Date: Wed, 26 Aug 2015 00:04:42 +0000
From: Bruce Demosthenes <sourceskid@hotmail.com>
Subject: Dominated by the Boy Next Door 13

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***

At around noon I got out of bed and took a shower.  Washing my butt I was
surprised at how sensitive my asshole still was, two days after David had
fucked me.  He must have done a real number on my ass.  I knew he had
fucked me hard, I had to reach out with my hands and push against the head
of the bed to stop my head from being forced up into it by his thrusting by
the end.  But I should have recovered by now.  Maybe it was the shape of
his cock, which was huge to begin with but was tapered so it was narrower
at the head but thick at the base.

Finishing my shower and drying off, I then began to decide what to wear.
First I chose to wear boxers.  If Peter was staying in my bed then I wanted
something loose so he wouldn't see the outline of my cock when I undressed.
Then I decided to go for a pair of black jeans that I thought were sexy,
even though I knew Peter wasn't interested in me sexually, I wanted to look
my best.  And I decided to go for a black polo shirt.  It is what I used to
wear in by younger clubbing days.

When I looked at the clock I realized it had taken me almost two hours to
dress.  This was worse than when I went on a first date, back when I dated,
though the butterflies in my stomach made this feel like I was about to
have one.

Looking out the window I saw Pater's parent's car was still there.  I
wondered when they would leave as I wanted to go out of the house at some
point to get some wine and beer.  Boy I had changed.  When this 'thing'
started with Peter (whatever it was) I had actually been more concerned
with giving him liquor than having sex and now I felt the need to stock up
for whatever he might ask for.

I tried waiting in my room for them to leave but that made the time go on
and on.  I knew it was still two more hours before Peter was home from high
school.  [I can't believe I just acknowledged that I am waiting for the boy
I suck to come home from high school so I can suck him again, but I did.
If they were gone before he got home from school I could suck him as soon
as he came home.  There again I am thinking this as his/our home.  I was
truly fucked up.]

Why did I want them gone?  It wasn't just so I could suck his cock after
school, as I would be doing that (I hoped) all week.  There is the guilt
over yesterday with his father and what I want to do right after school to
his son.  There is also the fact I have no idea what is happening tonight
or this week.

That got me thinking, what is happening?  I want to suck Peter right after
school to start our week together but we hadn't discussed that.

Was I even going to see Peter today?  It is a Friday night and when he was
partying, as his father confirmed he had been doing, he would disappear on
Friday evening and not reappear until Sunday night.  Why did I assume he
would spend this first weekend of freedom from his parents with me, a man
almost three times his age?

I suddenly realized I was pacing the bedroom and working myself into a
lather.  I went to my office to try to distract myself with work but I
couldn't concentrate.  What I would normally do to distract myself was
watch porn so I tried surfing pictures but I found myself searching
underwear pics for boys who looked like Peter (which didn't work for two
reasons, first, the websites of underage boys in underwear have some really
really underage boys which made me feel like a pedophile and, second, the
more I thought of Peter the more the time dragged on and my anxiety about
what was going to happen tonight, this weekend and this coming week built).
Plus being in my office, which is the smaller bedroom on the opposite end
of the second floor from my bedroom (what is Peter's room in his house as
our floor plans match), meant I couldn't see their driveway, so I went back
to my bedroom and stared at his parent's car from my window.

The time kept dragging on.

Suddenly I remembered I had Peter's cel number on my phone.  I took my
phone out of my pocket and started to text him and then caught myself.
Peter is not just in high school, he is physically IN high school right
now.  I remembered how well that went when I tried to text him back in the
early days and while a lot of time had passed, I was going to do nothing to
screw-up any chance of this being the best week of my life.

Looking back to that time I thought about Peter demanding I give him my
phone number so he could text me for sex or he would blackmail me.  Except
for texting me in response to my panicked texting of him at school like a
13 year old girl, afraid he would never contact me, he had never texted me.
He didn't have to.  I was always available to him (I didn't do anything but
work and watch him and wait for him.  And he knew he could use me for sex,
he had a key, which he used frequently (more frequently than I had ever
dare hoped).  Not only did he know he could use me for sex, he had said a
couple nights ago I would be sucking him every night, I guessed before we
went to sleep.  This had a calming effect.

Just then my phone vibrated.  It was as though Peter had read my mind.  He
had sent a text: "Are you making us dinner?"

All my panic washed away.

At first I was ecstatic and I found myself again pacing my bedroom but in a
good way, driven not by anxious insecurity but by joy.  It suddenly felt
even more like a date.

