Date: Mon, 13 May 2019 12:34:41 +0000
From: Ben Coolen <bencoolen@protonmail.com>
Subject: Rooming with Dylan, chapter 5

Rooming with Dylan

By Ben Coolen

bencoolen@protonmail.com

Readers, please keep in mind that this story is 100% fictional. In real
life no man is better than the other, and nobody is entitled to treat other
people cruelly.

This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, humiliation, oral
sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is
illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it
immediately.

Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free
service running.

Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text.

Chapter Five

-------

"Well, next Saturday you'll have a chance to prove to me that your
cocksucking skills are worth more than that. Cocksuckers are disposable,
you know," Dylan said and grabbed his backpack.

"What time do you want me to be at your house on Saturday?"

"I'll let you know."

-------

On Saturday morning I was lazing in my bed after breakfast and dozed
off. The ringtone of my phone next to my ear woke me up. I glanced at the
screen: Dylan. Too drowsy to pick the phone up I just pressed the speaker
button.

"Yeah," I groaned.

"Whassup, cocksucker," Dylan's voice greeted me, loud and clear as
always. I snapped out from my drowse and hurried to turn off the speaker
mode.

"Nothing much."

"What time is it now?"

I glanced at the screen.

"About eleven."

"One o'clock sharp."

I could hear skateboards rattling in the background.

"Okay. What's the address?"

He told me the address and instructed:

"Park your car a few blocks away. Just press the button next to the gate
and I'll buzz you in. Don't be late, gay boy," he said and ended the call.

I had time to shower, get dressed and have something to eat before the time
of the rendez-vouz. I left right after twelve to make sure I wouldn't be
late. I didn't have any trouble getting there, the gps of my phone guided
me to the right address 35 minutes before the given time.

I parked my car a couple of blocks away, as instructed, and waited in the
car listening to the radio and thinking what he would expect from me. I
knew I had to prove myself more valuable to him than the other cocksucker
who offered his services -- despite being less handsome and apparently
having less money than him. There was nothing in the world I enjoyed more
than pleasing Dylan and making him feel good. I would do anything he
wanted. Anything.

I was fully aware that he was selfishly using me as his sexual outlet and
errand boy. But I loved him from the bottom of my heart and worshiped the
ground he walked on, and if being his servant was the price I had to pay
for spending some time with him, so be it.

The time came. I got out of the car and walked the remaining few hundred
yards to his house.

Their property was surrounded by a six-foot brick wall, and the house
appeared to be big. Judging by the top parts of the white stucco villa that
were visible from the street, it was pretty impressive.

Dylan had never told me exactly what his parents did for a living but I had
heard they were some sort of designers. Apparently designing something paid
off well. I smiled to myself. Dylan sure got a winning ticket in the
lottery of life: he was smart, strikingly good-looking, confident and well
off. I felt prouder of him than ever.

In the middle of the wall was an iron gate and, as he had said, a button
next to it. I walked over and pressed it for a few seconds. In a minute a
blue light indicated that a camera was screening my face.

"Yeah? What do you want?" A male voice asked me over the intercom. The
voice didn't belong to Dylan.

"I came to see Dylan, Sir."

I could hear laughter at the other end.

"Sir! He called you Sir! Haha!"

The gate slid smoothly aside, and I stepped into a huge, beautiful garden
with a carefully tended lawn, a large swimming pool and a state-of-the-art
home yard basketball court. A shirtless young guy in dark blue basketball
shorts walked across the lawn towards me. Another shirtless guy was holding
a basketball under his foot, watching us.

I immediately recognized the young man in the blue trunks as Dylan's
younger brother, Skeeter. I had seen him a couple of times with his big
brother. I didn't know him, but I knew he was a rising star in the football
team of another high school.

He was a younger version of Dylan all right. The same arrogance and
confidence, the same smirk, the familiar intense eyes and the slim, trimmed
body. But whereas Dylan's could be best described as wired, Skeeter's body
showed the results of constant merciless exercise under professional
coaching: his slender torso was evenly decorated with muscles.

