Date: Fri, 01 Oct 2004 19:09:51 +0000 From: Brewster Hardy Subject: Ballard Boys Part 10 The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it has been posted, without the consent of the author. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this story is meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior. *Chapter 21* Bob Ballard wasn't sure why he had awoken so early that morning. The sun had barely risen when his eyes had cracked open. Considering the fact that he and his younger brother had indulged in virtually nonstop sex the previous day, he should have been exhausted. Pushing his shaggy blond bangs out of his eyes, he stretched out to his full 6'3" length and then stumbled naked out of bed. Pulling on his blue terrycloth bathrobe, the 17-year-old tied the belt firmly to hold his morning hard-on in place against his abs. Mmmm -- that felt good. He pulled the belt even tighter -- shuddering a bit as the constricting fabric forced the heat of his oversized cock-flesh against the coolness of his lower torso. As he walked by Ian's bed, he smirked at his sleeping brother -- facedown, long dark hair shimmering in the early morning light, tight little ass grinding and pumping, obviously having one hell of a sex dream. The temptation was powerful. Knowing that Ian was a heavy sleeper, Bob stepped over to the 16-year-old boy's bed and pulled down the single white sheet -- exposing the dazzling butt. Climbing onto the bed between Ian's widespread thighs, he grabbed the taut, glossy globes of ass-flesh with his hands and pushed them gently apart until he could see the sweet pink hole. Leaning down into the warm, moist valley, he began to lick the tiny opening. Fuck -- that's good. Applying more pressure, he managed to slip his tongue into the beginning of the constricted tunnel. Ian was moaning quietly now, all six feet of his muscular young body writhing and twisting in reflexive pleasure. Bob was deeply tempted to simply whip out his cock and fuck the kid again, but he stopped himself. Save it, he thought, as he reluctantly got off the bed and headed downstairs instead. Trish was just walking out the back door as he stepped into the kitchen. "Morning, Mom..." "Good morning, sweetheart," Trish turned and smiled at her big, handsome son. "I'm going over to the Pratt's. I promised Helen I'd help her repaint the kitchen, so I probably won't be back until dinner." "Cool. I'll be at work all day anyway." "Of course. Would you like me to wait and give you a ride?" "Oh, no, that's ok. I'll see you later." He waited until Trish was gone and then, remembering that his Dad was out of town, he turned the kitchen radio up full blast. "If I was the king of the world," he sang along with Three Dog Night -- perfect way to start the day, "...joy to the world..." He somehow withstood the overwhelming urge to jerk off in the tub. Save it -- he thought as he ran the bar of soap over the sensitive head of his big cock. Save it -- he thought as he pressed the bar hard against his asshole. Fuck -- that feels good. His recent discovery of this secret pleasure center had been a stunning revelation. He slipped a soapy finger inside the hole and his cock stiffened further in response. Fuck, man...oh, yeah...he slowly swirled the finger around inside, pressing deeper into the sweet flesh. Clean it out good. His pelvis began thrusting automatically -- fuck, oh, yeah... NO. Save it. Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and heading out the back door. Still having some time to kill, he decided to take the long way -- through the field and down by the river. As he neared the riverbank, his cock began to swell again at the thought of his weekend odyssey of sexual discovery. Within the past 36 hours, he had had extraordinary sex down here with both his brother and Carlo -- the beautiful Brazilian musician. Carlo. I wonder what he's doing right now, Bob thought, as he stepped into the little secret clearing. He stood there for a few moments, daydreaming, absentmindedly stroking his erection through his jeans. Mmmm...Carlo. Reaching inside the waistband, he scooped up some pre-cum from his cock-head and brought it to his mouth, licking the salty fluid from his fingertips. Snap out of it -- he chastised himself, pulling his hand away from his lips as he turned to leave. Maybe if I run -- he thought -- this fucking hard-on will go away. He would end up arriving at the shop way before opening time, but that was ok. He had his own key, and Mr. Roberts would probably be glad to see the place all set up and ready to go whenever he arrived. Mr. Roberts -- fuck. Drunk as he had been the other night, Bob retained enough memory of the photo shoot to assume that he had made a total fool of himself. What was I thinking? Fuck...fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck... Fuck, I'm horny -- he thought, as he began to jog along the riverbank. Probably should've jerked off in the tub after all... ************ After Bob's stumbling departure from the studio on Friday night, Paul Roberts had worked in the darkroom for hours. As image after image developed before his eyes, he became further convinced that he had stumbled onto something exceptional and exciting. By the time the young photographer was ready to head home, the little room was a jumble of hanging, drying images. He had spent the better part of Saturday completing the processing. On Sunday, he stayed home -- quietly mulling over his "discovery". The 28-year-old Brit desperately wanted to share his excitement with someone, but decided against talking to his young American wife. Karen Roberts, over the brief two years of their marriage, had proved to be a bit of a jealous creature. Any hint that anyone (in any way) might be interested in (or interesting to) her hip, handsome husband brought out the very worst in her nature. He loved her regardless, but couldn't help recalling -- from time to time -- the girls he had dated and fucked in "swinging" London just a few short years earlier. Those had been crazy times. There had even been a drug-enhanced orgy one night, involving a certain rising young rock star -- male -- who had since become a world-renowned sex symbol. Paul grinned when the thought occurred to him that -- in terms of "endowment" -- the rocker apparently had nothing on Bob Ballard. By the time Monday morning rolled around, he was desperate to get back to the shop and examine the treasure trove of images. It was barely past dawn when he arrived. He locked the front door behind him -- far too early to be letting stray customers in. He turned on the radio. "...if I was the king of the world..." Moronic fucking tune, he thought as he headed into the darkroom. The dozens and dozens of photos were still hanging there, where he had left them to dry. It was quite overwhelming, really. As he began to take them down, he gradually lost all track of time -- studying one sensual image after the other. Bob Ballard's beautiful face, his dazzling, electric eyes, his ridiculously full lips, his stunning musculature, and there -- there it was -- the final sequence of shots, the tight jeans slipping down exposing the first few inches of the breathtakingly long, thick shaft of rock-hard manhood. Jesus. In the cold, sober light of morning, Paul found the images all the more implausible. Here was a close-up of the groin, clearly showing the thick vein running along the hard shaft from the base. The lighting was perfect. You almost felt you could touch the thing, feel its heat. Still, it was only partially visible -- the denim fabric still concealed the head and much of the shaft. In a funny way, that only made the photo sexier. There was the dark wet spot in the fabric. The kid had clearly been pre-cumming copiously, as the size of the spot expanded through the sequence of shots. Christ -- he thought, as he reached into his trousers to adjust his growing erection -- it's even bloody well turning ME on. Incredible... Here was the kid with his back arched toward the camera, showing his flawless butt. Christ, what a stunning piece of ass -- now Paul unthinkingly opened his fly and pulled out his own thick, uncircumcised cock -- I'd fuck that. He started leisurely manipulating the sensitive foreskin as he lost himself in image after image of