After bouncing off the wall for a few minutes I realized I hadn't answered
him.  As I started to type YES with tons of smiley faces like a 13 year old
girl he kept turning me into, I realized this was a boy who was used to a
mother cooking and for him and parents (and previously brothers) probably
eating at the table with conversation.  Of course he would want to have
dinner with me, if he wasn't going out with his friends for a weekend of
partying, which I also realized wasn't out of the question as he could go
out after dinner.

I settled on the more neutral, but still welcoming, response of
"definitely" and then texted "anything you don't like".

"H8 liver" came the reply.

Took me a few minutes of puzzlement to deduce that H8 was not a new type of
vegetable juice (way to make me feel old Peter).

"Time?" I texted back.

"7pm".

I sat there wondering why 7pm for a while.  Partying usually began at
around 11 when I used to go to clubs, though I was sure that wouldn't apply
for high school parties.  Maybe he wanted to change and eat before he went
out.  Maybe his parents ate late (when his dad came over the day before he
had said they were going out to dinner and that was around 6:30pm.

Then it occurred to me to check his parent's itinerary on my fridge and
discovered their flight was at 9pm.  That would explain why they hadn't
left (and meant my afternoon of stress could have been cured simply by
looking at my own fridge).

Not really caring why his father came home early from work I got my
cookbooks out and came up with a dish to impress, but also a dish a boy
would like.  The fact that I constantly had to think of Peter as a teenage
boy as I looked at the recipes I did well and wanted to make to impress him
with my cooking skills (something I would want to do for someone on a first
date) was disconcerting.  I settled on 'four cheese Mac-and-Cheese with
bacon'.

I wouldn't usually cook Mac and Cheese, and never with bacon, because at my
age I have to watch what I eat as I put on weight easily but this was a
growing boy.  How fucked up was that?  I had gone from feeling conflicted
that I was looking at recipes that would impress someone I have strong
feelings for and want to impress, while at the same time not be outside his
comfort zone, to choosing a dish to win over a teenager.  I decided to also
do vichyssoise as a soup starter and a summer salad with orange Basil
dressing as a side to make the meal more grown-up and gourmet (though I did
have a quick though when I picked a salad as a side that Peter should have
something healthy and a salad is better for him than vegetables while the
orange flavour would appeal to someone young).

This week, if I am cooking regularly, was going to leave me seriously
fucked up and conflicted about who I am and what I am doing (as if I wasn't
already being the 'mouth' on call for a 16 year old's big cock).

I drove to the store for more of the ingredients (I had stopped cooking
fancy meals when my ex and I had separated so I didn't have much beyond
staples in my kitchen.

Also having not cooked for anyone in a while meant it took much longer than
usual so the fact that Peter wouldn't be over until 7pm turned out to be a
godsend.

Though there was never any doubt in my mind where we would eat, I decided
to set the dining room table with my best china (something I owned before I
got married so, unlike most wedding presents which came from my younger
ex's friends and family, I got to keep it in the divorce).  I set it so we
would be facing each other.

I saw Peter's parents leave at 7pm on the dot.  I should have guessed the
time wasn't an estimate.  Based on my encounter with his father the day
before, he was someone who liked to be in control (not unlike his son).

Before I could get to the door to open it (which I wanted to as this felt
like a date to me) he let himself in with his key.  He had on grey pants
that were pushed down so far it must have made it hard to walk, a grey wife
beater t-shirt and a cap with the beak facing backwards.  He was like I had
seen him months ago when he was partying, the white hip-hop gangster living
in an affluent suburban neighbourhood.  It reminded me of how young he
actually was.

Once again I had to wonder if he was coming for dinner and then off to
party with his friends, which meant no sucking on his cock (that I was
responsible for keeping him in line and not party did not figure into my
thought process).  I daren't ask as I didn't want to do anything to ruin my
time with him, this evening or the week.  The not knowing was driving me
crazy.

I contemplated offering him a beer, as I had a few more things to do in the
kitchen, but then thought twice because if he was going out partying I
didn't want to contribute to his alcohol-level.  Before this internal
debate had played out he said "yo, bring me a beer, bitch" (which he said
very African American) and did this gesture with his hands that grangta
types do in the movies when the meeting starts, a meeting that ends in a
shootout when the drug deal goes bad.  Again I was reminded of how young he
was and how weird white kids in the 'burbs are.

Just as I was thinking of how silly his persona was, I glanced over at the
mirror and saw myself in an outfit I used to wear when I went clubbing.
Who was I to judge?  Besides Peter had asked for a beer so I dutifully went
into the kitchen and got him one, though I poured it into one of my good
crystal glasses in keeping with the nice meal I made (and my fantasy that
this was akin to a date, even if odds were he was going out with his
friends afterwards).

