Behind the Incinerator

© 2016


Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2016 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don’t ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slip it in.

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Chapter 3

At this point, they had known one another for so long that Court knew most—if not all—of Owen’s traits, habits, idiosyncrasies…. He stood here, now, watching apprehensively as Owen turned several 360s—scoping out their surroundings.

Court knew that his friend was still not 100% onboard with this arrangement. Too, he knew that all the reassurances in the world would not completely sway him to go through with this; even with reassurances coming directly from Court, himself. No—Owen had to convince himself, satisfy any lingering doubts, read his opponent thoroughly…. Even if in this case that opponent was a 10-ton iron oven. Yeah, Owen needed to satisfy himself that this would work before he stepped up into the pocket, took the snap, and put the play in motion.

Please don’t back out on me now. Please … don’t … back … out on me … now….

Yeah—Owen had to convince himself that everything was right … okay … safe before he took this snap. Baseball. Football. Play books. They were embedded in his psyche on or off the field.

Court knew this. He accepted this. He was so close to taking the prize that he had hungered for, for so long. So close. So … very … close. He stood perfectly still—barely breathing.



Biting back whimpers and moans of desire.

Trying to contain what he knew had to be a wagging puppy tail behind him.

Respecting the process. Albeit, impatiently.

Respecting Owen.

Owen Rush turned slowly. A full circle. Another. And, yet another. He studied every angle. Every nuance. He very nearly counted every single concrete block that made up the two-foot thick wall that surrounded the school’s old incinerator; a relic of days gone by. An altar for burnt offerings in late night rituals the school’s administrators were unaware of? Probably this old, mega-huge oven was the only one privy to its secrets. Secrets and tales that it held close to its bosom, encased in that black, charred body.

He smirked. Another excuse for him to not go through with this was going up in smoke—as it were—here … now … in his mind’s eye. He had to give Court credit; this place was nearly perfect for…. Well, for a lot of things, not the least of which being why they were here. It was secluded. It was private. It was fortified. And, it was located right here, smack dab in the middle of the campus, and yet—as Court had pointed out, probably 99.9% of the school’s population had no idea that it even existed.

Due to angles, the floor-to-ceiling Cafeteria windows on the first floor of the building behind them would not allow anyone to see them unless said ‘anyone’ was 17’ tall. Otherwise, they faced or backed up to nothing but brick and mortar buildings everywhere. Other than three evenly spaced 10 feet high x 2 feet wide windows on the floor above one part of the Cafeteria’s prep area. These 3 windows looked out from the work area of the Media Center.

Mr. Romano left early several days each week to lead a photo expedition into the wilds—which usually meant a field at someone’s farm or ranch where they could get flora, fauna, architecture … ‘life’ shots. This afternoon was supposed to be one of ‘those’ afternoons and he had seen Mr. Romano and his little group of groupies waddling off to the parking lot more than an hour earlier. No one else should be up there this late in the afternoon for any reason.

Yeah. This place was as perfect as perfect could be. What could be more perfect?

Guess there isn’t a bank vault with a time lock on-site.

The incinerator stood on a cement pad that rose 10 inches above the rest of the surface area. It was surrounded on 3 sides by the concrete block wall—2 blocks thick—easily 10 feet high. On the north side of the monster oven, wooden gates hung loosely on long-rusted through hinges; who knew when they had last functioned properly? To the West and East, the wall was approximately 2 1/2 to 3 feet from the incinerator—presumably to offer a crawl space for maintenance and ‘not’ for students to climb in and out for whatever reason. Owen doubted that he and Court were the first, nor would they be the last, students to venture into the recesses of the concrete block cocoon—the home for the incinerator.

And, to the South—where they now stood in roaring silence, there was approximately 5 feet by 10 feet of open air. He presumed, this, too was for maintenance and cleaning. He just now noticed that a couple of small doors in the back of the incinerator’s belly looked to be rusted in place—in a partially open state.

Another smirk creased his handsome face as a thought occurred to him….

Probably used those doors to vacuum or flush out the ashes and bone fragments of the victims in those midnight sacrificial rituals.

Owen’s eyes rolled again. Where was this sense of imagination hiding when he was sitting in Creative Writing for Seniors and staring at a blank monitor? That new teacher they had, Mr. Blakemore, would love it if he could put these imaginings down into writing for him.

