My Stepfather Page 7

  He was still in the same position, on his back with legs spread and arms gripping the headboard. He looked a bit puzzled as he watched me come into the room and stand beside the bed.

  I don't know from where within me the words came, except that later I realised they were the words he had said only moments before, but they came out of my mouth with a quiet confidence that I think surprised both of us.

  “Not good enough.”

  His head turned toward me, again those intense lustful eyes.

  “Huh?” he said.

  “Kneel on the floor in front of me.”

  A long pause and I thought I saw a smile cross his eyes as he got off the bed and knelt down. I took a small step forward. I needed to move because I thought I felt one of my knees shaking.

  He reached up to take my cock in his hand, and again I was surprised at the words that came out of my mouth, “Just your tongue.”

  He looked up at me, those eyes still intense, but now searching my face, perhaps for a hint of the level of my resolve.

  Then he did something that sticks in my mind to this day. It was one of the most sexual gestures I had ever seen, and I didn't know why it affected me so much, but it was so explicitly powerful. He slowly took his hand off my cock and put it behind his back. Then he did the same with his other arm, grasping his wrist behind his back.

  Then he began licking me.

  He started by sticking out his tongue to catch a long string of precum that had begun to descend from the head of my cock to the floor. He caught the end of it and lifted his mouth towards the head of my cock to get it all on his tongue,

  Then he swallowed and began licking the head of my cock. His tongue then went down the length of my cock to my balls, the inside of my thighs, under my scrotum, then back again to start over.

  He kept going for ten minutes and I stood over him watching, and fighting off the pressure of the cum building in my shaft. Fighting off the urge to explode in his face.

  The sight of his thick hairy body, arms behind him, kneading his unshaved cheeks raking across my thighs was almost too much to bear.

  He was doing me, working me, with a fervour that seemed to increase with each lick, each minute, and his energy seemed to transfer to my whole body. I was raging inside. I wanted to get my hands on him, to bite him, suck him, lick him, and wrestle him. I wanted to get my arms around him. To feel him, as much of him as I could, to feel all that hair, those muscles, to taste that sweat, grab those thick wrists.

  I wanted to get inside him, kiss him, stick my tongue in his mouth, stick my cock in his mouth, and stick my cock in his arsehole.”

  The train started racing through my head, only faster now than before.

  I felt out of control, but the sexual energy coursing through my body overcame any thoughts that tried to intrude, and seemed to provide a clear wordless focus.

  “Turn around,” I said, hoping that the fact that I really didn't know what I was going to do next didn't show in my voice. The decision was, in part made for me.

  He stayed on his knees, shuffled around, and bent over. He planted both hands wide apart and his head lowered, and all this in silence.

  I stared at his bottom, studied the back of those thick thighs, with their symmetrical patterns of hair, each moving towards a convergence at his arse cheeks.

  Then the way the patterns darkened and thickened as they descended towards the crack, that crack.

  I didn't know what to do. I couldn't take my eyes off that forbidden territory, but I was stuck for a moment.

  Then the events of last night pushed their way into my mind.

  I remembered the ease, the aggression with which he had taken my arse. I reached down and grabbed his cheeks, a thumb on the inside of each one, and I spread them.

  The energy increased, and ran through me like electricity. My eyes sucked in the sight of the damp, hairy ringlets in his crack. So dense, so thick! It reminded me of my girlfriend's pussy.

  I reached down and touched his arsehole, tentatively with one finger. I could feel him twitch at the touch.

  Now I was really in unfamiliar territory. With the exception of my brief burst of angry courage last night when I had stuck my finger up his arse, I had never touched, even really seen another man's hole.

  I could feel my knees start to shake and I knew I had to do something or I would lose whatever control I had.

  I yanked my finger back, spit on it and thrust it back down, and into his arse. His head jerked up violently and a loud grunt escaped his lips, but he said nothing.

  Then after a brief body spasm that seemed to ripple through him and end with a fierce clenching of his hole around my finger, he lowered his head and exhaled deeply.

  But he was starting to breathe hard now. I traced a big circle inside his arse with the end of my finger. It felt like velvet. I started to piston my finger in and out slowly. His grunting and the sound of his breathing increased. It seemed to fill the room, as I stared down at what I was doing.

  It was all raw sex.

  Nothing I had ever done compared. Everything converged and rocked my senses, the sight, him on all fours sweating and moaning below me, the smell, his sweat and mine, the feel of my finger up his arse, the feeling of being in charge.

  I was beyond thought at this point; everything was pure lust, physical sensation.

  The image of him holding me over the desk last night wafted up before me. Then it moved forward and seemed to wrap itself around my face, like a wet sweaty towel thrown in the locker room. The grunts I could hear from him now seemed to match the grunts of pleasure I heard last night when he was eating my arse.

  That was all it took.

  I shifted around so I was directly behind him and knelt down. I pulled my finger out of his arse, spread his cheeks again and looked. Again, all that hair. The hole, wrinkled and big as a ten pence, that big crack, that changed in shape as I stretched my hands and pulled on his cheeks. It was so open, so inviting, and so dangerous. There were no words from him, only the heavy breathing and moaning.