Bob's firm, satiny butt. He wasn't even aware of the trousers slipping down to his ankles as he repeatedly squeezed and released his blood-engorged cock-head. Fuck. It was almost as though he could smell that sweet flesh, taste it -- he began slowly stroking the full length of his rod, closing his eyes now and leaning back against the counter, imagining his throbbing man-cock penetrating the sumptuous depths of the kid's warm, velvety ass. What's happening to me? -- he wondered, as he continued stroking, head thrown back, images of the strapping, manly teenager dancing through his head. Fuck. I'm going to cum -- and I'm fantasizing about a 17-year-old BOY. Jesus. He started stroking faster, faster, harder, harder...eyes squeezed tight...mouth falling open...chest heaving...legs buckling... ************ *Chapter 22* Ian was sleeping so heavily that he didn't hear the ringing right away. "Ugnh..." the boy grunted aloud -- powerful morning erection trapped between his taut belly and the white bed sheets, as a storm of sexual images swept through his dreams. The steady flow of pre-cum soaking the linens right through to the mattress only added to his pleasure. The muscles of his long frame tensed as he drew closer to the brink of orgasm. "Uuuuggnnhhh..." so close -- almost ready to erupt... R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... Huh? His eyes snapped open as the kitchen telephone rang for the third time. Fuck. Dream images swiftly evaporating, he struggled to orient himself. Fuck. R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... Telephone...morning...where's Mom? Monday morning. Fuck. What time is it? Big, dripping cock pounding, aching for release, he untangled himself from the twisted sheets. R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... Fuck. All right, all right -- he found yesterday's jockey shorts crumpled on the floor and pulled them on clumsily. Wake up, wake up -- the glistening head and several throbbing inches of the shaft of his hard-on remained exposed above the straining elastic waistband. Whatever -- obviously no one is home, so who cares... R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... Half-stumbling, half-running, he raced out of the bedroom, through the short hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Why the fuck is the radio on so fucking loud? R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... Reaching up to push his long dark hair behind his ear, in his freshly wakened stupor he slipped off balance and stubbed his big toe hard against a chair. "F-U-U-U-U-CK!" R-I-I-I-I-I-NG... The pain shot through him as he reached for the phone. FUCK. "Hello?" he groaned, gritting his teeth and balancing on one foot, holding his other foot in his hand, doing damage inspection. "Hey -- Bob?" "Uh, no -- this is Ian." Satisfied that his toe would survive, he lowered the foot gingerly back to the floor and stuck a finger in his free ear to muffle the blaring sound of the radio. "Ian? Wow. You sound all grown up..." "Oh, yeah?" Still barely awake, Ian had no idea who he was talking to -- and he didn't really care. The relatively good news was that his erection was subsiding a little -- thanks to the pain in his toe and the exertion of the sprint to the phone. "You don't recognize my voice, do you?" "Um, nope..." cradling the receiver between his ear and shoulder blade, he reached into his jockeys to rearrange his balls and semi-erect cock, frowning slightly as he noted a faint yellow piss stain on the white fabric. "It's your Uncle Chris." "OH! Hey, Uncle Chris -- how's it goin'?" "Uh, great...listen, Ian, I, uh..." Someone was knocking at the back door. Jesus Christ. Now what...? "Sorry, Uncle Chris, there's someone here. Hang on -- I'll be right back." Forgetting his near-naked state, Ian hurried to the back porch and saw the familiar silhouette of a tall, blond teen through the backdoor screen. As always, Ian's heart beat a bit faster at the sight of his brother's best friend; he had had a secret crush on Frankie ever since he could remember. The fine-looking 18-year-old was a regular presence in the Ballard home, but seeing him first thing Monday morning was unusual. This was all way too much to deal with so early in the day, Ian thought as he opened the door, allowing the blazing July sun to spill over his face and body -- unaware, in his youthful naiveté, of the dazzling power of his own physical beauty. Eyes wide, mouth agape, the older kid took a step backward. "Hey, Frankie, what's goin' on?" "Um, I was, uh, wondering if Bob...um..." "Listen, Frankie," Ian interrupted, disconcerted, "I'm actually on the phone right now. C'mon inside, and I'll talk to you in a second. Just close the door behind you." ************ It was the summer of 1971, and Frankie Eglinton was obsessed with two things: music and sex. The music part was easy; he was a naturally gifted musician and -- as he was an only child -- his wealthy family had always happily given whichever instruments or lessons he had requested. Sex was another matter altogether. Even though he was clearly a "catch" by any normal standards, Frankie was almost painfully shy around girls. While his pal Bob -- some six months younger -- had had the apparent great fortune to be going steady with Annette for almost two years now, Frankie had unhappily made do with a small handful of disastrous dates. He had only managed to screw up the courage to get to the kissing stage on one occasion, and he had felt so clumsy and inept that he never tried again. Hence, his most active hobby -- other than guitar practice -- was masturbation. He was expert at pleasuring himself, and took every available opportunity to manipulate and stimulate his thick, eight-inch cock. He knew it was eight inches because he measured it regularly, yearning for further growth. He understood, intellectually, that his sexual endowment was substantially greater than that of most other guys his age. Even here, however, he knew his friend had an edge on him. He had no idea what size Bob's full-blown erection might be, but he had caught enough locker-room glimpses over the years to know that -- even in its flaccid state -- his friend's appendage was formidable. Whatever -- Bob was his best friend in the world, and he loved him. He had also been worrying about him since Saturday night. Bob had seemed a bit disoriented after the fight with Annette -- and then he had just disappeared from the Cellar Door without even saying goodbye. Frankie had intentionally left him alone on Sunday, thinking that the guy probably needed some time to himself. This morning, waking early, he had decided to walk over to the Ballard residence and try to catch Bob before he went to work -- hoping to make a plan to get together later in the day. The greeting he received at the back door had temporarily thrown him off-guard -- Ian Ballard in his jockeys was a stupefying sight. Now, following the younger boy into the kitchen, Frankie couldn't take his eyes off the kid's butt -- fascinated by the play of flimsy white cotton against hard, rolling muscle. He waited by the sink and watched as Ian crossed the room to the telephone. Janis Joplin was wailing full blast on the radio. "Hello? Yeah...sorry about that...what were you saying?" Ian spoke quietly as he turned and leaned against the windowsill, his torso facing Frankie, his head facing away, a hand covering his mouth in an attempt at preserving some sort of conversational privacy. This provided Frankie the somewhat strange (and unasked-for) opportunity to scrutinize the kid's physique discreetly. From a distance of about 12 feet, he had a perfect view of the handsome profile, the wide shoulders and the strong arms. "Huh? What do you mean an accident?" Frankie noted how Ian absentmindedly stroked his pink nipples as he spoke -- saw how they stood out firmly from the broad pectoral muscles. His gaze wandered down across the chest, registered the hard, clearly delineated abdominal muscles, the feathering of dark hair around the navel leading down to...holy shit... "Bike? He never rides a bike..." Frankie was barely able to believe his eyes, as he witnessed how the thin fabric of the jockeys strained against the size and weight of Ian's cock and balls. Clearly, Bob was not the only