His final inspection circle drew to a close and Owen found himself facing Court. Puppy dog eyes gazed back at him—expectant … hopeful … pleading … anxious … terrified…. Court’s expression mirrored the emotion flickering in his eyes just now. Owen was fairly sure that if his friend turned around, he would find that tail wagging excitedly. He was willing to throw down sweet money that if he snapped his fingers, Court would roll over and whimper-beg for a belly rub.

Owen had to smother a grin.

It was all kind of adorable, really.


“Huh? What?”

Owen’s dimples deepened as he fought the grin that still threatened to spread across his face. He slid his backpack from his shoulder and lowered it to the edge of that concrete pad that was the foundation for the incinerator.

“I don’t think you’ve taken a breath since we slid through those gates and around back.” He wasn’t sure, but it was very possible that this observation might be well-applied to him, too. “So. Breathe.”

Courtney kicked his lungs into gear and sucked air. Yeah. Breathing was good. Breathing was very good. Come to think of it, he probably needed lots of oxygen to do what he was about to do, if—well, if they ever got around to doing anything that they might be doing if they actually did it. Yeah. Breathing was good. Wouldn’t be the same if he was passed out on the ground.

“So. How should we do this?” Owen felt sweat trickle down his spine, between his shoulder blades. “What do you want me to do?”

How hot is this? Owen Rush asking ‘me’ for direction!

“Take off your tee and just lean back and try to relax,” Court said with a newfound sense of confidence. There were gonna do this! They were actually gonna do this! “Yeah, C-dawg!”


Court frowned slightly. Oops. He had said that aloud.

“Um, nothing.”

Owen’s head tilted. Take off his shirt? Why for?

“Take off my tee?”

Court nodded over his friend’s shoulder. He did this even as he reached out and began to tug at the tee and pull it from the waist of those snug jeans.

“There is decades of soot and who knows what the fuck else clinging to that wall, ‘O’,” he reasoned without making eye contact. “You lean back against it and this shirt is toast, dude.”



Yeah. That made sense.

Go figure. He could squeeze through defensive lines without any of them getting their hands on him. He could thread-the-needle and leave his opponents smokin’ in his wake. But he was really falling apart on ways to get out of this predicament.



This was Courtney’s birthday.

Yeah, Courtney. This was for him. He was gonna do this for Courtney. He promised. He gave his word. He ‘never’ backed down on his word. Especially if he gave it to one of his friends.

As Court tugged his friend’s tee free from his jeans and began to lift it upward, his breath hitched. That pencil thin treasure trail was perfect. Absolutely perfect. Like every other part of Owen Rush. The ridges of his stomach rippled and undulated beneath his knuckles as they drifted upward—begging to be licked and stroked … worshiped. And, here it came … slowly into view….

The chest.

That perfectly chiseled, dime-size nipple topped chest. That magnificent work of art. Owen’s abs might ‘beg’ to be worshiped but his chest ‘commanded’ worship.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Court leaned forward and inhaled deeply. As the tee cleared Owen’s head and his nose was just an inch from his friend’s right pit, he inhaled again. And again.

The scent was heavenly, with faint hints of Owen’s favorite body wash … shampoo … perspiration. Fuck yeah. Even his sweat smelled perfect.

It was all just so…. So…. So … Owen.

He sniffed three more times before the All-State pitcher and starting quarterback lowered his arms. That was okay. He’d find more whiff moments later. Somehow. Well, he hoped he would find more whifftunities later, anyway.

Court glanced up into Owen’s eyes. He was hanging strong. Better than Court had expected, actually. He wondered if he should ask, just to be sure. No. Why push his luck?

With a mind of their own, the words came out of his mouth.

“Good so far?”

Damn. He had just decided not to ask that but the question came out, anyway.

Owen felt a shiver make its way down his spine as Court rested a hand on his chest. A nail grazed his nipple with each passing stroke of a thumb and he thought his jeans might shred there and then. Fuck! That simple touch went straight to his nuts.

Fuck! Do that again. Please do that again!

As if he had heard that silent request, Court’s thumb moved back and forth a few more times—each, causing his nail to flick over the rapidly hardening, super sensitive nub.





Flick … flick … flick….


Owen’s nuts were gonna burst before they even got to the main event if Court didn’t let up with that pattern of nail flicks and thumb caresses over his nipple. Fuck that! He hoped those flicks didn’t stop any time soon.