He was wearing a black baseball cap backwards, a thick fringe of blond teen
hair gushing out from under the strap. His basketball shorts were hanging
very low on his hips, revealing the upper part of his white Calvin Klein
underwear. The thin boxer trunks were soaked in sweat, and shamelessly
transparent on his loins; only his crotch area was properly covered by
thicker cotton.

He stopped in front of me and gave me the once-over. We both knew that he
could crush me without breaking a sweat, and he knew that I knew that.

"Dylan's out. What the fuck do you want from him anyway?" he asked.

I was taken aback by his bluntness.

"I... I'm a friend of his and I came... came to see him."

Skeeter's friend wandered over and settled behind him, staring at me
menacingly. He was shorter than Skeeter but carried the same athletic
build. His long black locks were combed behind his ears and kept in place
by a backward baseball cap -- an essential part of a high-school jock's
outfit.

"You're Dylan's friend?" Skeeter asked with a disbelieving sneer.

I nodded.

"You sure don't look like one of his buddies, dude. He doesn't hang with
losers. What're you here for?" Skeeter questioned me.

I wasn't prepared to answer that question, and I sure as hell wasn't going
to tell the truth.

"Well, I was... I mean..."

"Speak up, dude. You can speak, right?"

"Why don't we just kick his ass and send him back to his mommy, Skeeter,"
his friend suggested and flexed his biceps.

"We'll do just that Nash, if he doesn't come up with a good explanation why
he's trespassing our property."

Skeeter stepped closer, and I instinctively took two steps back, until my
back touched the gate. He took three more steps, entering deep into my
un-comfort zone. He braced his forearm on the gate above my head and leaned
in so close to me that our faces almost touched; a classic move to terrify
a weaker kid.

Skeeter's body reeked of jock sweat, and I could feel his heat. His air of
authority and bold-faced young masculinity made my legs feel wobbly.

He was a couple of inches taller than me, so I had to look up to meet his
piercing blue eyes. He leaned in to whisper in my ear; I could feel
droplets of his spit on my earlobe.

"So, what the fuck are you here for, pussy-boy? Speak up or we'll beat the
shit out of you," he whispered.

"I was gonna... gonna..." I stuttered, but I was too upset to form a real
sentence.

"I was gonna... gonna... gonna..." Skeeter mimicked me aloud with a
high-pitched voice and his friend cracked up.

"I was gonna... gonna help him with something. With homework, I mean."

Skeeter lowered his voice to a whisper again. His next words terrified me.

"You're not one of Dylan's pals, dude. You're his flunky, the little faggot
he told me about, ain't you?"

He raised his voice again so that his pal could hear him taunt me.

"You were gonna... gonna... gonna... help Dylan with homework, is that what
you're saying? You expect me to believe that?"

"He was gonna... gonna... gonna kiss Dylan's ass," Nash suggested.

"Yeah. I mean, no, to help with homework."

Skeeter touched the shorter boy's shoulder.

"Nash, get my phone, willya? Dial hashtag one, that's for Dylan. I don't
believe a word this little wimp is saying."

Nash went to fetch the phone and handed it to Skeeter who was quiet for a
minute. Dylan didn't answer.

"He's probably fucking some cunt as usual. I'll try again later. You can
wait here by the gate if you want. But we'll keep an eye on you."

I stood there and watched as the boys returned to their rowdy game, trying
to wrestle the ball from each other's hands and making daring swoops
towards the hoop, the soles of their basketball shoes screeching on the
blue surface of the court. I particularly liked to watch when one of them
broke through and jumped as high as possible to score, and his already
low-hanging shorts fell even lower, exposing the tight mounds of his
boxer-clad buttocks. Despite my nervousness I had to admire the effortless
way those athletic youths darted back and forth, wrestled for the ball and
jumped with seemingly limitless endurance.

