pistoning gristle debasing it as my cock weakly juddered
and spat against our bellies, the creamy jelly foamed and
smearing by Adam's lunging above me.  I could've sworn at that
moment that I could feel each vein and each ridge bulging from
his prick through the sensitive, battered inner walls of my rump,
and I brought my feet down his back to pull him deeper inside of
me, to open up as far as I could and keep the feeling of fullness
that I now knew would be my addiction.  Our sighs had turned to
guttural groans, and I felt more and more of his weight upon me,
pressing me down, hard, into the bed.  I ran my tongue up his
throat, taking advantage of his thrown-back head to caress his
Adam's apple and suckle needily at his jaw-line, until he pressed
his lips against mine and our tongues slopped angrily for a
moment, punctuated by laboured breath and moaning.

We were joined that way, at mouth and at ass, for barely a
minute, until I felt him flex inside of me and knew, instinctively,
that he was close to eruption.  Now his driving against me was
more laboured, more measured somehow, as if each stab deep
into my guts was carefully aimed and intended.  He grunted
animalistic, holding the curves of my shoulders as he forced his
way past the point of no return.  With a scream through gritted
teeth, he crammed himself into my ass and held there, back
arched and taut, muscles beginning to judder, and I felt him
come within me.  I realised the voice I could hear was my own,
gently mumbling "shit, shit, shit".

He fell on me, my legs still cradling his ass, his face pressed into
the bed above my left shoulder.  I could feel his thumbs scribing
tiny circles on my arms.  Our skin alternately stuck and
separated as we breathed, clammy with sweat and mingled
juices.  He stayed inside of me, thick and reassuring.  The voice
inside my head asked again,
"But where next?"



End of part 3 - part 4 is almost written and is to follow.

Like it?  Hate it?  Want a winged-monkey?  Mail me at
vindacatrix2@ntlworld.com

Oh, and please, check out my site, www.plenaryindulgence.co.uk