Date: Sun, 13 Sep 2020 16:11:31 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Boy on Run | Part 6 - REVISED The continuing story of two boys who met during summer vacation in Mexico, now separated geographically, but together in their hearts. Warning: fetishes ahead. If you enjoy any of the many beautifully written works on Nifty, please consider donating: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================== "Wait - I thought Earl was your first," Brent interrupted his friend, cocking his head in confusion. On the laptop screen, Stinson Abbey smiled and shrugged. "Nope. I taught him how to spank it. And then we started doing other stuff." The two 13-year-old's had grown very close, after a chance meeting in Mexico the previous summer. But with Brent O'Malley living in Vancouver, and Stinson in North Carolina, the two could only hang out through video conferencing. And since both boys shared bedrooms with brothers, "date nights" were rare events. After long days at school, then team practice and homework, most nights they'd just check in for brief calls, while exchanging sexy texts and photos for stealthy self-care in their bathrooms. But it was late that Saturday night, and with his little brother Lawson snoring loudly in the other bed, Stinson pulled the covers over his head, resting his laptop on his thighs, giving Brent a blue-hued view of his near-nakedness, from the 5-inch erection he caressed through snug little briefs, to his broad shoulders, and handsome face, framed with short brown hair and a pair of headphones.. At the other end, Brent was alone his own bedroom, with his older brother out on date, and his parents visiting neighbors. As usual, Brent was teasing Stinson mercilessly, chiding the boy whenever he started stroking himself with any vigor. Lying on his bed, with his laptop between his hockey-hardened legs, the Canadian blond had earlier surprised his friend by stripping to a jockstrap. And it wasn't the kind some schools still required boys to wear for gym class. It was a fancy, silky smooth thing that at first made Stinson laugh, then made him sigh when Brent gave him a view of tight little boy hole. He missed that hot squeezing around his turgid member, and he'd almost yanked down the skin-tight undies Brent insisted he wear for these virtual dates to furiously rub one out. But Brent wouldn't let him. He was merciless. Instead, Brent gently drew a finger up and down the 3.5 inch snake snake pulsating up the neon-striped triangle, so tight he could almost make out every detail of the boy's uncircumcised tumescence. Whimpering with frustration, mirrored his friend's motions, he dragged a finger up and down his cotton-trapped boyhood, while still relishing every moment his friend. In fact, he'd fallen in love with Brent, and would do anything for the kinky boy, with almost girlish features. "So, who WAS your first?" Brent asked, raking his longish blond hair behind and ear. "Well, it's kind of embarrassing..." Stinson started to blush at the memory. "Dude, we've smelled each other's farts. It can't be worse than that." It would be tough to top some of the gas they'd leaked in Mexico. But it took a moment for Stinson to summon the courage for this story. "OK. Here goes," Stinson whispered at the screen. "I used to wet the bed. Like about every night." Brent shrugged his shoulders. "Some people take longer than others." "Yeah, but I didn't stop until third grade." Brent kept his expression neutral, and his tone clinical. "I had a friend who went through that." He didn't mention the awkwardness of their initial sleepovers. Reassured his friend wouldn't laugh at him, Stinson recounted how he'd had to wear diapers at night until he was almost 8. His 9-year-old brother Lawson had shared the same misery, finally going dry by first grade, and there were more than a few family photos of Stinson and his infant brother swaddled together for the night. Thankfully, his parents never printed those out, though his mom thought they were "adorable." "We had this regular baby sitter who was used to my, uh, problem," Stinson continued. For a couple of years, when his parents were away, he'd become accustomed to one particular teenage girl cleaning up Lawson and he in the morning. "The summer I turned 7, she moved up to New York for college, and my parents had to go on an emergency visit to my grandmother's." His sitter had recommended her 16-year-old brother as a replacement before she left, and his parents were too desperate to choose anyone else. Carl turned out to be as good with kids as his sister, entertaining the three Abbey siblings with jokes, stories and games. And he wasn't unsettled by 3-year-old Lawson's potty challenges, nor Stinson's night time issues. In fact, he was more than eager to help Stinson into his diaper before bed. "I thought older boys used pull-ups?" Brent replied with curiosity. His bedwetting buddy usually wore a kind that were meant to look like underwear. "Yeah, no shit, dude," Stinson replied. "It's not like I needed any help. But Carl wouldn't even let