After giving him his beer, Peter followed me back to the kitchen and leaned
against the kitchen doorframe and chatted with me as I took the Mac and
Cheese out of the oven to cool while we had our soup.

Fortunately for me he dropped the gantsa affectation because I likely would
not have understood what he was saying.

When we went to sit down for dinner, me following Peter carrying the two
bowls of soup, he paused at the table and then moved one place setting to
the head of the table and sat in that chair.  I assumed that in his home
his father sat at the head and here, Peter was the head.  Also the fancy
chinaware, silverware and crystal with us sitting across from each other
must have looked to creepily like a date to him.

This disabused me of any notion that this was a 'date' (which had been an
insane thought in the back of my head all day long).

When I opened the wine I had chosen, he declined saying he often had wine
but since he already had one beer he would stick to beer (making me think
again he was probably going out with his friends later).  Even though I was
supposedly in charge of this boy, I was giving him liquor and was on pins
and needles wondering what he would do later in the evening (and not
because I was responsible, but because I didn't want him to go).

Over dinner we had an interesting conversation.  I learned that Peter
wanted to go into engineering like his oldest brother.  In fact, I got the
sense that he looked up to him and almost worshiped him, but they weren't
close because Paul was the quiet one and being much older (at 22) had been
away at university for three and a half years.

His father was a lawyer (which probably explained some of his confidence
and matter-of-factness).  He was very involved in politics (and it seemed
that had led to Paul running for student council and he was now the VP
Finance at his university).

Peter talked more about Paul than himself which made me think that he was
lonely being alone with them away.  I was an only child so loneliness is
something I learned early to cope with and we only children get more
parental love and attention to compensate.  It must be hard on a child with
siblings when they go away and then the parents move to a new part of town
so you have to make new friends at a new school.

Again I was struck with how young he was.  This was a teenager with all of
the challenges that growing-up entailed.

After Peter helped my clear the table after what he called "one of the best
meals I have ever had" (something that made my heart burst), he proposed we
watch TV.  At 9pm one of his favourite shows was on.  It was a show about
teenage vampires or something in a high school setting.  Again it drove
home the gulf between us.

But before I could give it much thought, as I was turning on the TV and the
cable box, Peter removed his hat, threw it on the table and then pulled off
his shirt.  Once his shirt was off I saw the waistband and a good 1/3 of
his briefs since his pants he was wearing low and they weren't designer or
colourful boxers like he normally wore.  He had on a pair of white Fruit of
the Looms and they were white with the blue and gold stripe like the two
pairs he had given me of his oldest brother's.  But unlike Paul's soiled
briefs, these were much more soiled.  They were slightly grey and there
were separated at the seam over his left hip which made me conclude they
were old.  Was he wearing his brother's old briefs?

I tried not to stare and tried hard to focus on finding the channel he
wanted, the CW (not a channel I ever watched so I didn't know the number).
Peter removed his pants.

Like in his bedroom in the evening after supper when he settled in to do
homework of play on his computes he did not remove his clothes in a sexual
fashion.  He just took them off.  It was me staring at him doing this that
made it sexual and made it feel like it was in slow motion.  I had to keep
focussing back on the TV, which is where he was looking, so as not to miss
the channel he wanted.

"That one," he said.

Pressing select I put the remote control down and sat on the couch.  I
couldn't take my eyes of Peter.

Peter was so gorgeous.  His blond curls made his soft features even softer.
He looked like an angel standing in front of me.  And since he was so you,
yes I was turned on by that now, his body also had a softness.  Don't get
me wrong.  He was slim.  But there was no toned muscle yet.  His body was
just soft and smooth.  The tiny treasure trail he had between his navel was
gone (he must have shaved it off the last time he trimmed his pubes).  His
legs looked equally soft.

In the dark in my bedroom I loved how soft his skin and body was to my
touch.  But here, in just white underwear and socks he looked smooth to my
eyes.

As for the briefs, these well-worn pair of Fruit of the Looms were so worn
they had little holes and gaps at the seams and not just over the left hip
that was visible above the sagging pants he had now shed.  They also seemed
too tight, though with that big package they were trying to constrain any
size of underwear might be too tight.

When I looked from his briefs up to his face quizzically he said "these are
from when mom used to buy my underwear.  Thought you would appreciate
them!"  He broke into such a wide grin it confirmed how well he knew me, as
did the boner I now had under my tight black jeans.