After fifteen minutes or so I got tired of standing, so I walked over to a
garden chair a couple yards away and sat down. I took out my phone just to
have something to do. Suddenly a basketball hit the table right in front of
me with a loud thump.

Skeeter was pointing his finger at me.

"Did I give you permission to sit down, fucker?"

I sprung up to my feet and the boys snickered at my reaction.

"Sorry."

"Fuck sorry."

Skeeter sat in the chair I had just vacated and rested his feet on the
table. I stood in front of him, looking at his angelic young face, feeling
like a kid summoned to see the headmaster.

"I'll try calling Dylan again. If he doesn't pick up, we'll kick you the
fuck outta here."

This time Dylan took the call and his brother explained the situation.

"Man, we got some fucking pussy-boy here. He says he's here to meet
you. You know this loser?" Skeeter asked, looking at me.

Skeeter listened to his brother's reply and looked at me.

"What's your name, motherfucker?"

"Ru... Russ."

"He says his name is Ross."

He listened to his brother's reply and looked at me again, frowning.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. He's a fucking liar. Should I call
nine-one-one?"

"No, no, not Ross. It's Ru-Russ. My name's Russ," I tried to explain.

"Now he says his name is Russ. Wait, I'll put you on the speaker."

Dylan's voice said:

"I don't know anybody called Russ. I guess you'd better call the cops, lil'
man."

I panicked.

"Stevens! It's me, Dylan, Stevens!"

"You heard that, man. The motherfucker changed his story again. Now his
name is fucking Stevens."

"What's he look like?" Dylan asked.

"Well, he's skinny and nerdy, a sissy for sure. Probably a faggot. And he's
shit scared of us, hahaha!"

Dylan laughed for a long time.

"Ehehehe! A scared guy named Stevens who looks like a sissy. I think I
might know him."

"Why don't you take a look yourself?" Skeeter said and pointed the lens of
his phone at my face.

"Stevens, why didn't you say it's you in the first place? He's totally
harmless, Skeeter. Tell him to wait, I'll be there pretty soon."

"Got that, bro."

With that the boys returned to their game while I stood next to the chair
and watched them, shifting my weight from one leg to another. After twenty
minutes or so the gate slid open and Dylan steered his black Jeep into the
parking lot next to a silver BMW and a blue Yamaha motorbike.

He got out and picked up his skateboard from the trunk.

"What's up ladies!", he greeted us and went inside. He left the front door
open. No one seemed to stop me so I followed him.

"I'll go get something to eat. Wait for me downstairs," Dylan said,
pointing at the stairs.

I climbed down and found myself in a really cool rec room, sort of like a
second living room with a huge screen, four maroon armchairs, a matching
L-shaped couch and a bar counter with stools. I sat down on the edge of the
couch. After a while Dylan came downstairs with a plate of sandwiches and a
large bottle of pop.

"You kept me waiting for an hour," I said, my voice trembling a little.

"Yeah, I had business," he replied with his mouth full of food.

"Your brother is a fucking bully," I tried to make him interested in my
suffering.

He laughed.

"Skeeter fucked around with you a bit? Haha, forget about it, he was just
having a little fun with you. He does that all the time."

I couldn't come up with anything to say so I just sat there, watching Dylan
munch his sandwiches with no hurry. Finally I felt I had to say something.

"Dylan, you told me to come over and I'm here now."

He looked at me like he had forgotten I was there and burped.

"Look Stevens, I don't need a blowjob today. You can go home if you want."

"What? You changed your mind just like that? I kept my whole Saturday free
just for you because you told me to come over and now you dismiss me? Just
like that? Can you at least tell me why!"

He frowned and took a sip of his drink. Then he turned to look at me.

"Well, if you really have to know, I tried the other cocksucker out
today. I was horny and you know I can always use some extra dough."

"Dylan! You promised not to!"

Dylan sighed.

"Look, he texted me right after I called you and offered 75 bucks if I let
him suck me off. I told him to meet me in the woods behind the skate
park. He paid up front and I let him do it. That's all."

Dylan took another bite of sandwich and went on.