Ballard with an overabundant endowment. "Oh...ok...yeah, sure -- I'll tell her..." One of Ian's legs moved slightly, and Frankie watched, spellbound, as the youth's sexual apparatus shifted inside the shorts. He could clearly see the shape of the large head and the thick shaft, constrained as they were within the soft fabric. His own cock suddenly twitched, and he forced himself to look away from Ian. He hardly dared breathe as he struggled inwardly with a confusion of thoughts and urges he had never previously encountered. "Sure...no problem..." One of Ian's fingers began tracing a circle around his left nipple. Helplessly, Frankie turned back and watched as the finger slowly teased its way across the wide, hairless chest and down, down, down across the abs, the bellybutton, still moving, circling, lightly, ever so unhurriedly down to the waistband of the jockeys. ************************* Frankie's presence in the room was distracting, and Ian was only half-listening to his Uncle Chris -- something about his Dad falling off a bike and getting scratched up, needing to stay in Boston a couple of extra days. Whatever -- Ian was battling the threat of an out-and-out resurgence of his morning erection, while simultaneously enjoying the decidedly sexual thrill of displaying his barely-clothed body before his brother's friend. The situation felt highly charged and intimate, with Ian pretending not to be aware that the older boy was staring at him, studying him. Continuing the charade, he slipped the tip of his index finger under the waistband of his shorts, loving the feel of warm skin against hard muscle as he tilted his pelvis slightly upward. Now his fingernail was gliding along the edge of his thick shaft, and he could feel the flesh heating up as it expanded. He sensed Frankie's discomfort, and it excited him, making him feel oddly powerful. Uncle Chris was saying goodbye. "Ok...talk to you later..." Ian hung up the phone and stood, withdrawing his finger from inside his jockeys and letting his arms fall to his sides. Fully aware of the massive protrusion of his barely covered cock and balls, he intentionally tilted his pelvis forward as he crossed the room to where an increasingly uncomfortable Frankie stood waiting, fidgeting nervously. "So, what's up?" He stopped moving when he was scarcely a foot away from the older boy, and placed his hands on his slim hips -- simultaneously planting his feet wide apart and thrusting his crotch further forward. "Jesus Christ, Ian...get dressed, would ya?" Frankie was looking Ian directly in the eye, and Ian's heart sort of skipped a beat -- being so close to the handsome guy while in this virtually naked state. "Huh? What's wrong, Frankie? Am I making you nervous?" Ian was in full-tease mode now, taking another small step, moving still closer to the other boy. "For fuck's sake..." almost desperate now, Frankie pushed him away hard -- causing Ian to fall back against the edge of the kitchen table. "YOW! OUCH! Fuck, man -- that hurt!" "Well, smarten up then, Ian..." "Fuck, alright, alright...jeez..." Ian was rubbing his butt where it had smacked against the table. Now he pulled down the back of his underwear to check for damage, but couldn't really see much from this angle. Turning around, he presented his tight, bare ass to Frankie. "Do I have a bruise?" "You fucking little asshole!" Frankie roared and lunged for his tormentor. Laughing now, Ian eluded the older boy, running around the table. Frankie followed in livid pursuit, chasing Ian twice around the table, then up the stairs, through the short hallway and into the boys' bedroom -- tackling the kid as they fell onto his bed. "I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Ian was laughing hysterically as the struggle continued, thrilled by the weight of Frankie's strong body pressing against his own. He grabbed Frankie's hard, denim-clad butt with both hands, forcing the guy's crotch to push forward. "Hooooo-wee!" Ian, still laughing, thrust his groin upward against Frankie's -- but the fabric of his jockeys somehow tangled up with the catch of the older boy's belt buckle causing his underwear to twist and slip. His hard cock sprang free through a leg-hole, and he instantly began thrusting it against the rough denim of Frankie's jeans. "You fucking little pervert!" Frankie jumped up off the bed and, breathing heavily, stared and pointed at Ian's huge, throbbing, dripping member -- unable to take his eyes off it as it stood heaving and waving in the air. "What the fuck is this?" he sputtered. "It's a fucking morning hard-on -- ok?" Ian was still laughing, but a bit nervously now. Frankie seemed truly upset. Ian began to wonder whether he had pushed the situation a little too far. Still -- never one to back away from a potential opportunity -- he decided to press on just a little further. "Looks like you've got the same problem yourself..." he said, pointing to the growing bulge in Frankie's jeans. "Aw, fuck," Frankie shook his head miserably, "just fucking get dressed, would ya?" "Yeah, yeah, alright..." Ian got up slowly from the bed, cock bobbing and swaying heavily before him. He deliberately took his time as he crossed the room to his dresser, angling his torso so he was giving Frankie constant visual access to his achingly hard erection. As he began to rifle through his top drawer, he could see from the corner of his eye that the older boy was staring at his cock again. The tension in the room only heightened his excitement, and he decided to try to prolong to moment. He found his tightest little white muscle shirt, and began pulling it on. When it was about halfway on -- just at that point when his face was covered and his arms stretched over his head -- he turned slightly, so that his body pointed directly at Frankie, and clenched his ass muscles, causing his cock to jump. Hearing a little gasp from Frankie, he grinned to himself and continued pulling t-shirt on. "Gee, Ian, do you think you could move any slower?" Frankie managed to mutter, as he sat heavily on the edge of Ian's bed, turning away and staring out the window. "Hey, gimme a break. I just woke up, ok?" Ian pulled down his piss-stained jockeys, completely freeing his shaft -- which immediately whacked back against his pelvis with a resounding slap. Frankie turned at the sound, and Ian tossed his underwear directly at the 18-year-old's face. "Aw, fuck -- gross!" Frankie snatched the garment from his face and hurled it back at Ian, who was laughing uncontrollably again -- delighted at this little game. He threw the shorts into the laundry hamper, turned back to the dresser and began searching through his underwear drawer -- while wiggling his creamy-skinned butt provocatively in Frankie's direction. "Nice ass, eh Frankie?" "Man, you are fucked up..." "Mmmmmm...sorry...I'm just so fucking horny today..." Ian found what he had been searching for -- an old pair of jockeys from a couple of years ago, several sizes too small. He grinned wickedly as he pulled them on, sensing the fabric of the undersized shorts threatening to rip apart. Turning to face Frankie again, he forced the briefs up over his hips, grabbing his dripping shaft with one fist, attempting to angle it so that it would somehow fit within the confines of the tiny garment. The position was actually painful, and he felt a perverse pleasure from the effort -- guessing that the visual effect would be absolutely, wholly obscene. "There...I'm dressed. Is that better?" Frankie was speechless for a moment as Ian walked across the few feet of floor that separated them. Ian was scarcely able to breath; the discomfort of his unnaturally angled erection was so intense. Every step sent a jolt of excruciating agony through his body, but he forced himself to keep moving until he was standing directly in front of Frankie. The older boy remained frozen in his sitting position, and was now openly staring at Ian's massive manhood; he could hardly avoid it, as it was mere inches away from his face. The frail fabric of the shorts was already soaked through with pre-cum, making the shape and size of the throbbing, painfully restrained shaft and head all too clear. Ian clenched his ass muscles again and almost passed out from the torturous anguish as his cock lurched within