me take off my own clothes," Stinson said, telling Brent how the teen had raced to get the boy naked, then created reasons to keep him nude, like asking him about his toys. When Carl had gotten to the actual business of putting the boy into his night gear, he spent a long time rubbing Desitin cream into Stinson's loins and butt, helping him pull on the pull-up, and patting him all around. "Didn't you think that was a little weird?" Brent asked. "Yeah, but I just thought he was new, and trying to be helpful." Even with fluid restrictions, and a final pee before bed, both Lawson and his big brother woke up wet the next morning, and Carl lead them into the bathroom. Normally, Stinson would have used wipes to clean himself up, while his parents would have taken care of Lawson. Instead, Carl had drawn a bubble bath for the brothers, and once after trashing the soggy diapers, he lifted each boy into the tub. The 16-year-old had meticulous scrubbed each boy, from head to toe. Gleefully playing with floating toys, Lawson started giggling when Carl's arm was submerged in the boy's front. Stinson later discovered why, when Carl's washcloth reached his penis, making him hard in moments. Soon, the washcloth floated away, and teenage fingers stroked his tiny length. "So he jerked both of you off?" Brent asked, aroused by the idea of a big hand on his own tiny, 7-year-old boyhood. "No, I think he just played with Lawson's for a second," Stinson replied. "He `washed' my dick for a couple of minutes." "Did you have an orgasm?" Brent asked, fondly remembering his first climax in his big brother's hands. "Not then. But that night, I sure did." While his older sister Margie was reading in her bed, Carl brought a diaper and cream into the living room to get Stinson ready for bed, allegedly so they wouldn't awaken Lawson. Once the boy was naked, the teenager suggested they watch some TV. "But I'm naked," Stinson had answered. "You're not cold are you?" Carl had asked "A little..." "I'll get a blanket. It's kind of cool to be naked, dontcha think?" Stinson nodded. He liked being naked, and plopped down on the couch, while the older boy left to check on Margie, who'd fallen asleep. Returning to the living room with a blanket, the teen sat on a lounge chair and asked Stinson if he wanted to sit on his lap. "Aren't you gonna get naked, too?" Stinson had asked the Carl, as he skipped over to the teenager. The older boy shook his head, saying that he needed to keep his clothes on in case of an emergency. "And you bought that?" Brent said, laughing. "I was 7, dude," the Southern boy replied. "Anyway, it wasn't a big deal." Carl had lifted the little boy up onto lap. Stinson didn't remember feeling an erection under his bare bottom, but years later realized the teenager had to be rock hard. Laying back against Carl's chest, Stinson became engrossed in whatever show they watched, while big fingers feathered up and down his little chest, and stomach. He couldn't recall whether he had gotten hard before Carl's fingers reached his penis, or if the teenagers slow, gentle stroking brought him to his 2-inch hardness. What he did remember was losing interest in the show, as finger friction built in his tiny tool. "I'd never felt anything like it," Stinson whispered to Brent. "Did he do it like this?" Brent asked breathily, making a fist around his quivering, cloth-bound rod. "No, like this," Stinson replied, gently stroking his adolescence with a thumb on one-side, and an index finger on the other, while using his other hand to tickle his nuts. "But I was NAKED," he whispered, pointedly, "like we should be." Brent giggled. He thrived on Stinson's frustration, and tormented him more with a brief flash of his uncut hardness. Shaking his head in exasperation, Stinson told Brent how Carl had stroked him increasingly faster, and the 7-year-old could feel something building inside. "Carl, something's happening," he had told the older boy. Rather than answer with words, the teenager responded by furiously tugging the boy's little root until it exploded with sparkling joy. Stinson must have cried out, because the teenager gently shushed him, then rocked him against his chest. Carl's hips gyrated up and down, while he hugged the little boy to him. A couple of years later, Stinson and his buddy Earl would figure out what it was the older boy had been doing, but at the time Stinson was still in shock over the wonderful thing his penis had just done. Carl quietly moaned, and stopped humping into him, then got up to use the bathroom. "So I guess he creamed his jeans, huh?" Brent asked, stroking himself a little more forcefully, breathing more heavily. "Oh yeah. And I guess I fell asleep, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in another wet diaper." For the next two days, they'd followed the same routine. A little bathtub teasing, and some serious evening stroking. At some point, he couldn't remember when, Carl explained to him that all little boys jerked themselves, but it was a secret thing. He was amazed by this gifted knowledge, but wondered