"Besides, I didn't promise you anything. I said you could prove your
cocksucking skills to me. Well, you can do that some other time, what's the
big deal? And I've got great news for you dude, the other cocksucker was no
good so I just dumped my load and walked away with his money."

Dylan saw the disappointment on my face and chuckled.

"Aww, look at you, you wanted to suck my dick sooo bad and now you're a sad
little gay boy, hehehe."

He thought about it for a while. Then a sly smile appeared on his face.

"Maybe I can find you a cock to suck after all. Skeeter! Come downstairs
for a sec!" he shouted.

I realized immediately what he was up to. Skeeter was sizzling hot, but I
was scared to death of him. And Dylan couldn't pass me on to his little
brother just like that, could he?

"Oh no, please Dylan, no."

Skeeter's voice called back from upstairs.

"Waddya want?"

"Don't do this to me, please." I pleaded.

Dylan paid no attention to me.

"Come to the den lil' man, I've got something for you," Dylan yelled, and
in a minute we heard his brother thumping down the stairs.

Skeeter appeared at the doorway wearing only his underwear and socks, his
blond hair all messy and sweaty. My gaze fixed to the bulge in his
boxers. It looked like something long and thick was hiding under the thin
white cotton.

"This better be important, man," he said and leaned his back on the counter
next to Dylan.

"It is," Dylan said and pointed at me with his thumb.

"Stevens here is a homo and he desperately wants to suck you off," he
explained nonchalantly.

"What? Fuck no!" Skeeter spat out.

Dylan chuckled.

"Skeeter, how many times have I heard you bitching about not getting a
proper blowjob from any of your chicks? Well, I'm offering you the services
of a dedicated cocksucker."

"You're offering him to me? So, you've let him suck you off?"

"Yeah, a few times. He knows how to please a guy, believe me. And he needs
a dick in his mouth real bad."

Nash appeared at the doorway, curious to see what was happening. He leaned
on the doorframe.

"What the fuck's going on here?" He asked.

"Dylan says I should let this fag suck me off."

"He says what? Holy fuck, hehe! I've heard stories about guys using fags
but I thought they were bullshit. You gonna let him do that, Skeet?"

Skeeter looked at me, his eyes full of contempt.

"I dunno. The idea of letting some fag touch me feels weird," he snapped.

Dylan gave him a big-brother smile.

"Suit yourself then. But listen. No chick sucks dick like a fag. And you
don't need any sweet talk to make him do it, he's here to service you."

"I ain't doing anything back," Skeeter defended his manhood.

"Who says you have to? Well, I sometimes give him my dirty boxers or socks
to sniff afterwards."

"Yuck, that's fucking sick," Nash exclaimed.

Skeeter pondered his answer for a long time, looking at me and biting his
lower lip which looked sexy as hell.

"I ain't showered and I stink. He'll puke on me."

"No problem, man. Stevens loves your stink," Dylan mused.

Skeeter eyed me for a good while. Then a sly smile appeared on his face.

"He loves my stink?"

"You bet your ass."

Skeeter looked at me for what felt like an eternity, but then he gave me a
shit-eating grin.

"Okay, homo-Stevens, let's find out if you really like my stink. Come over
here and have a go," he said and pointed at a spot on his left shoulder.

I stood there, frozen. My cock told me to go, but the part of my brain that
was still working told me not. Approaching him would mean revealing myself
to Skeeter and Nash as a shameless cocksucker -- a fact that Dylan already
knew. On the other hand, there was nothing I wanted more right there and
then to have Skeeter's dick in my mouth and touch his ripped body.

I looked at his blue eyes and arrogant smile and let my own eyes wander
down his tanned body; I took in his broad shoulders, washboard abs, slim
waist and firm legs. All I had to do was go through the humiliation of
revealing my secret desires to this cocky and reckless youngster and his
friend. I glanced at Dylan who looked amused. He knew I would comply. Nash
was watching the scene with a disbelieving but hopeful little smile.