“My God. You’re beautiful,” Courtney whispered as he let his hand drift downward from his friend’s magnificent chest to ski over those rippling abs until his fingers stole a moment to dance in that faint trail of hair below his navel.

Owen’s eyes slammed shut as he felt his friend’s fingers caressing their way down his abs and circling his navel before diving into his treasure trail. This was feeling way too good. He was straight. He was straight. He … was … straight! But oh fuck did it feel good.


Why were they doing thi…? Oh yeah. Courtney. Birthday. This was for Courtney. This was Courtney’s birthday.

Back to Earth, Rush. Back to Earth.

Wait. There was a question right there. Wasn’t there?


“Can … may I … kiss you?”

The question had come out of nowhere before Courtney Applegate could put any kind of brakes on it. And there it was again. Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut sometimes?

Court’s nail from his other thumb took up the nipple grazes that the other had started earlier. The nub got harder and harder by the second. Court was unsure if the sound that action produced was a ‘yes’ or a ‘sssss’ like a snake.

He decided to take it as a ‘yes’ and before either of them knew what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Owen’s. A gentle peck. Another. And, another. No fists landed against his face. No knee rocketed up to plant itself in his nuts. That was a good sign! That was a really good sign!

After several more lip pecks—and still no more flying fists or crushing knees—Courtney moved into a full-on lip lock. A lip lock for the ages. Owen, sank back into the concrete block wall behind him and was unable to do much of anything as all manner of thought evaporated from his brain. He sagged more fully into the wall, doing nothing … thinking nothing—except—what the hell was he doing?—he kissed back. Why? He had no idea. But, he kissed back.

Him? Owen Rush? Kissing another guy? What the fuck!

Spurred on by this reaction, Court pressed forward and took complete possession of Owen’s mouth. His tongue dove in and explored every last centimeter in between short-lived battles with Owen’s tongue. He pressed more fully into Owen. His lips crushed more fully against his friend’s mouth. Owen yielded. He pressed more dominantly. Owen yielded.


Owen kissed him back.

As they became lost in the pure, passionate, lust-riddled kiss, Court’s left hand began tugging at the button of Owen’s jeans. The button. The zipper. Caressing the growing bulge.

Or, was that his bulge growing? Or, was it both of their bulges? Or, well … this wasn’t the time to go into too many details in his brain. He had things to do.


The button popped.


He pulled the folds of the jeans open. Parting them for entry.

His hand sank in … searching … grasping … stroking … sinking further. Owen groaned and melted more fully into the assault of Court’s mouth. His knees were melting under the heat of the kiss. The kiss of another guy.




He was melting further into the kiss … sagging more fully into the wall behind him—thankful that it was strong enough to support him right now. Court’s body pressed into him now; he was sandwiched between concrete and muscle. Court’s body was warm … hard muscles … all male. All man. Rock hard masculinity. The kiss continued deepening. Taking him deeper with it. Heat was rising. Heat. Passion. Need. More.

“Relax, ‘O’,” Courtney whispered huskily as he briefly pulled away from the kiss. Peck. His tongue traced along those luscious, full, pouty lips. Peck. Peck. Peck. Warm breath coasted across that handsome face. His breath collided with Owen’s breath. Owen’s crashed right back into his own. The combination became a blast furnace of rising passion from the depths of their being. “I got you. Gonna take care of you. Just let go … let it happen.”

Dazed. His head spinning. His dick throbbing. His brain…. He didn’t really know. Where ‘was’ his brain anyway? Owen stood there gazing into his friend’s hazel eyes for a few seconds and then nodded. He watched as Court sank to his knees in front of him—his hand pumping up and down the full length of his throbbing cock—gathering up the first globs of precum and using it to slick the head and shaft from the very tip and slit, all the way down to the hilt at his nuts. Up. Over. Around. Down. Up. Over. Around. Down.

“Holy … fu….”



Oh fuck did this feel good!

Court’s tongue went on a rampage. Licking and swirling and dabbing at the head, the slit, those pre-cum drools. He licked. He swirled. He dabbed. He kissed the tip of that beautiful cock. He opened his mouth and took the head inside. It pulsed and throbbed and jerked against his lips … against his tongue.

Courtney leaned forward, taking several inches of the thick shaft into his mouth. His tongue explored the veins and the silken skin. It caressed its way along that ridge where shaft and head flowed into one another. He licked down the shaft … up the shaft … down the shaft; his lips suctioning the whole while. His spit mixed with Owen’s precum—slickening everything. Lubing. Tasting. Savoring.