why Carl didn't ask Stinson to rub hie wiener. "He told me that big boys don't do that," Stinson said. The Canadian's jaw dropped. "What the fuck?" Stinson shrugged. "Yeah. Never once even got naked. He either humped me, or spanked it in the bathroom. I think he was guilty about playing with my dick, anyway." On the final night, Margie wanted to watch some TV. It was Lawson's bedtime, so Carl took both boys into their room to get ready for bed. While Carl diapered the toddler, Stinson got himself dressed for bed. The teenager and the 7-year-old joined Margie in the living room. Climbing up onto Carl's lap in just a pull-up and a t-shirt, he lay back, and the teenager threw a blanket over the two of them. The older boy's hand rested on the front of Stinson's crotch, slowly and gently squeezing him through his soft padding. The documentary Margie watched was boring, and he fell asleep on Carl's lap. Later, he awoke to find Margie had gone to her room, and both of Carl's hands playing with his tiny dick and balls. Carl gently buffed the boy's little knob with finger tips, then spent a long time slowly stroking Stinson with glacial slowness. Stinson had started to squirm, and his little hips began pushing his tiny boyhood faster between the teen's fingers. Carl's hips joined in the commotion, humping up into Stinson's padded bottom, while the 7-year-old pumped in a growing frenzy. At last, a rainbow burst from his young penis, and the boy gasped and sighed. A little while later, Carl grunted as well. "That's so cray," Brent whispered. He'd pulled his own dick out the side of his jock, which tugged on a few of his handful of silky hairs, and had been stroking himself in time with the story. On his screen he watched Stinson's thumb and first two fingers fluting up and down his 5-inch length, with the front of his undies now tucked beneath the boy's still hairless, round sack. On his end, Stinson was glad they were finally directly touching themselves, and his eyes were riveted on Brent's turgid boyhood, wishing the fingers caressing with a fluid and feathery grace were his own. He'd spend more time working Brent's pink glans with his own foreskin. "Carl babysat a few more times, but no overnights, and I think we only snuck into my room for our secret thing once or twice. Then my folks started hiring a local college girl." "Fuck, dude, that's sick. And kinda lit. Maybe you can buy some Depends and do a dramatic recreation." Stinson chuckled. "Maybe not, dude." But for a moment, Stinson considered it, as a way of matching his friend's freakiness. "Your turn, Brent," Stinson said, looking up from the Canadian's televised groin, to stare into the boy's crisp, blue eyes. "Tell me a secret." Brent lad long ago told his friend about how he'd been initiated into sex by walking in on his then-12-year-old brother pleasuring himself, and from 8 years old, he'd been refining his techniques with lots of practice. He chewed on a cheek for a second, and told him about his first sleep-over camp. "I was 9, and kind of nervous," Brent said. Stinson snorted. "Yeah right." He'd only seen his friend frightened once, and that was from seeing a shark." "No, really. I'd never been away from my parents. And this was for two weeks." His mom drove Margie and he east to the Cascades. His sister had been twice before, and quickly settled in with old friends. So his mom got Brent settled in his cabin, kissed her son, and left. The eleven other boys were 9 and 10-year-olds, about half first timers, and most seemed friendly. And he vividly remembered the first night, when they all stripped down to their undies, some getting in pajamas, while others slept in their briefs. He'd felt something indescribably attractive about other boys half-dressed. It hinted at the naughty things he and Glen did in their room at night. And he'd also realized he wasn't the only boy with a boner. The afternoon of his second or third day, he'd gone back to his cabin to put on a swim suit, and found his bunkmate, Kyle, and 3 other boys playing cards on the floor. "Hey, what're you guys playing," he'd asked, "strip poker?" The group laughed, and one said, "Only if you're in." Brent saw his bunkmate turn as beet red as his hair. The ginger boy was very cute, and very shy. When the boys made room, Brent sat down next to Kyle, knocking him in a friendly way with his knee. Kyle smiled and knocked back. None of the boys really knew how to play poker, so they took turns drawing for high cards, and it took a while for things to get interesting. Kamal, a darkly complected cutie, was in the lead, still retaining his shirt and shorts, while all the other boys were down to their shorts. Lady Luck was with Brent, who won the next round, and all the other boys except for Kamal - still in his shorts - were down to their little boy underpants. Brent could see all their skimpy undies throbbing with excitement, except Kyle's. The kid had his knees to his chest, and Brent knew the boy must be achingly hard, and desperate to conceal it. The next round would expose a lot of engorged penis, and