I took one more look at Skeeter's grinning face and took the necessary
steps. I leaned on the counter next to him and touched his shoulder lightly
with my nose and took a deep whiff of his sweaty body. The contact made
Skeeter wince a little. I took another whiff.

"I can't fucking believe this guy," Skeeter exclaimed.

I had imagined this scene countless times in the locker room after PE class
while secretly admiring the jocks peel off their steamy gear, play their
rowdy games and fill the cramped room with their masculine odor. I dreamed
of walking over to them and smelling and touching their muscled bodies. And
now I was doing it for real. My cock pulsed in my pants.

I heard Dylan chuckle when he watched me nuzzle his little brother's sweaty
body. I didn't care. I moved my nose from Skeeter's shoulder to his hard
bicep. I expected him to push me away in disgust any second, but he let me
snuffle his muscles, instinctively flexing them against my nose.

"Hehehe, look how much the faggot loves me," Skeeter laughed as I worshiped
his gun.

"Toldya, lil' man," Dylan mused.

The guys chatted about me like I was some sort of pet they owned.

"Are all faggots like him?" Skeeter wanted to know.

"I don't think so, I guess Stevens is more of a freak than most of them."

"There's a homo in my homeroom class. He's almost like one of the guys,"
Nash chimed in.

"Yeah, I know, I heard some of them play sports..." Dylan was interrupted
by the ringtone of his phone. He took the call with a wide smile when he
saw who was calling.

"Cassieeee, the love of my life! I'm good, how about you baby-girl? Oh
nooo... Sad and lonely? Aww, poor thing. They left you home all alone? How
could they do that to you? Aha. You want me to come over? Aha. Aha. Okay,
I'll just take a quick shower and I'm on my way, babe!" he cooed.

With that he disappeared through the doorway and left me at the mercy of
two obnoxious and selfish brats.

Skeeter and Nash looked at each other and grinned. They knew they now had
free rein to whatever they wanted with me. Skeeter pondered his next moves,
biting his lower lip in anticipation.

"Now where were we? Oh yea, he was sniffing me. Look Stevens, I got a real
treat for you!" Skeeter said and bent his right arm behind his head,
exposing his smooth armpit to me.

"Go ahead," he said and Nash let out a delighted giggle.

"Skeeter," I pleaded, but that was a mistake. He looked suddenly pissed.

"Don't call me Skeeter, boy, or I'll punch your lights out. My friends call
me Skeeter. You're not a friend of mine, don't forget that."

Nash soothed his hot-headed friend.

"Come on man, no big deal. He can call you something else. How
about... boss... or master... or something?"

Skeeter looked at me for a long time, like he was seizing me up. Then he
smiled.

"He can call me... Daddy."

Nash cracked up.

"Daddy? He's a fucking senior, Skeet," he blurted out.

"Oh yeah? Look at him man, he sure don't look like a senior right now, does
he?"

"Hehehehe, you're right, he looks more like a boy!"

When the commotion had dried out, Skeeter bent his arm again behind his
head.

"Come to Daddy, faggot."

All my resistance was gone. I braced my hand on the younger boy's shoulder
for support and leaned in to press my face into his warm, smooth-shaven
armpit. I felt the hot and moist skin against my nose and filled my lungs
and mind with the essence of a sweat-soaked high school jock; an odor most
people would call repulsive, but I couldn't get enough of it. I took
another big whiff.

"Yeah, that's a good boy, have a piece of Daddy," Skeeter taunted me and
used his free hand to hold my head tight in his pit. My lips were pressed
to his sweat-covered skin, and I felt an urge to taste it with my
tongue. The taste of his armpit was heavy with salt but it also carried a
faint slushy taste of old deodorant. He held my head in a tight grip, but
that wasn't necessary. I didn't want to be anywhere else.

My unnatural stance got me a bit off balance and my crotch momentarily
brushed Skeeter's bare thigh, making him exclaim:

"Holy fuck Nash, this fag has a boner!"