its intentionally awkward incarceration. He wanted to scream in delirious pleasure/pain. He heard Frankie's labored breathing and felt the exhaled air warming the dampened fabric that clung to his throbbing shaft. He clenched his butt again. His manhood surged rudely in response. "Fuck..." Frankie whispered, barely audibly, as the iron-hard organ jerked again, stretching out and nearly rending the thin fabric. "It's fucking huge." "Yeah," Ian struggled to breathe evenly as he raised his arms high and clenched his fists together behind his head, digging his nails into his palms to distract himself from the torment in his groin -- it felt as though the thick shaft might snap in two if he didn't release it soon. "I know." He was actually grimacing now, as a pure burning agony steadily overtook the oddly pleasurable sensation. "It kinda hurts..." and with all of his remaining self-control, he stretched his torso out fully, spread his muscled thighs wide and tightened his butt once again while shoving his crotch forward so that it was nearly touching Frankie's face, "it's really hurting me, Frankie..." "What do you mean?" "It's too hard...," he reminded himself to keep breathing, "It doesn't fit in my underwear right..." "So," Frankie was lost now, blatantly studying the fabric-covered marvel, "what are you gonna do?" "I don't know. But it really, really hurts," Ian clenched his jaw, gasping short jagged breaths. He looked down and saw that Frankie's cock was now obviously hard within his jeans. "I think I might have to take it out...will you freak out if I take it out?" "Like, um, you mean out of your underwear?" "Yeah...please? It feels like it might break or something..." "Oh -- wow -- fuck -- yeah, man. I mean, sure...I guess that's cool..." "Ok...here goes..." Ian sensed this was the make-or-break moment, so as he lowered the ill-fitting jockeys with one hand he kept a tight grip on his penis with the other hand -- wanting to keep the large, pulsing organ as close as possible to Frankie's face, yet guiding it carefully so that it would not accidentally touch the other teen. That would definitely freak him out. Once he had restored it to its natural upright position, he released it and heaved a sigh of relief as it stood at attention, quivering, dripping pre-cum, but free. "Phew...that's better..." "Fuck..." "What?" somewhat emboldened now, Ian clenched his butt again, causing the hefty shaft to jump once more and forcing more pre-cum to ooze out of the slightly gaping slit of the gleaming cock-head. "I...I don't know...um..." Frankie struggled to speak coherently as he continued to stare at the raging phallus, "fuck...ok...how fucking big IS that thing anyway?" "What do you mean?" hands on hips now, Ian subtly thrust his pelvis forward, edging ever closer to Frankie's face. "Um -- I mean, like -- inches -- how long is it?" "Huh..." clench, jump, "uh...I don't really know..." "Fuck...uh...haven't you ever, um...you know...measured it?" "Mmmm, no...why?" "Uh, nothing...I mean...it doesn't matter..." "Hmmm..." clench, jump, dripping pre-cum -- Ian studied Frankie studying his manhood, red-faced, actually perspiring a bit now, "have you measured yours?" "Uh," squirming a bit, embarrassed, and deeply conflicted, "yeah...once or twice..." "Cool...how big is it?" edging in closer still. "Um, like, eight inches, I guess...eight-and-a-half if I'm really, really horny..." "Cool..." jump, jump, jump, pushing the moment, "are you really, really horny right now?" "Uh..." Frankie was breathing quickly, shallowly. "Show me." "Fuck..." "Come on...it's only fair..." "Oh, man..." "Come on, Frankie..." "Aw, shit..." Still sitting, Frankie remained immobile for a moment, and then -- hesitantly, cautiously -- reached down and began unbuckling his belt. "Stand up," Ian stepped back, once the belt was undone, allowing the other boy to rise. As they stood there, virtually eye-to-eye, Frankie looked at him questioningly. "This is really fucked up, Ian" "Do I have to do it for you?" "Huh?" Without speaking another word, Ian reached out and unbuttoned the waistband of Frankie's jeans. He felt the power of the young man's hard abs pressing against the back of his fingers as he slipped his left hand inside, behind the fabric. He maintained eye contact with the handsome, slightly taller teen as he fumbled for the zipper with his right hand. Forcing himself to remain calm, he slowly pulled downward and the tightly fitting jeans sprang open. **************** *Chapter 23* When he unlocked the door and let himself in to Roberts' Cameras, the first thing Bob noticed was the loud music. "...Never can say goodbye, no, no, no..." That's weird -- he thought. Mr. Roberts must have left the radio on by mistake on Saturday. The second thing he noticed was a strange noise -- like moaning or grunting or something. Alarmed, he froze for a second. What was going on? Had someone broken in? Who? Why? Focusing now, he determined that the sounds appeared to be coming from the darkroom at the back of the shop. Seeing that the door was slightly ajar, he screwed up his courage and quietly tiptoed closer, closer, closer -- until he was standing just outside the little room. Carefully, he pushed the door open. It took him a moment to register what he saw, so astonishing was the sight. Mr. Roberts was on the far side of the room -- which was not all that far away, really -- eyes closed, naked from the waist down, surrounded by stacks of 8x10s, furiously stroking his impressively-sized dick. Wow. Holy fuck. Bob had no idea what to do, so at first he did nothing -- except stare, spellbound. His initiation into real sexual activity was so fresh and recent that he had never seen a grown man's erection before. In fact, he had never thought of masturbation as something a grown man might do -- never mind a grownup and married man. It had also never occurred to him to think of Mr. Roberts as a sexual being. Funny how that works. He had also never really noticed that the guy was actually quite handsome. "Awwwww...fuck..." Paul was groaning aloud again, pounding his cock harder. "...Every time I think I've had enough and start heading for the door..." the Jackson 5 grooved on... Heart pounding, Bob quietly stepped toward the man, little by little tiptoeing around the table. As he moved closer, he could see that a dripping layer of pre-cum coated Mr. Roberts's hand. He also realized for the first time that his boss's cock was uncircumcised. For some reason, this excited him, and now Bob's own shaft was fully hard again, aching for relief. "Ohhhhh, god..." the young photographer's legs bent, thighs straining, pelvis thrusting. Closer and closer -- Bob was only a few feet away now, standing directly in front of his breathless, moaning boss, staring at the fully-engorged, shimmering flesh-column, the punishing fist flying up and down the length. He was close enough to touch it. The thought made him salivate; he wanted to feel the heat of that rock-hard, burning manhood, taste the glistening pre-cum. His glance darted over to one of the piles of photos. What the fuck... That's me! "Aaaaaaaaaggghhhh!" The sound of Paul's primal howl drew Bob's attention back just in time to witness the first massive discharge of hot cum blasting from the man's cock. "Fuuuuuuuuccckkk..." the semen shot through the air between them, splattering on Bob's face -- shot again -- in his hair -- and again -- on his shirt, his jeans -- still, it kept shooting. His own cock was thumping, throbbing in his tight jockeys, trapped balls so frustrated and aching he could hardly breathe. The fresh cum slowly dripped down his face, onto his upper lip. He opened his mouth to lick it. "JESUS!" Paul's hand flew away from his convulsing shaft. For a brief moment the 28-year-old man and the 17-year-old youth froze, staring into each other's eyes in alarm and confusion. "FUCK!" Scrambling to reorient himself, the photographer clumsily reached down to pull up his pants. Bob could see that the man's thick, hard cock was still pulsing, pumping -- shooting and oozing the last of his hot juices. "Uh, fuck, I...I'm s-sorry, Mr. Roberts...I...I should have knocked...I just..." "Jesus Christ, Bob...fuck..." Fully dressed again, Paul turned away from Bob and faced the wall, breathing heavily, shoulders