heady excitement filled the cabin. But Kyle begged out. The other boys tried to cajole him, yet he was unswayed, and it made Brent want to see the boy's bits all the more. Forbidden fruit is the most succulent. The group let Kyle off the hook, and he got to stay in his huddled, excited condition. The next round was played, and a chunky blond boy from San Francisco was the winner, and kept his undies. Two of the boys were nude, out of the game, and smiling. Their little boners wagged in anticipation of what might happen next, and they were soon rewarded when the San Francisco boy lost his undies, and Brent shorts. Bone straining against his tight little briefs, he didn't hide his excitement at what might be final round. And it was his to lose. Unlike the other boys, who'd crouched to strip, Brent stood up to pull off his underpants, proudly showing off his 2 inches to his cabin mates for a few moments, before sitting down. "You've been a shameless slut for years," Stinson whispered in awe, shaking his head, and Brent giggled and nodded. Under their rules, the players had to spread their legs, but Kyle wouldn't, despite the other boys' taunts, and Brent took pity on his bunkmate, rubbing his slender, freckled back. "So, what now?" San Francisco boy asked. "It's Kamal's choice," one of the other cabin mates replied. The stone cold cutie of color grinned. "CJ, dudes!' Another 10-year-old had grinned and nodded. "Yeah!" For him, camp was finally getting started, and he eagerly helped Kamal shed his remaining clothes. "What's a `CJ,''" one of the boys had asked. "A circle jerk, dummy," another had replied. It turned out that a couple of the boys had never touched themselves, much less another boy. And Kyle was still clenching his knees to his chest, showing only a little triangle of white underpants running from his buns up between his thighs. Brent had leaned against Kyle, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "You'll love it, I swear," he'd whispered. "I don't want them to see...my peener," the boy had whispered back. By then, Brent's hand had circled round to the boy's chest, and Kyle didn't object when it caressed his skinny ribs. Eventually, Brent's hand travelled south to the Cotton Triangle, and Kyle had shivered when fingers found the bone pounding in his underpants. Gently, Brent stroked up and down the snuggly wrapped pipe. "Feels good, right?" Brent whispered into Kyle's ear, and the redhead nodded, with a smile. His legs spread, giving Brent better access. At the same time, a hand to his right had found Brent's turgid young boyhood, and stroked it gracelessly, yet vigorously. The San Francisco boy, sitting on Kyle's other side, grew impatient, and pulled the boy's hand around his hardness, almost buried by belly. Wrapping Kyle's fingers around his tiny girth, he pulled the redhead's hand in the timeless rhythm that links all boy through eternity, and Brent saw a smile split the boy's head. He was loving it. But he still wouldn't strip off his undies, and so Brent slid his fingers into Kyle's briefs, digging for throbbing treasure. "He was so hard, Stinny," Brent said, quietly. "But not as hard as you." No one could be. Stinson's erections always felt like rubber-coated steel in his fingers, and he just wish it wasn't his own cock he stroked while recounting the story on a video chat. "So how did you beat his meat, dude?" Stinson asked. "Like this," Brent replied, placing with his palm above his knob, while pulling and pushing with a thumb and two fingers astride his length. Mirroring his friend, Stinson sighed. "Kyle was pretty lucky to have you jacking him." "He pretty small," Brent sighed, smiling as they pleasured themselves with slow, synchronized tugs. "But we all were, I guess. And he was uncut." Left unsaid was the fact that Brent was able to masturbate Kyle much more forcefully, using the boy's own sheath to tenderize his crown. In moments, the five card players were moaning; their hands working each other in a frenzy. And it didn't take long for their panting squeals to build in individual crescendos. Kyle had grown panicked and urgently warned him, "I'm gonna pee!" 
Brent had reassured the boy he wouldn't, and masturbated him faster. At the same time, he'd begged the boy rubbing him to pick up the pace. Moments later Kyle curled into a ball around Brent's hand, gasping and rocking, and then Brent's penis flared with its own dry detonation. "One kid actually shot," Brent told Stinson. "It wasn't much, but it totally grossed out the dude jacking him." With the image of five young boys getting each other off floating through his head, Stinson almost came, and he pulled his fingers away from throbbing, oozing pubescence, while Brent continued with his story. "Things got a lot more interesting that night," Brent continued. After word spread about the afternoon game, all the boys were checking each other out as they got undressed; their eyes were wide with nervous desire. When they were down to just their skimpy undies, it was like every boy waved a white flag, surrendering to his