  It was on me to act.

  I stared down at my throbbing cock. I looked at his hole, and then my face descended. At first I just licked, only partly conscious of the strong smell.

  Then the smell registered in my brain, and I was surprised that it wasn't offensive. It was strong, but exciting and new. But that passed in an instant as I became fixated on the results of my wet tongue in his crack. The thick ringlets of hair swept upward, damp and matted in response to the upward sweep of my tongue, and then down and matted as I raked the underside of my tongue from his sternum to the back of his testicles.

  I took a deep breath after a few minutes of this and plunged my tongue into his asshole.

  As my lips stretched and I extended my tongue into him I was aware of the strong new taste, and the strange feeling of having his ring close around my tongue. The image of him hugging me, wrapping me in his arms jumped into my mind. It was gone in an instant, as I heard him groan loudly and thrust his butt back against my face, almost a violent response to my penetration.

  I didn't stop, couldn't stop. I kept plunging my tongue into him, loving it. Smashing my nose into that dark corridor of hair. This was someplace I was not supposed to be, and I loved the sense of pure, intimate, forbidden, violation.

  I was frantic now, and could feel my eyes widen, my heart thumping, and spit foaming at the corners of my mouth. I pulled my face back and my eyes, my whole body, absorbed the landscape before me. His hole was twitching, nestled nervously in a canyon of spit soaked dark hair.

  As I pulled back and knelt behind him, I was struck by the simple raw intimacy of the scene. I had never seen him in this position. I had never seen anybody in this position.

  But there was something about the way we were positioned, the location of our bodies, men together.

  The unease I felt, the awkwardness of our discussion only moments ago that led to this, the events of the past few weeks between us. They
all seemed to be drawn into a vortex, swirling upward like a wind that raced through my mind. It was palpable. I felt it. I was transported back in time to someplace unfamiliar. Someplace new. Someplace full of men together. Cave men, gladiators, athletes, soldiers, explorers, friends, public friends, furtive friends, secret friends, men of the world, old men, young men, all across time.

  The timeless archetype swept through me. It started as a commotion in my head, and then moved to my crotch. It grabbed my balls, slowly firmly, it moved to the bottom of my shaft, firmly holding it. It was wordless, intense, it had its own history, and it consumed me.

  I looked again quickly at his arsehole. It was twitching involuntarily. The sweaty dark hair around it seemed to be shifting in a slow dance. That same gaze caught my cock. It was bobbing and twitching in the same way. The long line of his hairy crack seemed to match the length of my hard cock, and I wanted to lay up against him to feel the match, for reassurance, but I continued to stare and breathe harder as each second passed. I couldn't bring any thoughts to bear, nothing to make sense of all this.

  Then the newly arrived images of this strange history increased their roar in my head, and I stopped trying to understand.

  I leaned forward and reached for him. Each of my hands grabbed first the thick cords straining in his neck, then his shoulders, and then wrapped around to feel, palms wide open, the sweaty hair of his armpits. My palms visited there, feeling the heat and texture, for a moment before moving down and back towards me to his chest. His nipples, I grabbed them, sought them out, fingered my way through the thick hair. I pinched them, and he groaned loudly.

  Then my eye caught something else. It was the full length mirror on the wall in front of us. I was struck that I hadn't noticed this before, but there I was, there we were.

  The mirror caught my gaze, and bounced it back off the sweaty form bent beneath me, then back up to my eyes. I stared at myself and was shocked at the upturned corner of my lips, my teeth exposed, the sweat pouring down my face, and the spit that had gathered at the corners of my mouth, that was shaped in such a primitive snarl.

  The image seemed suddenly, strangely familiar, like I had done this before, many times before, but I hadn't, and other men had, not me, other men.

  The image sank deep inside me, in a cavern of silence to be explored later.

  But it left a deep affirmation in its wake. A permission, a reminder, an expectation.

  The rest came easy.

  My hands continued their pillage through the thick hair of his chest and belly. They grabbed his cock briefly, and returned to his cheeks.

  I spread them again, and heard his panting voice, it seemed far away, saying, “Do it!”

  I reached for my cock. It felt like a metal bar, wet at the end. Almost unfamiliar. I placed it against his twitching rim at stared at this unique first meeting. A blurred image fought its way through the sexual tornado that consumed me. It carried me back through time.

  “Well, try them on, do they fit?” He had said standing over me smiling expectantly.

  I thrust my hand deep into the fragrant, leather treasures I had just received. It was new, strange, but the perfect gift. Just what

  I had wanted.

  “Oh Yeah! They fit just great.”

  I had said with a fierce gleam in my eye as I pounded one bare fist into the prize that covered my other hand. I thought a million frantic thoughts about the future on fresh cut green grass. He had bought me my first boxing gloves.

  The smell of leather wafted through my head as I stared at that same fisted right hand, now wrapped around my cock.

  I pushed the swollen head of my shaft against his rim and entered him.

  I heard him cry out. From behind him I could envision him biting his lips. The cry turned quickly into a grunt, and then quick breathing. I stopped, and looked down at the length of my cock minus its head, which had disappeared inside him.

  The feeling was incredible!