"I do," I exclaimed without embarrassment, as I truly did.  He was stunning
in them.  He stunning in anything but in these tattered too small well-worn
briefs he looked not like Peter, but like peter pan or one of the lost boys
in a Hollywood movie, a flawless teen idol in tattered clothes and
fortunate for me, only one piece of clothing and it was barely holding back
(in fact accentuating) his big cock and balls.

"You asked about Paul's underwear.  Mom used to buy us all these same Fruit
of the Looms.  She claimed she couldn't afford to clothes three boys with
more expensive, which was crap, than that she could wash them with bleach,
which she never did.  David was the first to balk at having mom pick his
underwear.  He would demand the receipt and go back to Walmart and exchange
them, but all he could get in exchange, was a different style of Fruit of
the Loom."

I couldn't take my eyes off him in these cheap briefs that had holes in
them.  I was an idiot to sniff his oldest brother's FOTL briefs or to check
David out as he undressed yesterday.  This was the hottest sight I had ever
seen.

Peter was so cute and masculine and yet in a pair of probably a 14 year old
boy's FOTL briefs, a size of two too small and stretched so tight he was
bursting out of them; busting them so much the seams were being stretched
and the threads were breaking it seemed before my very eyes.

"When did you last wear these" I had to ask.

"I guess two years ago," he answered, which meant he was too big for them
at age 14, given all the holes, which for other kids (did I just think of
him as a kid) would mean waist and leg bands but the seams he was busting
were around the crotch and left hip which is where he kept his cock as with
a cock that big you have to point it in one direction or the other when
wearing briefs.

Regaining focus from him in his underwear to his voice I heard him explain
"eventually after I refused to let her buy me new ones, and most of my
other ones had become impossible to wear like this one, we settled on an
allowance for me to buy my own underwear.  I kept these as a souvenir
because they were the pair I was wearing when she caved."

The fact that he was celebrating a pyric victory over his mother aside,
something only child would do, he was so hot in these briefs that I could
not think of him sexually.  In fact, I think I was growing to love Fruit of
the Loom briefs.  Part of me wished his mother had fought back, though I
also loved seeing Peter every morning in different underwear and wondering
what he would choose.  And this answered my question of the day before when
David had undressed of why his Fruit of the Looms had a double red strip
and Paul's had a blue and gold stripe around the waist.  David's wanting
independence had led to what, a chance in cotton content?

"Took me a while, as designer underwear is expensive, but now I have a
pretty good underwear collection," he said.

"You do," I replied with appreciation, not caring that it was me basically
saying I stared through his window day and night.

"It's all about finding your own style," he said.

Hip-hop clothes in the suburbs for a 16 year old blond kid and designer
underwear.  He had style

The way his cock which was totally soft was pushing the cotton to its
limits as these briefs that were well worn and too small tried to house it
was riveting and I couldn't take my eyes off them.  This boy had definitely
outgrown Fruit of the Loom briefs.  I wondered if he got a hard-on if his
big cock would cause the fabric to break apart and fly all around the
apartment like an explosion.

That bizarre thought was interrupted when he said, having moved on from our
conversation about his underwear, "oh, my show has started".

Peter came and sat next to me and we began to watch the show.  I didn't
know the characters or why vampires were going to high school or (ok, I
used to be a nerdy kid) how they could be out during the day.  But the male
actors were all cute.

Cute as the actors were, I couldn't help looking over at Peter's big cock
barely contained in those too small briefs he had when he was only 14.

My inability to focus on anything but Peter's crotch and his underwear
while still trying to pretend to watch a show I had no interest in must
have been distracting.  Peter eventually put his hand on the back of my
head and pushed my face down towards his crotch.

"If this is what you want to watch, you might as well get a close up."

In another situation I might have thought his words were a rebuke, because
I wasn't paying attention to the show.  But I couldn't think of anything
other than this gorgeous teenager in his boyish underwear sitting next to
me on my couch and that big man sized cock underneath.

As my face grew closer and closer the slow motion returned.  I could see
every thread of the fabric.  I could see where his cock head had worn it
thin from rubbing day after day against it.  I thought I could make out
more than just the shape of his cock as it pushed against the fabric, I
thought (beyond the holes) I could see his flesh in spots it was so worn.

Peter didn't just push me closer; he pushed my face right into his crotch.
When my face pressed into his balls and my cheek made contact with his cock
which is so big it pushed my cheek up and not his cock flat, I
instinctively took in a deep breath and smell *him*, I smelled Peter his
sweat and pheromones and the oils of his skin and I came in my pants.

I was still cumming with my face buried into his boy briefs inhaling his
smell when he took his hand off the back of my head and went back to
watching his teen vampire TV show.

END OF CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

***