need. "It's like everyone was boned up," Brent said. "And after Lights Out, guys started hooking up." The cabin filled with giggles and whispers, feet padding about, and bed springs squeaking. Brent had gotten out of his bunk, standing to invite Kyle down. The shy boy took a little persuading, but soon enough, the redhead jumped down in his t-shirt and undies, and climbed under the covers. "I still couldn't get him naked," Brent said. To make the boy more comfortable, Brent kept his own briefs on, as well. "And we had to beat each other off like this." On screen, Stinson watched his friend pull his jock strap back in place, to gently rub the his hardness through the cloth with a thumb and index finger. Stinson followed along, pretending he was the boy Brent had seduced. Slowly, their hands wormed inside their waistbands, to stroke themselves with three fingers once again. "That was the way every night went," Brent continued. "I don't know why it was only after lights out." Like clockwork, just before 9PM, they all eagerly stripped to underpants stretched with small, quivering bulges. And those moments of expectation burned in Brent's memory, glowing like white cotton reflecting moonlight. "So, dude, is that how you got your thing for underwear?" Stinson asked, with a smirk. Brent thought about it for a quiet moment. "Yeah, probably, come to think of it. I mean, it's like guessing about what's underneath. Like Christmas presents. You want to open them, but they look so pretty." But even one week in, he'd never seen Kyle completely naked. The boy managed to change when no one was around, and washed when the boy's shower room was empty. Even on a group hike, when almost all the boys in their age group skinny-dipped in a secluded lake, Kyle kept his underpants on, which did little to conceal his small hardness in its clingy, cartoon-printed wrapper. Tossing his bunkmate a towel to dry off, Brent had warned Kyle he wouldn't be comfortable hiking back to camp in wet undies, and suggested he peel them off and go commando. Brent stayed naked in the warm air, slowly rubbing sunscreen on his arms and legs and torso. Most of the other boys were already on the trail, and Kyle was obviously fighting his own shyness, stay half-naked in the sun. "Can you do my back?" Brent had asked Kyle, handing him the sunscreen. The boy smiled, and his lump lurched menacingly. Working the sunscreen all the way down Brent's skinny little back, Kyle stopped at his waist. "You can keep going," Brent had urged the boy hopefully. And he felt light sunscreens sliming build into exploration and squeezing, and his own small boyhood had swelled. "Now let me do you," Brent had suggested, turning around and giving Kyle an eyeful of boy lust, proudly pounding under clear, blue, Canadian skies. By then, the boys were alone, forgotten by even the counsellors. After carefully massaging sunscreen into every bit of Kyle's pale and freckled back, legs and buttocks, he turned the boy around to caress it into his arms and torso. Kyle's eyes were closed, and he sighed when Brent got on his knees and worked his way up from the boy's feet, and along his skinny little legs. As he got to the leg elastics, Brent had rubbed his face against the boy's ardor, throbbing in wet, Hulk-themed cotton. When he kissed it and dragged his lips up and down Kyle's tiny length, he heard the boy moan, and looked up to see the boy staring down at him with eyes wide. "He looked like a deer in headlights, Stinny," Brent told his friend quietly. With thumbs hooked under the leg openings, Brent had smiled up at his bunkmate and slowly pulled his underpants down. The boy trembled, obviously scared, and yet longing. As the striped waistband passed the boy's hardness, it pulled the young bone down, making it snap against his barren pelvic mound. Giving Stinson a dramatic recreation, he pulled the front of his jock down, making his own cock spring back. Both boys giggled, and Stinson followed suit in their carnal mummers' play. After he had pulled the boy's underpants off his feet and tossed them aside, Brent smiled up at Kyle. "See?" Brent had said. "That wasn't so hard." But the boy's penis sure was. Pale and slender, and less than 2 inches long, its uncut, slightly purple knob gleamed damply as Brent unfurled the boy's foreskin. Gently rubbing it back and forth, he made the boy gasp and shiver. Having gotten his bunkmate this far, Brent wanted to lead the boy to a new horizon. Gently, he pulled Kyle down onto the mossy bank, and had him lie back. Spreading the redhead's legs in the open air, Brent knelt to kiss Kyle's pee hole. His bunkmate gasped, and stared in shock as his dick slid between Brent's lips. "He couldn't believe I put it in my mouth," Brent said, laughing at the memory. But then, he'd been just as shocked a couple of months before he went to camp, when his brother had introduced him to blow jobs. And at that point, neither his brother nor Brent were particularly artful. "So I just sucked on it, going back and forth," Brent said, then replayed the scene with an open mouth