"Hahaha, of course he does! He's yearning to get his lips around your
fuck-stick man!" Nash burst out, encouraging his friend to accept Dylan's
offer.

Skeeter let go of my head but grabbed some of my hair in his fist. His grip
wasn't too hard, but firm enough for him to guide my head the way he
wanted.

"Keep sniffin' boy," he said and pressed my head downwards.

I took in the smell of the space between his pecs, the mounds of his abs,
and the valleys between them where I managed to lap up some precious drops
of jock sweat, and then my nose met his navel and the beginning of his thin
treasure trail. I already felt my chin pressing on his bulge when he bent
my head back so that I had to look him in the eyes. I saw no signs of jest
in them anymore, just raw lust.

"Dylan said you like to sniff guys' dirty underwear. Have a go with my
Calvins, sicko. I've been wearing these since yesterday morning," he said
and pulled my face against the pouch of his boxers.

Before my face hit the target I was able to notice that they looked new and
pearl-white except for a couple of yellowish stains next to the fly. And
then I took a long breath, and a loud moan escaped my mouth.

The stinging odor of young athlete's sweaty crotch was raw and
merciless. The intoxicating concoction contained all the spices one could
expect; ball sweat, piss, precum, testosterone, aggression -- his genitals
smelled like the sheer power of young masculinity.

"You like that, boy?"

"Yes."

He bent my head back again.

"Yes what, boy?"

"Yes Daddy."

The boys laughed and Skeeter guided my face back on his bulge.

I noticed that his rod was hard and stretched the front of his underwear. I
kissed it through the thin fabric, making it grow bigger and harder. Nash
who watched the show from his ringside seat, seemed to notice it too.

"Looks like you made up your mind about the blowjob, huh?" he snickered to
his buddy.

Skeeter looked at him.

"Should I let him do it, man?"

Nash licked his lips. His face was flushed and his gaze was intense. He
wanted to see me suck Skeeter's cock.

"Yeah. I think you should," he said.

"You swear not to tell a soul about this? Like ever?"

"I swear."

Skeeter wanted desperately to have his cock serviced but he was still
hesitant. He seemed to think hard, without letting go of my hair.

"Fuck, how can I know that you wont' blabber about it when you're high or
drunk?" He groaned.

"I won't man," Nash assured him, but Skeeter wasn't convinced. He thought
for a minute before setting his terms.

"He gives head to both of us and we're in this together. Okay?"

Nash stared at me. I could see lust in his eyes.

"You got it."

"Okay. Let's do it." Skeeter decided.

Skeeter bent my head back again and I looked at him. His command was simple
and clear.

"Did you hear what I said, boy? You can suck Daddy off now. How's that?"

I knew that I really, really wanted to please this superb hunk of a boy.

"Thanks Daddy," I said, and the guys cracked up.

"Good girl!" Skeeter laughed.

I took hold of the waistband of his Calvins and pulled them down, exposing
first a neatly trimmed lawn of pubes that were surprisingly dark in
contrast with his blond hair, and then the root of his dick. I saw
immediately that it was thicker that Dylan's and hoped it wouldn't be much
bigger. I pulled the boxers down to his thighs and his rod sprang out in
its entire glory like the mast of a battleship. It was maybe an inch longer
than his big brother's; I would need all the skills I had developed sucking
off Dylan and practicing with the cucumbers I kept buying from our nearby
grocery store.

I pulled Skeeter's underwear down to his ankles, and he lifted his left
foot so I could pull the boxers off.

He dangled his socked foot in front of my face.

"Take my socks off, boy."

I peeled the white Puma ankle sock off his foot and waited for him to lift
the other foot so I could take it off too. I was just about to put them
aside when Nash got a nasty idea. Watching Skeeter humiliate me was clearly
a big turn-on for him.

"Skeet, make him kiss your feet."

"Fuck, you're sick, Nash, haha! You heard him, son. Kiss my feet."

I felt a sudden urge to show them how far I was willing to go to please
them and make them enjoy their superiority. I crouched down and kissed the
top of Skeeter's right foot.