heaving, and head shaking. Staring at his boss's heaving back, Bob quickly wiped his hand across his face and clothing, gathering up all the traces of fresh semen. He held the dripping fingertips to his nostrils and inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating odors. Now his lips parted, and he tasted the warm viscous substance, licking, sucking, swallowing all of it, and loving the sensations as it gradually coated his mouth and throat. With his other hand, he roughly groped at his own crotch through his tight denims, desperately squeezing his aggravated erection. He really, really needed to cum now. The air in the room was thick with the smell of sex and the sound of Paul's ragged breathing. "Bob," still facing the wall, the young man finally began to speak in a hushed, measured tone, "I, um, I think you'd better take the day off. Please." "But, Mr. Roberts..." "Please, Bob. Go away. Leave. Now!" **************** *Chapter 24* The radio was still blasting when he walked into the kitchen. He had a single purpose as he strode through the room; jerk off and cum. He had already peeled his shirt off when he started up the stairs. Ian's probably still asleep, he smirked, as he started undoing his jeans. He sighed in blessed relief as he released his screaming hard-on from its denim prison. Reaching the top of the stairs, he stopped for a moment and just stared at his pulsing manhood, fascinated. It was almost vibrating, electric with the power of sexual craving. That's when he heard the voices. "This is really fucked up, Ian" "Do I have to do it for you?" "Huh?" Then there was silence. Bob froze. Ian was obviously awake, and talking to somebody in the bedroom. Who? What the fuck was going on? Bob tiptoed the rest of the way to the shared bedroom and slowly, carefully turned the doorknob. As the door swung open, he saw the full-length profiles of his brother, Ian, and his best friend, Frankie, in silhouette as they stood facing each other before the bedroom window. Adding to this initial shock, he saw that -- other than a skintight white muscle-shirt -- Ian was completely naked and sporting a full-blown, dripping hard-on. The next thing he registered was that Ian's right hand was holding Frankie's cock, which was also brutally erect. Then he realized that both of the other boys were standing stock-still, staring at him -- or, more specifically, at his massively swollen shaft. There was a long moment of stunned silence in the sexually charged room. "Aw, fuck," Frankie spoke first, almost moaning in mortification. More silence. "Jesus, Ian..." Bob mumbled, shaking his head. "Oops," Ian stifled a giggle as he finally remembered to let go of Frankie's cock. The silence returned, as the three teens remained frozen in a sort of oversexed, suspended animation. "'OOPS?'", Bob finally repeated, head shaking in disbelief, "did you say 'OOPS'?" At that, Ian lost whatever shred of self-control he had been grasping onto, and fell back on his bed, laughing hysterically. Bob and Frankie stared at the kid as he wrapped his arms around his convulsing shoulders, watching as his enormous erection slapped repeatedly against his quivering belly, spreading a trail of shiny pre-cum across the firm, hairless abs. As he scrambled to make sense of the freaky scenario, Bob surreptitiously glanced over at his best friend, and noted that Frankie was still sporting a full hard-on. What the hell had been going on here? "Aw, fuck," Frankie muttered, in pure shame and dismay, "I'm getting out of here. I'm so sorry, man. Fuck." "Hey, Frankie, hold on...don't worry about it, man," Bob said, thinking quickly, "Everything's cool. I know what a freak Ian can be sometimes." Frankie turned and looked into his eyes somewhat apprehensively. Ian's laughing fit slowed down to a relatively controlled gasping. Bob decided to act first, and ask questions later. "Well," he said, "I don't know about you guys, but if I don't jerk off soon, I'm going to fucking explode. I mean it. Look at this thing!" He roughly gripped the base of his shuddering man-flesh, "I've been holding off all morning. If I don't get off soon, I'm gonna fucking go crazy." Now the other two boys were both openly staring at his cock again. He decided that it was now or never. "Come on, you assholes. Let's just get it over with." He turned and led the way to his side of the room, confident that the other two boys would follow. The role of leader suited him just fine, and he wore it well. "Ok, strip!" Ian instantly tore off his little t-shirt, and was now stark naked, grinning while his bone-hard cock swayed heavily before him. Frankie hesitated, still staring at Bob skeptically. "What are you waiting for, Frankie?" Bob asked, as he removed his own jeans, "We can already see your fucking hard-on." "Aw, fuck," Frankie rolled his eyes and slowly began to undress. As he removed his shirt and sandals, he studiously avoided eye contact with the two Ballard brothers. He turned his back to them as he bent over to pull down his jeans. Ian gave out a low whistle. "Nice ass, Frankie." Frankie whipped around quickly, and saw that Bob and Ian were lying down at opposite ends of the bed, leaving a space for him in the middle. They had both already begun stroking their massive dicks. "You're a fucking cunt, Ian," Frankie muttered, as he glared at the impossibly beautiful 16-year-old. "Come on, Frankie," Bob gestured at the empty space on the bed," just ignore him." Bob was stroking the length of his organ very lightly and cautiously with his thumb and middle finger. He had been so horny for so many hours that day, that he knew he might go off at any second. This unexpected scenario only heightened his aching need -- but as much as it thrilled him, he also wanted to make it last as long as possible. He stifled a sigh as Frankie lay down on the bed between him and Ian. He watched as Frankie took hold of his own blood-engorged manhood and began tentatively stroking. Bob found the heat of his friend's naked flesh next to him weirdly exciting. The only sound in the room was the music wafting up from the kitchen radio, and the heavy breathing of the three young men as, side-by-side, they each quietly pleasured themselves, stroking, massaging and teasing their throbbing, hypersensitive phalluses. "Hey, Bob," Frankie spoke quietly, breaking the silence. "What?" Bob sort half-grunted, as he lightly circled a fingertip around his overripe cock-head. "Do you guys have any, you know, lotion or anything?" "What do you mean?" Bob slid his finger through the pool of pre-cum in his cock-slit. "Um, I usually use my Mom's hand lotion or something like that, when I'm jerking off." "Seriously?" he began spreading the fluid across his cock-head, shuddering slightly in response. "Yeah. Haven't you ever tried it?" "Um, no," intrigued now, Bob continued, "what's it feel like?" "Really, really fucking good." Silent up until now, Ian suddenly popped up into a sitting position. "Hey, Mom's got some of that stuff down in the bathroom. Should I go get it?" "Sure," Bob replied. "Hurry up, though." "Yeah, yeah, whatever..." Ian jumped up and ran out of the room. Now Bob and Frankie were alone, naked together on the bed. "Wow." Frankie said, "This is kind of weird, huh?" "Yeah, it is." The two old friends fell silent once more, each boy stroking his own hard penis. "Hey, Bob?" Frankie spoke again. "Yeah?" "Do you jerk off a lot?" "Yeah." "Even when you were seeing Annette?" "Yup." "But you must have fucked her all the time." "Um, honestly, no. She wouldn't let me." "Oh, man, are you serious? I always assumed..." "Yeah, I know." "Wow." The silence returned for a moment, and Bob was aware that he wanted to be even closer to his friend -- to touch him. Again, he slowed down his stroking, in a further effort to prolong the peculiarly magical intimacy. "So," Frankie continued, "even if you weren't actually fucking her, you must have fooled around a lot -- I mean, like, playing with her tits and stuff..." "Yeah, sometimes." "...and, like necking and kissing..." "Well, yeah, of course. But you've done that shit before." "Um...well, no, actually. Not really." Bob got up onto his elbows and looked Frankie in the eyes. "Are you serious?" Frankie shrugged, half-smirked and nodded, "Unfortunately...yeah." "That's