and his own bobbing head. Five year's ealier, while Brent had been sucking on Kyle, he'd stroked himself vigorously, something he started doing for Stinson's benefit. "Did you put your finger in his butt?" Stinson asked, breathily. He was now panting and both boys took a break to fill their fingers with hand lotion. "Nah. Hadn't learned that yet." But he sure had by the time he'd met Stinson, and for his friend's benefit, he lifted himself toward the laptop camera, and slid a finger between his jockstrap-framed buns, plunging into his clenching hole. "If I'd only known then what I know today," Brent breathily chuckled at the cliché adults used all the time. With his finger working his own anus, Brent thumbed his tightening, smooth nuts, and stroked himself a little faster. On the other end of the connection, he watched Stinson peel off his briefs, and follow along with a finger in his bottom, and then Brent continued his story. "Kyle orgasmed in about a minute," Brent said, remembering how the boy writhed, then slumped spread eagle, naked and spent in the open air. Letting his bunkmate gain his breath, Brent had stopped pulling on himself, hoping Kyle return the favor. It took a little persuasion, and Brent had to explain that dick only tasted like a finger. Well, it only did if you kept yourself clean, and they'd all been swimming for an hour. With a bit of coaching, stopping a few times for teeth, Kyle revealed himself to be an avid student, bringing roaring tingles out of Brent's young dick. Moreover, he was overcoming his inhibitions, and Brent convinced his friend to hike back part of the way with him in nothing but shoes and socks. That night, and every night remaining, after lights out, Kyle eagerly scrambled under Brent's covers, completely nude and rigid. Brent taught the boy what little he'd learned about kissing from his big brother. Kyle had been only a little hesitant, his trust in his bunkmate growing like his little cock whenever they were together. "There wasn't a lot of foreplay, back then," Brent said, and Stinson quietly moaned from the squelching sound's his friend's lotion-lathered fingers made. "We'd make out, and jack each other for a couple minutes," Brent continued. But Kyle became an eager cock-sucker, and the boys always shifted into a 69. With muffled moans from other boys filling their ears, Brent and Kyle furiously slid up and back each other's throbbing prongs, sometimes sucking in each other's tiny sacks, as well. "We'd dry-cum in minutes," Brent said, and Stinson recalled his own impatience as a younger boy. Brent finished his story, telling Stinson that Kyle and he would fall asleep curled around one another. By the next year, when they camped together again, they'd become a lot more accomplished, with plenty of practice on schoolmates. But those were stories for another time. "Dude, I just want your mouth on my cock right now," Stinson huffed, his lotion-loaded hand slopping up and down his five inch length like a windshield wiper loaded with snow, making a huge mess in his little brown bush. "I can almost feel your finger in my ass," he said, pushing in and out with his other hand. "Oh, it IS Stinny. And that's my mouth on your big cock. It's my tongue and cheeks," Brent gasped, feeling his own orgasm building in his 3.5 inches, after an hour of wordy teasing. "And you're sucking me hard, and licking my balls, and finger-fucking me. God you feel so good!" "I'm gonna cum in your mouth Brent!" Stinson quietly gasped. "Here! It! Comes!" Brent's screen was a blur with hips and balls flying up and down, and he cried, "Yes! Stinny, I'm swallowing every bit and it tastes so good!" He stopped stroking at the edge of his own explosion, watching Stinson collapse back on his bed. The triathlete's muscular thighs and steely abs were covered in glistening, milky boy juice, and it looked like the sheet ceiling was was soaked, as well. He couldn't wait to get his hands on his friend again, but December was so far away. "You ready to swallow my load, Stinny?" Brent heaved. "Oh, yeah, dude. I'm gonna suck you dry. I'm sucking you so hard right now!" "Ready or not, here it come!!" And with just a few soggy, squelching strokes, his still small nuts churned with explosive force. Brent cried out loudly, his hips flew skyward, and a couple of thin, clear streams jettisoned out of his love nozzle. As he milked his dying, dry pulses, Brent's hips came to rest, and his screen was filled with a grinning Stinson. "That was such a good cum, dude!" Stinson said. "You should have felt it on this end," Brent said. Both boys sighed, wishing they really were together, holding each other with tender caresses. Ever positive, Brent changed the subject before they could grow sad, while both boys mopped themselves up with t-shirts. "Halloween's coming up," the Canadian pointed out. "We should have our own costume party." "I can guess what the Treats will be," Stinson said, licking a finger clean. "We just have to figure out the Tricks." ======================================================= To be continued...