Note that the story below contains explicit depiction of consentual sexual congress involving a minor and an adult. If perusal or transmission of such material is unlawful in your jurisdiction, desist immediately. The author and Nifty.org disclaim any liability for consumption or transmission of this story to the fullest extent allowed by law.
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Slowly, methodically, I filled my lungs, taking in the rich, steamy air till they were full to bursting. Then I let it out in a blast, blowing out with it all the tension of a long work week. This "sick" day had come in the nick of time. I slid along the tiled bench into a slouch, bringing the pleasantly searing hot mineral water level up to just below my chin. At 6'2", it is a rare and delightful treat for me to find a tub large enough to accommodate my entire frame. I was in heaven.
Though I'd resisted as long as I could, finally my will wavered and I glanced at the wall clock. I only had this private room for an hour, and the fees for running over were punishing. The clock, however, stubbornly insisted that it was still 8:22 PM, which was the same thing it'd told me when I first stepped into the room.
I resisted the urge to sigh. Vacationing is a religious rite to me. Disturbing it with unnecessary irritation or any thought of work would be unthinkable sacrilege. So, unwilling, I heaved myself to my feet, the three-foot-deep bath coming up just above my waist, and stepped out of the tub.
Briefly I considered my options. To dry off entirely, soaking my towel, and put clothes back on for the fifty foot stroll to the resort's registration desk struck me as patently ridiculous. Ha ha. Besides, the exhibitionist in me liked the idea of strolling to the desk obviously entirely naked, with nothing but a modestly-sized towel between myself and the staff and other guests. I grinned a mischievous half-grin as I wrapped the towel lazily around my waist, covering the good bits but making sure to show off enough thigh to clearly communicate my underlying nudity, lifted the latch on the door, and stepped out.
The cool breeze down the corridor was a shock on my steaming skin. The linoleum squeaked as I started toward the front desk, and the steam cloud that had exited my private bath room had condensed on the white-painted walls. I made my way to the registration desk, glancing idly about me and picturing the other guests naked, and took my place in line behind an elderly couple. As they nattered on, a middle-aged woman and her teenage son came in the front door and got in line behind me.
The boy couldn't have been more than fifteen, and fourteen was probably a more accurate guess. He was short for his age, too, barely coming up to my sternum, and slender. The brisk Autumn weather had him wearing a t-shirt with a video game character on it over a long-sleeved tee, gray jeans that were clearly sagging, and a pair of small, round, wire-rimmed glasses. His pale face was covered with a smattering of freckles, and a shock of his unruly, chocolate brown hair stuck out from under the brim of a fitted cap advertising a brand of skate shoes, but not, I couldn't help noticing, the same brand he was wearing.
I nodded amiably at the mother, who nodded back curtly without making eye contact, and smiled at the boy. His hazel eyes met mine, his wandered south a bit, taking in my solidly-built, but fairly average, frame, glistening wet and flushed pink, and then his eyes darted uncomfortably to the side of the room.
I was intrigued. I turned forward and watched his reflection in the window. While his mother waited with clear impatience for the oldsters chewing their way through the conversation, he openly stared. His eyes roved up and down my back, from my half-inch dirty blond buzz cut, down my neck, past my broad shoulders, down my back, and rested on the small hollow between my towel and my back just over the spine. He drank that view in for a while, but finally tore his eyes away and stared pointedly at the wall.
The impish grin returned to my face and this time it spread from one end to the other. Casually, I hitched up the towel and adjusted it, but somehow this resulted in it sliding about an inch further down what was rapidly becoming my (if I do say so myself) ample and well-formed butt. Like magic, the kid's eyes were dragged back to that now somewhat deeper cleft. He actually - I kid you not - licked his lips.
The old couple having finally frustrated the desk clerk to their satisfaction, they creaked off toward the swimming pool. However, as I stepped up to the desk clerk, I felt a rush of fabric past my hips, followed by the sudden penetration of the cool breeze into places it had not been the moment before. Maybe it was my imagination, but I detected a hint of approval in the look of astonishment on the face of the woman behind the desk.
To my rear, an indignant astonished gasp. "EDWARD! How dare you?!"
I turned around, wearing the sort of wry expression you might find on the face of an adult man whose towel has been yanked off his hips in public. A slight widening of the mother's eyes before she averted them communicated her moment of interest to me. The man in line behind the woman and her son had a sour, jealous look on his face. I wasn't surprised. It's happened in locker rooms since college.