impossible." "Why?" "Are you telling me you've never even kissed a girl?" "Well, I tried once, but it was really bad. Fuck, man, I don't even know HOW to kiss a girl." Bob stared at his pal in pure disbelief. How could he have known Frankie for so long, and not have been aware of this crazy, basic fact of his life? Then, it came to him -- the idea -- as clear as could be. The simplicity of it almost overwhelmed him. "Frankie, man, kissing is fucking amazing -- and it's easy," Bob hesitated for an instant. This was going to be the make-or-break moment. "Want me to show you?" Frankie half frowned as he looked into Bob's eyes. "Huh?" "Fuck off and do what I tell you. Ok. First, close your eyes." Frankie closed his eyes. "Oh, yeah, and keep stroking your cock." Frankie kept stroking his cock. "Ok. Now, relax your mouth. Let it fall open a little -- nice and easy." Frankie's lips parted slightly, and Bob's heart leaped a little at his friend's sudden vulnerability. "Ok, Frankie," Bob was whispering now, "Try to stay relaxed, and just do whatever I do." As he hovered over his best friend's beautiful face, Bob hesitated one last time. This was nuts. Fuck. He moved in closer, and then, suddenly, his lips ever so lightly touched the warm softness of Frankie's lips. He felt Frankie's breath as it melded with his own. He turned his head slightly from one side to the other, and trembled a bit as his flesh danced across the fullness of his friend's. Gently, gently, he extended the tip of his tongue and tasted, licking softly at Frankie's virgin mouth. Then he felt it. Frankie's tongue. Everything was suddenly an explosion of warm wetness, as the two teens threw off any pretense of reserve, and hungrily made as if to devour one another. Bob threw his arms around Frankie's strong torso, and thrust his aching cock shamelessly against his friend's throbbing manhood, pumping hard as their kiss deepened, their tongues, lips and teeth thrashing and gnashing as their hard bodies intertwined, flailing about the bed. "Holy fuck!" At the sound of Ian's voice, Bob and Frankie scrambled to untangle themselves, brows sweating, hearts hammering, chests pounding, cocks heaving as they scurried to opposite ends of the bed. "Sorry," Ian smirked, "am I interrupting something?" "Fuck off, Ian," Bob said, trying to mask his deep embarrassment, "I was just, uh, explaining some stuff to Frankie..." "Really? You want to explain it to me too?" Ian looked directly into his brother's eyes as he placed Trish's hand lotion on Bob's bedside table. "Hey, man," Frankie said, completely flustered, "lay off your brother. I was just asking him, um...asking him about, um..." "Kissing," Bob interrupted, "he wanted to know about...oh, never mind." Ian smiled wickedly as he stood before the two older teens -- head cocked, arms folded, legs spread wide, big, thick penis swaying before him. "Hmmm. Gee. Well, I think it's only fair that Frankie show me what he just learned from my big brother. Don't you?" Frankie turned to Bob, panicked. Bob shrugged and threw his hands up in the air. "Come on, Frankie," Ian said, "I'm waiting." "Aw, fuck," Frankie grimaced, "alright. ...but if you ever tell anybody about this, I swear I'll kill you. I'm not joking." "Hmmm. Right. My lips are sealed...sort of..." Frankie got up from the bed, and stood facing Ian. Bob sat, watching as his friend squirmed in embarrassment. "Fuck, alright Ian," Frankie said, "it was just about, like, ways to kiss a girl..." "Uh huh?" "Yeah. Like this..." Bob stared, fascinated, as Frankie placed his hands on Ian's shoulders and pulled the younger boy closer to him. He saw how Frankie and Ian both closed their eyes as their lips met. He glanced down and saw that Ian's big cock was brushing against Frankie's flat belly. He watched as Ian placed his hands on Frankie's butt, crushing their pelvises together. He heard a muffled moan, but the kiss continued, and Bob wasn't sure if the sound had come from his friend or his brother. He suddenly realized that he was feeling a twinge of jealousy. "Alright, Ian," he said, "That's enough." Frankie pulled away from Ian, and, red-faced, gasping for air, turned to face Bob. "Wow," Ian said quietly. "What?" Frankie asked. "Oh, I don't know," Ian replied, "I guess it never crossed my mind that you'd be such a great kisser." "Fuck off." "No, I'm serious," Ian continued. "Can I watch you guys do it again?" Bob looked at Frankie again, and tried to gauge his expression. This whole scene was so bizarre and confusing; he wasn't sure what to do or how to react. Was this the beginning of a new phase in their friendship, or a really fucked-up and twisted ending? He finally decided that, seeing as they had gone this far, turning back was pointless. Nothing was ever going to be the same, so he might as well take it as far as could can before they got to the end. "Get back over here, Frankie," Bob gestured for his pal to rejoin him on the bed. As Frankie lay down beside him, Bob placed a hand tenderly on either side of his face and began kissing him again. This time, there was no tentativeness or shyness; the kiss was deep and loving, hot and wet. From somewhere seemingly far away, Bob was aware of Ian's voice. "Wow." Then, opening his eyes slightly, Bob sensed a blur of motion, felt an added heat, and he knew that Ian was joining them. He saw the top of Ian's head at waist-level, felt and heard Frankie moaning, and knew that Ian was sucking his friend's cock. Suddenly, sputtering and panting, Frankie broke the kiss. "What the fuck...?" Bob pulled back and half-smiled at Frankie -- who in turn was staring astonished at his own cock as Ian skillfully worked his lips and tongue over it. "Feel good, Frankie?" Bob asked. "Fuck, man..." "I guess this is your first blowjob." "Fuck..." Bob leaned over Frankie, kissing him again, smiling inwardly as his friend moaned and writhed in ecstasy. He was aware of his brother's long dark hair gliding silkily against his pelvis as Ian slowly worked up and down Frankie's cock. Hornier than ever, Bob shifted so that his hard-on was thrusting against the side of Ian's head. Suddenly, a warm, velvet wetness enveloped the head of his cock. He broke the kiss with Frankie again -- long enough to look down and see that Ian had switched over, and was now sucking on his cock while slowly stroking his buddy's shaft. "Yeah, Ian," he muttered. "Fuck, that's good." Now, Frankie raised his head just in time to see Ian squeeze the two bulky erections together in his fists and attempt to fit both heads into his hungry mouth. "Aw, fuck," Frankie moaned. The pulsing heat of Frankie's cock jammed up against his own triggered waves of pre-orgasmic rushes through Bob's body. He didn't know how much longer he could hold back. He grabbed Frankie's head with both hands and pulled the boy to him, thrusting his tongue deeply into the soft, open lips, just as Ian finally managed to devour both pre-cum streaming cock-heads. Now Bob and Frankie were moaning aloud together, their voices resonating within each other's heads as Ian's insatiable mouth threatened to suck the hot blood right through the near-bursting skin of their burning flesh-rods. "FUCK!" Frankie screamed as he broke away, "I'M GONNA CUM!" "FUCK, YEAH!" Bob hollered. Ian instantly released both cocks and jumped off the bed. "Oh, no, you're not!" he ordered. "Not yet!" Bob and Frankie were stunned, astonished, lying side-by-side, blood-reddened cocks heaving and dripping. "Jesus fucking Christ, Ian," Bob struggled for breath, "What are you doing? Fuck!" "Oh, god, oh, god, oh my god..." Frankie seemed on the verge of weeping. "Gee, guys," Ian was the picture of ingenuousness, "I just realized that we forgot all about the hand lotion thing. You know, Frankie was gonna show us..." His voice trailed out and stopped mid-sentence, as he realized that the other boys weren't really listening to him at all. "Man," he started again, as he took in the vacant stares and the rigid, gleaming sex organs, "you guys look like a couple of fucking horny zombies. Fuck." Bob, struggling to breathe normally, turned to Frankie. The two old friends locked eyes as each attempted to think beyond the anguish of his tormented cock, and sort through the moment. "Frankie?" Bob finally spoke