  I took a deep breath and leaned forward. Another stifled cry and I saw his fists clench. He was rocking a bit now, back and forth on clenched fists and his knees. The dark hairs at his hole had wrapped forward to join my cock as it entered.

  How many other times had they been forced into his hole? By soldiers, by other men, all those years ago, while my mother had watched?

  These thoughts vanished as quickly as they appeared in my tortured brain; the feeling was just too intense to be displaced.

  “Oh yeah, it fits just great,” I muttered quietly.

  I leaned forward again, another couple of inches disappeared. I leaned further into him. My eyes rocketed back and force between the hairy, sweaty meeting down between my legs, his arsehole, my cock, and then back up to the mirror.

  It offered a larger view. I leaned forward again, leaned into him, leaned forward into an image of myself, through the looking glass.

  The last swollen inches of my cock, down to its base, entered him quickly.

  Almost without a sound, except the frantic, ragged, breathing and muffled grunts from him that now seemed to have been there forever.

  I stared at the sight. It was done, I was caught up in every detail, everything was new, and again, went into slow motion. I lifted my hands off him and leaned back, careful to stay completely inside him. The sight of my thick dark pubic hair wedged between his cheeks, touching against the hair that lined his crack.

  The feel of my balls, the front of my sac, touching the back of his sac. The sight, the sight of my staring down at my crotch and not seeing my cock.

  Because it was buried, consumed, welcomed in another man's arsehole. His arsehole!

  The sight of his strong muscular body, sweating and heaving beneath me, bent over, grunting in pleasure and pain.

  I took it all in as much as I could. Then the gorgeous, rampant details seemed to all come together before my eyes. They sucked themselves into a small tornado that swirled above his sweating, bent body and travelled upwards to my face, stopped for a moment, and entered me.

  Entered me through my nose. So I could capture the stunning mix of smells that were happening because of this act. I sucked in a deep breath.

  The tornado travelled from my face, my head, to the back of my neck. Then raced down my spine touching every nerve. It hit the base of my spine and lit up every nerve in my body. I felt it take possession of me as it rushed to my cock, waiting to be released.

  So I started.

  Slow at first. Then faster. I plunged my cock into him, pulled it back out almost to the end, and then drove the full length in again.

  I had nothing to compare this to, nothing to judge it against.

  He was starting to moan louder now and match my thrusts with his hips, and I just fell into the increasing rhythm.

  At a certain point it just began to feel so natural.

  I leaned back and put my hands behind my head, never missing a stroke; I could smell myself as I grabbed his thick biceps from behind, never missing a stroke.

  Leaning even closer I grabbed his wrists, near his balled fists that were holding him up, my chest touched his sweating back, never missing a stroke.

  I bent back a bit and reached for his crotch. I could feel the precum dripping from him, his cock was like steel. I started to wrap my hand around it, but stopped, as an image flashed, a long ago lesson turned into muscle memory, a rugby ball in my hands.

  “When you move up on it, plant your feet and look at the whole field. Look closely, look quickly. Hold your hands tight, close together. Then take charge! Then bend your knees and get ready. Keep your hands together!

  Always keep your hands together, wide open, fingers together. Be ready; make a net with your hands, so it can't get through! Reach for it with both hands, gather it up, pull it to your chest, then start your release. It should all be a smooth motion

  He was teaching me, for hours each day, with my new rugby ball in the field near our house, so I could make the team, he was such a good teacher.

 
I reached forward and beneath him to his crotch and held my hands close together.

  Open and beside each other. Like holding a book, only tighter. My palms touched the sides of his cock, finger tips near its head, and began to move in sync with my hips.

  My thrusts were increasing in speed, equal to the tone of his grunts and loud breathing. I was over him, pumping, breathing hard. I was in him, deeply, then back, then deep again. It was all sweat and hair and muscles, and I loved it.

  It lasted only another minute. My balls clenched like a vice grip and I started to come. I felt the surge of hot sperm race to the head of my cock and, after an exquisite heartbeat, exploded into him. I didn't pull back. I stopped thrusting. I just held myself deep in his hole. The muscles in my groin and belly did all the work, and my cum kept pouring into him like the end of the world.

  When the first hot torrent hit him deep inside, he started to come. He thrust forward and back only twice. That was all it took. His hot cum blasted into my open palms, and he shuddered uncontrollably as his belly seized and convulsed.

  He was groaning and heaving now, louder as each second of this wet coupling passed, quickly, frantically as we soaked each other, inside and out.

  It was all one steady stream, and the sperm seemed to never end as I emptied myself into him, and he poured himself into my hands.

  We spasmed together, out of control, spasmed in large life, in this moment, in front of the mirror, spasmed large in a life dance, our bodies twitching in concert, like a single sperm under a microscope.

  As it began to subside, I felt my hands separating and moving away from the heat of his cock. They appeared, like magic from beneath his belly and moved in a dream toward my face. Each hand cupping a huge puddle of his cum.

  They went to my cheeks, then my neck, my chest, down my belly. Smearing all the way. Then back to my face.

  I held out my tongue, like he had made me do days before on the living room floor on my back. But now it was a greedy tongue not a scared, worried tongue. A confident tongue.