"You like my feet, boy?"

"Yes Daddy," I said and gave his foot another kiss, looking at him in the
eye. He bit his lower lip and I could see he was drunk from the enormous
power he suddenly had over an older boy. He was jerking his cock, preparing
it for being serviced by me.

Nash walked slowly closer to us. His mouth was slightly open and he fondled
his crotch through his shorts.

He stopped right next to me and hunched down.

"Look at me, boy," he ordered and I complied, making contact with his hazel
eyes.

He swiped some of his unruly locks back behind his ears.

"Tell us what you are, boy," he ordered.

"I dunno."

"Don't lie to me boy, you know what you are."

"A faggot?"

"Yes. Say it. And keep kissing Skeeter's feet."

"I'm a faggot."

Nash was rubbing his crotch.

I kissed Skeeter's toes.

"I'm a faggot!"

I kissed the arch of his foot.

"I'm a faggot!"

I pressed my lips on the downy hair on his ankle when Skeeter stopped me.

"Okay, enough of that. Suck me off now, fag," he said, and offered me his
cock. It was fully hard now.

A large drop of precum had oozed out from his piss slit. In a second it
would be falling down. I stuck my tongue out and lapped in the first taste
of Skeeter's ball juice, but I saw more of it already pouring out. I didn't
want to miss a drop so I opened my mouth and enjoyed the feeling of his
cock sliding in between my lips.

Skeeter let out a sigh. He had just discovered how accurately Dylan had
described my abilities to him.

"Ahhhh..."

I placed my hands on his hips and helped him with the first steps of using
a cocksucker; I pulled him closer and then pushed back again, setting in
motion the steady rhythm of fucking. He picked it up quickly, however, and
we worked in unison to provide him maximal sexual pleasure.

As he didn't need my guidance anymore, I felt his firm thighs and tight
buttocks and enjoyed the feeling of his powerful muscles tensing and easing
against my fingers. He fucked my face and I used my already skilled lips
and tongue to pleasure his slimy rod as it pumped in and out of my mouth.

I was pleased to notice that my practice with the cucumbers had paid
off. After focusing my mind to the task and relaxing my throat muscles I
was able to take his cock to the root. The coarse meadow of his pubes
tickled my nose and lips pleasantly.

What more could I do to please Skeeter? An idea, a potentially suicidal
one, crossed my mind. It was a move that I had so far experienced only with
myself, intending to perform it to Dylan as a part of my upcoming
cocksucker aptitude test. I moved my right hand between his legs and
explored the area behind his bouncing ball sack, until my middle finger
found what I was searching for: the spot behind the pouch, dangerously
close to the crack. I looked up to see his reaction, ready to pull back if
necessary.

Skeeter looked horrified. He opened his mouth to order me to stop, but at
that moment I pressed that special spot with my finger, hoping to god that
it would be as sensitive as my own.

Instead of an angry command, a groan escaped his mouth.

"Aaaaahh fuckkkk!" he yelled and threw his head back.

I kneaded his G-spot while I felt his rock-hard abdomen and tight chest
with my left hand, and he allowed me to do it. Occasionally the tip of my
middle finger sneaked into the hot and sweaty valley between his buttocks,
but he was too ecstatic to protest.

Both of us would have loved to continue doing it for much, much longer but
Skeeter reached the edge after a minute or two. He grabbed my hair and I
opened my mouth wide, eager to catch every drop of the cum he was about to
feed me.

"Umhhhhaahh..."

And with that grunt my mouth was filled with warm, slimy jock sperm. It
tasted young and fresh, slightly milder than his big brother's, but not a
bit less masculine. I noticed the biggest difference in their cum when I
tried to swallow the first shipment: Skeeter's substance was considerably
stickier and I didn't manage to consume all of it before the second and
third shots filled my mouth.

I had to pull back to swallow his load, but three thick strings of sperm
connected his softening cock to his cocksucker's lips. When I got the sperm
in my mouth safely down in my belly, I dutifully slurped in the precious
strings.