through gritted teeth. "Yeah?" Frankie could barely speak above a whisper. It was beyond eerie, being this close to Frankie, looking so deeply into his eyes, feeling his breath, sharing such an extraordinarily intimate moment. Wow, Bob thought in an instant of pure revelation, I really love him. "Um," Bob continued, cock twitching, jumping, "maybe you should just show him whatever the thing is with the lotion..." "Oh," Frankie murmured, still lost in Bob's eyes as an overpowering tremor ran through his entire being, "yeah, sure, oh god..." "Here, Frankie," Ian was holding the plastic container up to Frankie's face. "So, what's the deal?" Wordlessly, Frankie took the bottle, flipped open the top and turned it over, expertly squeezing a thick line of the lotion along the length of his broad, fiery shaft -- from the pulsating purple head all the way down to the aching, constricted balls. Bob and Ian watched, rapt, as the boy sensuously spread the lotion over his organ with his right hand, saw how his body undulated with the fresh levels of pleasure, and heard him whimper helplessly as he slid the palm of his hand over the newly slick, sensitive crown. "Cool," Ian said, as he reached for the bottle. "Wow," said Bob, watching his friend give over to pure rapture. He then turned to watch Ian applying the stuff to his oversized flesh-column. "Oh, man," Ian said, still standing beside the bed, sliding a fist slowly up and down the length of his lubricated shaft while handing the bottle over to his brother, "this is fucking amazing." Bob had just started to massage the lotion into his own erection, when Ian spoke again. "Oh, wow," the younger boy exclaimed, as he squeezed and stroked his shaft with both fists, "I just figured out another thing you could do with this stuff." He jumped on the bed, pushing his way in between Bob and Frankie, reached for the plastic container again, and squeezed a generous dollop onto his fingertips and said, "Watch this!" As the other two watched, breathlessly stroking their rock-hard shafts, Ian laid back, threw his long legs up so that his knees were by his shoulders, and began massaging the lotion onto his pink asshole. "Man," Frankie said, as he got up on his knees to get a better look, "what the fuck are you doing?" "Just watch," Ian replied, as he intensified the circular massaging motion. Now Bob was on his knees as well, and he and Frankie continued stroking their cocks as they stared at Ian's moving fingers. His middle finger started to focus directly on the tiny hole, and then suddenly Ian plunged it right inside -- up to the second knuckle. "Jesus," Frankie gasped. Ian froze for a moment, and then began moving the finger within his asshole -- in and out, round and round, moaning in a deeply guttural tone as he stimulated his moist, secret insides. Though he was not touching his erection at all, pre-cum was steadily seeping from his cock-head, forming an expanding, glimmering pool on his tightly muscled belly. His cock jerked abruptly as he slipped a second lubricated finger into his young body. "Fuck," Frankie whispered, "you're fucking nuts, man. What are you trying to do?" "It's...it feels...ohhhhh...fucking...ungh...amazing," Ian struggled to speak. "You...should try it." "No fucking way, you freak," Frankie shot back. Seeing that Ian's eyes were glazing over in sheer pleasure, Bob turned his gaze to Frankie. His friend was obviously intrigued, despite the protestations. "I'll help you, Frankie." "Huh?" "Lay down." Frankie looked into Bob's eyes for a brief moment, and then, averting his gaze completely, lay back on the bed beside Ian. "Pull your legs back -- like Ian," Bob commanded. Frankie closed his eyes, and did as Bob told him. Now, Bob got up from the bed and stepped around so that he was standing directly before Frankie's spread thighs. Ian lay to the immediate left, lost in sexual bliss as he alternated between two and three fingers, shoving them roughly into his asshole, penetrating himself repeatedly, moaning senselessly, the pre-cum covering his belly now and beginning to drip down his sides. Bob coated his fingers with lotion, and then lightly touched the tips to Frankie's rigidly clenched hole. "Ugnh!" Frankie jerked back reflexively at the intimate contact. "Shhhh," Bob spoke quietly, "relax. Keep stroking your cock Yeah, that's better." As Frankie wrapped his fist around his thick man-meat and resumed the rhythmic pumping, Bob began tenderly massaging the rosy, muscled hole. "Yeah, Frankie...that's right...keep stroking...relax, breathe..." It looks so sweet, he thought as he gently manipulated the virgin flesh, so pink and clean and innocent. Frankie still had his eyes closed. Bob hesitated for a moment, and then quietly bent down, flicking the tip of his tongue around the periphery. Oh, man, that's good. "Oh, fuck..." Frankie groaned. Bob moved his head back quickly, replacing his tongue with a finger, slowly circling, applying slightly more pressure. Seeing that Frankie's cock was rock-hard, Bob decided to press on. With the pad of his index finger, he teased the flesh immediately around the opening for another moment, and then, carefully, slowly, began to push inward. "Aaaaaughhh!" Frankie yelped. "FUCK! STOP!" "Shhhh..." his finger was only in to the first knuckle, but Bob felt Frankie's ass muscles constrict brutally around it, opposing the invasion." Shhhhh...push back with your asshole...keep stroking..." "FUUUUCK..." Something gave way, and Bob's finger slipped in further, to the second knuckle. As he began the tender exploration of Frankie's inner flesh, feeling the warm, fluid silkiness, the unexpected vulnerability of his handsome, strapping friend struck Bob once again. How could a guy be so manly and so fragile at the same time? "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." This was a different sound coming from Frankie now. "Feel better?" "Mm-hmmmm...yeah..." As he slid a second finger inside, Bob began stroking his own cock again. He felt Frankie's hole relaxing, allowing him to move his fingers around even more, penetrating deeper. The heat and the wetness excited him. Without thinking, he pressed the purple head of his cock against the opening, right beside his fingers. It would be so easy, just to slide it in there. He pressed a little harder, and Frankie's flesh began to give way. "Bob! What are you doing? No! Stop it!" "Fuck," Bob pulled his cock back, instantly ashamed. "I'm sorry, man. I don't know what I was thinking. Fuck...I'm so sorry." "Where you trying to fuck him?" Ian piped up. Except for the heavy breathing, the room was silent for a moment, as Bob looked at his brother, then at Frankie, then back at his brother. He felt terrible about losing control, but he still had two fingers buried deep inside his friend's asshole, and his own cock -- after suffering hours of frustration -- was demanding relief. He turned back to Frankie. Frankie shook his head -- no. "I can't, man..." "Hey, Frankie," Ian's voice was low and husky. Bob saw that he had the index and middle fingers of both hands in his asshole now -- four in total, stretching the little hole wider. "You can fuck me if you want." Bob and Frankie both turned to look at the younger boy and saw his sweat-beaded brow, his undulating torso and his big slab of horse-dick -- as achingly hard as theirs. They heard the slight squishing, liquid sounds as he plundered himself with his fingers. "What?" Frankie asked incredulously. "I'm serious. I want it. I want to feel it. Come on." Frankie looked at Bob. Bob shrugged as he withdrew his fingers from his friend's hole, stepped back and said, "Go for it, Frankie." Slowly, deliberately, Frankie got up from the bed and moved in between Ian's widespread legs. "You sure about this?" he asked, as he looked into the eyes of the 16-year-old who had been teasing and tormenting him since his arrival at the Ballard home that morning. "Yeah." Bob watched as Ian slipped his fingers out of the hole, and then used them to hold himself open for Frankie's entry. He watched as Frankie moved in, pressed his big cock-head against the pink skin and then, with one great shove, buried himself to the hilt in Ian's ass-flesh. "YOWWWWWW!" Ian bellowed. Suddenly, without warning, Frankie was a machine -- a mindless, brutal, relentless jackhammer. Bob looked on in awe as the 18-year-old's heavy shaft rammed his brother's hole mercilessly, pounding, hammering, pulling out, driving in, faster, harder, faster, harder. Ian was groaning helplessly, biting his lower lip as his head flopped back and forth like a rag doll, his erection slapping against his torso with every hit, endless pre-cum spraying everywhere. Bob scrambled back up onto the bed and squatted over Ian's head, facing Frankie. He shoved his screamingly hard fuck-meat deep into his brother's mouth, and reached for Frankie's head. Not caring about anything anymore, he fucked Ian's throat hard, not hearing the muffled screams. Ignoring the look of stunned horror sweeping over Frankie's face, he kissed his friend ravenously, profoundly, tongue, lips, teeth everywhere. Frankie was screaming inside his head -- or was it Ian? No. Frankie. Frankie was cumming. Frankie was cumming and cumming. Cumming hard. Shooting and shooting and shooting his burning spunk deep inside Ian's butt. Bob fucked Ian's throat harder, faster, trying to catch up with his friend. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...hurry. Frankie was trying to push Bob away. Both of his hands were on Bob's chest, pushing hard. Bob still fucking Ian's mouth. Hurry. Hurry. Frankie shoved Bob hard, knocking him off his brother, and slamming him against the wall. Frankie pulled out of Ian, big purple cock still hard, still pumping, still shooting cum all over. Frankie was wild-eyed, red-faced, drenched in sweat. Frankie was screaming, crying. "NOOOOOOOOO! THIS IS FUCKED! FUUUUUUUUCK!" ************************************************************************ Frankie is scrambling for his clothes, getting dressed quickly, carelessly. Frankie is running out the door. Frankie. Frankie is gone. Running. The two brothers can hear the pounding of his feet on the stairs as he makes his escape, flying through the kitchen, slamming the door on his way out to the street. Bob is stunned. The back of his head hurts, where it slammed against the wall. Frankie ran. Oh, fuck... Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Bob?" Confused, weary, sad, he looks down at Ian. Ian. Ian, covered in drying pre-cum and semen, long, dark hair tangled, drenched with sweat, a little trace of blood at one corner of his luscious mouth, lying there like an old, broken toy some kid has tossed aside. "Yeah?" Looking into his beautiful eyes. My beautiful little brother. My sweet little man. "Fuck me. Please, Bob. Fuck me." Leaning in, leaning down so that his lips are right beside his brother's ear. Whispering. "Only if you beg for it, pig." Waiting. Smelling the sex on the boy. The hunger. The fear. "Please. Sir. Please fuck me with your big, hard cock. Sir. Please." Sticking a finger in the boy's mouth. Whispering. "Suck." Waiting. "Suck harder." Waiting. "HARDER." The kid is sucking as hard as he can, whimpering, whining. Pulling the finger away. Out. The kid's lips are still sucking. Sucking air. "You've been a bad boy." "Yes, sir." "A very, very bad boy." "Yes, sir." "You need to be punished." "Yes, sir. Please, sir" Thinking. Thinking. Moving to the edge of the bed, feet on the floor. "Get on my lap." The kid lies across his lap, face down. Ian's belly has Bob's ragingly hard cock trapped, jammed up against the younger boy's still-throbbing erection. The discomfort of the unnatural position is somehow pleasing in its aggravation. He looks at the creamy-skinned perfection of his brother's ass-cheeks. He sees Frankie's semen seeping out of the pink hole. This enrages him. "You opened your hole for my friend's cock." "Yes, sir." SLAP. "You wanted him to fuck you." "Yes, sir." SLAP. "You wanted him to fuck you hard." "Yes, sir." SLAP. "You're a fucking pig." "Yes, sir." SLAP. "Slut" "Sir." SLAP. "WHORE." "Sir." SLAP. "CUNT." "SIR." SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. "BITCH." "SIR." SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP, SLAP. The cheeks reddening now, the abused asshole releasing more and more of Frankie's man-seed, as both brothers' frustrated cocks continue to leak their boundless pre-cum, and one of Bob's eyes produces a single, salty tear. Reality. "Faggot." Silence. "You're a fucking faggot." "No." "NO, WHAT?" "No, SIR!" SLAP! "FAGGOT!" "NO, SIR!" SLAP! "HOMO!" "NO, SIR!" SLAP! "QUEER!" SLAP! "PANSY!" SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! "COCKSUCKING FUCKING QUEER-ASS HOMO FAG!" SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Crying. Ian is crying. Chest heaving, body-wracking weeping. Bob, hand in mid-air, stops the physical abuse. Ian is whispering, in a tiny, barely audible voice. "Yes." Bob waits. "Yes." "Yes? Yes, what?" Waiting. "Yes, I am." "You are what?" More sobbing. "Yes, I am...a faggot. Yes, I am a homo. Yes, I am a pansy. Yes, I am a queer...sir." Bob finally sees, through the film of tears clouding his vision, the damage he has wrought on his brother's flesh. He senses, through the sound of pain that now fills the room, the essence of the spirit he has come close to breaking. He leans over and, with his powerful arms, he lifts his brother up, raising him in the air, turning , and then, as cautiously as if he were bearing fine crystal, lays the boy down on the bed, facing upward. He bends down between his brother's spread thighs, and begins to lick the thickening semen from his tortured asshole. His friend's man-juice. It tastes ambrosial. He licks and sucks until the stuff fills his mouth, until it seeps from the corners of his full lips. He climbs up until he is looking directly into his brother's face. He moves to kiss his brother, parting his outrageously sensual lips, and the viscous fluid cascades down into the younger boy's waiting mouth. They kiss. They share the illicit bounty, the captured treasure. He tilts his pelvis forward, and the tormented, blazing flesh of his manhood, his blood-sword, his fuck-rod, his soul-hammer, slides into his brother's liquid heat. He licks the dried blood from his brother's lips. He sinks deeper down into the welcoming, surging warmth, spreading the youthful flesh with his unrelenting girth. He tilts his head downward, and the swollen, leaking head of his brother's cock is there. Right there. He moves his head only slightly, the cock-head is inside his mouth, and he is sucking, tasting the free-flowing man-juices, fucking the boy's hole and sucking his salty-sweet juices. This is it. Nothing can stop it now. He feels like his head is about to explode. Thrusting his pelvis so hard, his pubic bones smash against his brother's sweetness. The pain, the longing, the hunger, the sweat, the blood, the sucking, the fucking, the NEED TO CUM NEED TO CUM NEED TO CUM NEED TO CUM. BROTHER'S CREAM, SEED, SPUNK, SEMEN FILLING HIS MOUTH. POUNDING, POUNDING, POUNDING, FUCK HIS HOLE, FUCK HIS SWEET HOLE, FUCK HIS HUNGRY, SLUTTY HOLE. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. NOW. Brother's cock is falling out of his mouth as his entire being spasms, body-quake, eruption, volcano erupting through his cock. Fire. Cumming, cumming, cumming, cumming, laughing, weeping, Brother's cock shooting more cum in his face, his hair, his eyes, blinding him with salty, flaming cum, marking him, branding him. Still, his cock is ramming endlessly, firing its pent-up fury deep into his brother's bowels. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you... Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... Collapsing. Falling. Weak. Nothing. Empty. Gone. ************************************************************************ Bob laid there for a long time, his cock buried deep in Ian's ass, his chest pressed against his brother's broad chest, feeling the boy's heart beat. He waited for his own heartbeat to slow down, for his cock to soften. He was very aware of Ian's arms. They wrapped around his strong back, holding him close, caressing him. His nostrils were full of the scent of his brother's hair -- a vaguely herbal smell, fresh, soft. The kitchen radio was still playing. "...on the day that you were born, the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true..." The fucking Carpenters. Fuck. It was near noon when he finally spoke. "Ian?' "Uh-huh?" "Don't ever leave me. Ok?" "Ok."