Oh … fuck … so good…, Owen thought as he froze in place there against the wall. Sank more deeply into this moment. His knees nearly buckled a dozen times over a dozen times when the tip of his cock hit the opening of Court’s throat. Again. And again. As his tongue explored and licked and scooped and caressed his throbbing, drooling cock. Each bob and suck. Each lick and explore. Each incredible move drove Owen farther and farther into surrendering everything that he was, or—thought that he was. Who … he … was. His mind spun out of control. Doors. Doors that had been long ago locked and bolted in the back recesses of his mind suddenly began to click, tumblers spin and those doors started to creak open.



This was Court’s birthday.

This was Court’s moment.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by a need of his own. A hunger of his own.

What the fuck was he doing?

His fingers slid into Court’s hair and combed through it tenderly. He watched as Court’s mouth opened wide and began to sink forward … taking his cock deeper. Deeper. Holy fuck … this felt … amazing! He was fascinated by the glisten and shimmer of his cock in the late afternoon light as it slid in and out, in and out of Court’s mouth as it pistoned forward and back, corkscrewing with each move. His toes danced in his cross trainers as he felt his friend’s tongue lick and swirl.


“Wait,” Owen croaked. “Wait. Court, I need to….”

Wait? Are … you … friggin’ … kidding me?

After all of these years of wanting Owen Rush’s cock in his mouth? Wait? Fat … fucking … chance of that!

Owen’s hands left their place in his friend’s hair to slide down his neck and over his shoulders until they sank under Court’s pits and he pulled him to his feet. They stared into each other’s eyes and then Owen pulled Court into another kiss. He tasted his precum on Court’s lips and tongue. He kissed deeper. Kissing Court as he maneuvered a spin. He whirled their bodies around and he pushed Court backward against the wall where he had just been leaning. At the same time he pulled and tugged at Court’s shirt—yanking it over his head. He tossed it to the side where it landed on top of their side-by-side resting backpacks and then he reached for the button on Courtney’s jeans.

“‘O’, what are you…?”

“Shut up.”

Owen leaned forward and kissed his friend once more. He moved in against his friend’s body—chest to chest … abs to abs … Courtney’s crotch grinding against his exposed cock—both whimpered and moaned as the heat between them rose. Their breath sizzled from their lips each time they came up for air before they crushed back into each other for more.

Finally, he needed more. He had to have more. One last mind-numbing, heat-fueling kiss and then Owen dove lower and sucked on a nipple. Sucked. Tongue flicked. Sucked. He moved to the other and repeated. He rose up and pressed his lips against Court’s. Again. He had kissed so many girls … so many times. But. He had ‘never’ experienced a kiss like this. Court’s lips, his tongue, that mouth…. If they kissed any longer, any more intensely, Owen felt as though he might be absorbed inside Courtney Applegate’s very soul.


“Just shut up, Court,” Owen said huskily as he popped the button and then moved in on the zipper. “I need to do this.”

“But…. But…. ‘O’, what are you…?”

“I don’t know,” Owen said with a quick glance up into those eyes and then back down. He was as bewildered as Court right now. But something was burning inside him and he just had to follow the flames. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said as he began to sink to his knees. “Just … don’t … move … ‘kay?”

“Owen. Dude, you don’t have to….”

“Yes, I do,” Owen said as he took his place between Court’s legs. On his knees. In front of another guy. In front of Courtney Applegate.

Court’s eyes went wide as saucers as he gazed down and watched those beautiful lips that he had just been kissing moments earlier part. Owen leaned closer. Closer. Closer.


Air suck.


Fireworks burst in his spinning out of control brain. His cock began disappearing into Owen Rush’s mouth.

What the fuck … am I … doing?

Owen had no idea. But the flames deep inside were increasing in intensity with each passing second. What was he doing? Fuck if he knew. But, he had to do it. He had to do this.

Owen opened his mouth and sank down over Court’s cock.

Happy Birthday, Buddy.

Author’s Note: Please send your comments, thoughts, and ideas to Jonathan Longhorn using jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com. Please start the “Subject” line with the name of the story so I don’t toss your email as spam.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time out of your day to write me about my stories. The thoughts, comments, and feedback are VERY much appreciated.

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