Skeeter panted for a while, but like a true athlete he was quick to
recover. He looked down at me and grinned.

"You're an awesome cocksucker, boy."

I smiled back.

"Thanks."

But Nash was already waiting for me with his shorts down to his ankles. His
cock was hard and ready; I was pleased to see that it was considerably
smaller than Skeeter's. I would have no trouble taking care of it.

Nash took a look at my face and grimaced.

"Fuck, faggot. You expect me to dip my cock in Skeeter's cum? Go wash your
face and lips, for godssake."

I got up with heavy legs and limped around the bar counter to wash my face
under the faucet. Then I gargled a couple mouthfuls of water and returned
to my service station on the floor. Nash glanced at my face and was
satisfied enough to stick his cock into my mouth and start fucking my
face. But the young macho was too horny to last for long and he shot his
load in no time. Then he turned away sheepishly and pulled his shorts
up. He avoided looking at me and said to Skeeter.

"That was hot. Thanks, Skeet."

Skeeter smiled and picked up his boxers.

"Any time, buddy."

Pretty soon Nash said his goodbyes. I knew it was time for me to take off,
too.

"I think I'd better get going, too," I said.

Skeeter smiled. To my surprise it was a friendly smile.

"Sure. You okay, kid?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, we weren't too rough with you or anything, right? That's just how
we keep up our jock rep, you know."

"Yeah, I got that right away. No problem..." I lied.

"Wanna do this again, sometime?"

"Yeah. Absolutely!"

"Gimme your Whatsapp, I'll hit you up. Oh and yeah, Dylan said he sometimes
lets you have his boxers, right? You want these?" He asked, holding up his
white Calvins.

"Yeah. Please."

"Sure, buddy. Here." He tossed the underwear to me and I caught it mid-air.

"Thanks... Skeeter."

He smiled, not opposing to me using his name anymore.

"Socks?" he asked, nodding at the pair on the floor.

"Thanks," I said and picked them up.

Skeeter walked me to the door butt-naked.

"Take care, Stevens."

"You too, Daddy," I said, and he smirked a little before closing the door.

I drove home with Skeeter's boxers and socks on the shotgun seat,
occasionally caressing them with my fingers. I was determined to bury my
face in them the second I got into the privacy of my bedroom.

------

After that day Dylan turned to me for relief less and less frequently until
he stopped contacting me all together, resorting to his constantly growing
collection of adoring girls. He moved out of town soon after graduation and
became a very successful music producer and DJ in California. I still miss
him, but not as much as I miss Skeeter.

I served as Skeeter's cocksucker until he graduated from high school. Those
two years with him were the best of my life so far. He soon realized my
potential and took full advantage of it.

I was his sexual outlet when he was horny, his loyal listener and scapegoat
when he was frustrated, and someone who was always on call for him in case
he needed something. I also helped him with his chores when he was busy
with school or football or girls, i.e. most of the time. Cleaning his
bedroom, picking up and sorting his laundry and scrubbing the bathroom he
shared with Dylan became therefore a part of my weekly routine.

He appreciated the fact that I was always extremely discreet; I never
approached him in public and always made sure he didn't have company when I
came over to straighten up his room. A young man with Skeeter's reputation
could not take the risk of being seen with a guy like me.

After graduation Skeeter got recruited to a college in Florida and
continues to play football there. He still chats with me online
sometimes. Recently he told me about a neighbor of his, a gay student who
has a crush on him. The guy does his housework, but Skeeter doesn't want
blowjobs from him; he told me that nobody could ever suck his cock like
me. I was so proud to hear that, and I was glad he had someone to take care
of his chores; I knew how sloppy he is and how much he hates housework.

I still have the first pair of Calvin boxers and Puma socks Skeeter gave me
the day I met him. They, and the jockstrap he was wearing when they won
state championship, are my treasures.

Did you like the story or not? Please drop me a line or two:

bencoolen@protonmail.com