The kid, though - Edward - his face was unreadable as he held the towel at his side.
The tableau held for a moment. Then the woman snatched the towel out of her son's hand, began stammering a stream alternating from recrimination against her son, and apologies to me. I took the towel, wrapped it around my hips again, and went up to the desk. "The clock in my private room is apparently broken," I said. I heard the kid shift behind me, while his mother continued a muted tirade against him. The clerk apologized and said something about condensation and the battery. Then she handed me an egg timer from under the counter. "All right, well, if you want to fix it when I finish, it's room twelve." Silence from behind me. I exchanged pleasantries with the clerk and headed back to my room.
The door's slightly rusted spring pulled it shut. I looked at the latch. It hung, disengaged, from the door. Then I climbed back into the bath and slid into the water.
I didn't have long to wait. The doorknob turned, held open for a minute, then the door slid open and Edward stepped in, quickly closed the door behind him. He stood, facing the door, pressed against it. For several minutes.
I waited.
Finally, he stepped back, still facing the door, took a deep breath, and then turned to face me. I was sitting up - the water was slightly below my pecs. He met my eyes, looked me over, then looked down, at the floor. Another few minutes passed in which he shifted nervously. Then he said, "I... I told my mother I had to go to the bathroom."
He looked up, met my eyes. Held them this time. I smiled a lopsided smile which he returned with a nervous one, then gestured with my head toward the door. "The latch?"
He stared blankly for a few moments, then started, panicked a bit, and darted over to latch the door. Then he came back to the middle of the room. A bit uncertainly, he reached for the button on his jeans, giving me a glimpse of his brightly colored boxers.
"No," I said. He stopped, hand on his pants waistband, suddenly terrified, but his face went more toward awe when I rose slowly to my feet, steaming water sliding off my chest and stomach, till the water was below my hips. I walked forward, slowly, rising out. His eyes went straight to my penis as soon as I stepped out of the water.
I approached him, stood in front of him, facing him. I looked him up and down, soaking it up. His slight frame, his hand still in his pants, his face simultaneously showing terror and eagerness.
Almost as if by compulsion, he thumbed open the button. His pants slid a half-inch lower. I smiled at him, gently took his hand, pulled it away from his pants. For a moment, I held his hand between us, then slowly, guided it toward, to, then finally down onto my penis. His hand was hot, electric. His hand grasped me, squeezed gently. I closed my eyes, tilted my head back. Guided his hand along my rapidly growing shaft. Put my other hand on his hip, pulled him a little closer. He was shivering. I slid my hand round to the seat of his pants, then up to his boxers, then his back. Slowly, I lifted the shirts up his body. When my hand reached his neck, between his slender shoulders, he took his hand off my dick, pulled the shirts off over his head and tossed them aside.
I'd been going slow so far, to avoid spooking him, but the sight of his chest, his small, perfectly round, erect nipples, his smooth stomach sliding down into his underpants was too much for me to resist. Rapidly but not ungently, I turned him so his back was to the wall, pushed him up against it. Pulled - no, tore - my shirt off. Pressed my body up against his, hard. His eyes closed, his head tilted back. I ran my hands up and down his sides, wanted to touch every inch of his skin. His hands stroked my back, slid down to my hips. Tentatively, at first, he slid his hands to my buttocks, then with growing enthusiasm began to grab them hard. His fingers dug into my flesh. I could feel the red marks he was leaving.
I lowered my mouth to his neck, kissed it - gently, first, but harder as my lust grew. My cock was pressing, hard, into his belly, and he writhed against it, grinding himself against me. I slid a knee between his legs, felt the inside of his thighs with my leg. His erection was modestly sized, but hard as a diamond. Little grunts and quiet moans were escaping him, though he was clearly resisting as hard as he could.
Reluctantly, I pulled back - a few inches, just far enough to reach down to his fly and unzip it. His hands released their deathgrip on my ass and shot to my dick. He bit his lip, panting hard through his nose, driven wild with desire for my penis. A little less hastily, but with equal enthusiasm, I grabbed the waistband of his boxers in one hand and pulled outward. His eyes snapped open, locked on mine. I was struck by the light in them. Even through his glasses, they sparkled hypnotically.
My free hand stroked from his side, around to his belly, and slid down through the light fur of pubic hair to the base of his cock, then to the shaft, then to the foreskin, still wrapped around his cock head. Firmly I pulled his soft skin back with my work-callused hand, relishing the slick and sticky pool of fluid that flowed out around his cock head. With a firm but slippery grip, I stroked his little penis, only a very few times. Given his age, he had to have been right on the verge of blowing anyway, and it wasn't time for that yet.
Closing my eyes, I licked some of his semen off my hand, savoring the musky taste. His eyes watched greedily as I tasted him, then went down to the tip of my large rod, which was leaving a trail of clear come across the bottom of his ribcage. A little roughly, so I gasped, he grabbed my tip, got as much of me as he could on his hand, brought it to his mouth. He hesitated only a moment, then plunged it in, sucked at his cum-stained hand. I could tell from the look on his face that he was hooked, so, gently, I put my hand, covered in his juice, on his shoulder, and pushed him down. He went obediently. I lined my dick up with his mouth and he barely stopped to consider.
His mouth was too small to fit much more than part of my head, but it was all I could do to keep from blowing right there and then. I pinned his shoulders against the wall and thrust my dickhead all the way to the back of his mouth. This wasn't very far - only about an additional two inches, which on me is almost nothing - and it made him gag so hard, I relented in frustration, pulling out. He gasped for breath, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at me. On his face, surprisingly, there was no fear or anger - in fact, if anything, he looked disappointed. Given that my frustration was mounting and my erection wasn't subsiding, I couldn't help myself.
Taking hold of his shoulders, I helped him to his feet, guided him to the bench in front of the soaking pool, and pushed him firmly down. His breath sped up as I grabbed his pants and undershorts by the waistband, tugged them halfway down his thighs, then took his hips and deftly flipped him over onto his hands and knees. I took his balls firmly in one hand to hold his hips level, pressed his shoulders down to the bench with the other. His ass spread, his little pink hole in front of me, I took what precum I could from his foreskin, mingled it with my own to lubricate my dick, put the head of my dick against his warm hole. He gasped as they came into contact.
Firmly, careful of the angle, I pushed in. He let out a strangled gasp, shoved a hand into his mouth and bit down on it. The heat inside him was astounding, wonderful. I rested, head in, only a moment before sliding my rock-hard, burning hot, slick shaft further in. The groan he let out would have drawn attention from the hallway, guaranteed, if his hand hadn't already been stuffed in his mouth. I drew out to just the edge of my cock's head and slid home again, knowing neither of us could last much longer.
Steadily, steeling myself to not go too fast, I pounded the kid's ass, hips hitting against his buttocks, then drawing out, then sliding the whole thing back in. The tension in my balls was like a vise, I was resisting coming so hard, and he was dripping a steady stream of clear cum onto the bench. His moans very quickly switched entirely to delight, and at last, I couldn't hold it any more. With a long, slow, barely restrained groan, I shot. My cum sprayed deep into his insides, filling him up. I could literally feel my fluids pooling against my dick inside him.
The hot jets I shot deep into him must have driven him over the edge, too - he bit down on his hand almost hard enough to draw blood, barely suppressing what would otherwise have been a shriek of ecstasy, and he sprayed a surprising amount of cum onto the bench. Shot after ropy white shot sprayed from his dick onto the bench, leaving a huge pool of milky semen between his knees.
I collapsed forward onto him, exhausted, but could only relish the feel of our hot, sweaty skin pressed together for a few moments. Presently, I slid my dick back out of him, bringing with it a surprising amount of my own semen to mingle with the pool of his on the bench. I stood, helped him up without getting too much cum on himself, helped him off the bench. He pulled his pants up, half-smiling absently at me, his mind still reeling from the powerful orgasm. Not that my brain wasn't doing the same.
I bent over, grabbed up his shirts, tossed them to him. He caught them, pulled them on, buttoned his fly, zipped up. I went to where I'd folded my pants up, went into my wallet, took out a business card. He held his hand out, but I slid right up to press my body against his again and slipped the card into his back pocket, then patted his butt and winked. He grinned. Headed to the door. Cracked it, peeked out, opened a little wider and glanced furtively both ways down the hall, then slipped out, closed the door behind him.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, then glanced at the egg timer. Fully fifteen minutes left on the hour. Gratefully, I stepped into the tiled bath and slid back under the steaming hot water.