tagGay MaleMark and Barry Ch. 03

Mark and Barry Ch. 03

bysam8©

"Well... looks like it's gonna be a long night," said Mark.

His dorm party was winding down, and everyone was getting ready to go. A pair of R.A.'s with a mop were triaging the spilled beer, and the only girl in sight was holding firmly to the arm that was taking her home.

It wasn't going to be a long Friday night because Mark was planning on staying up and studying. It was looking like a long, sleepless night for the sophomore because he had spent the whole evening courting a pretty little freshman who had, ultimately, succumbed to a surfeit of alcohol and was now sleeping it off in her own bed.

His friend Barry had just stopped by on his way home. The burly senior was grim-faced, nursing a grudge and a wounded ego.

Barry had spent the evening in a bar with an old friend and two hot girls... both of whom had gone home with his friend. Both. Leaving Barry to walk home alone. His beer buzz was falling flat and he was teetering between resigned and downright grumpy.

"You got one more up in your room?" asked Barry.

"Sure, there's a couple beers in my fridge. Want one?"

"Yeah, I could use it."

Barry was still sore about not scoring, and was trying not to blame the world in general. And Mark, still almost able to feel the slight girlish curve of Geena's waist under her dress, wasn't much happier.

They knew the invitation would probably be about more than just beer.

There wasn't much chit-chat as they climbed the stairs to Mark's floor. They didn't meet each other's eyes as he unlocked his door. A pair of bottles was brought out, and the two of them sat at opposite ends of Mark's couch, sipping and quiet.

"So two blondes huh," said Mark.

"Models."

"Nice."

"The one I liked," said Barry, "had these punky little pigtails. Tall girl, almost as tall as me. Real pretty."

"Nice."

"Not super thin. Well, I mean like thin, but you know. Big tits, big hips. Solid and curvy, you know? She had this like innocent oval face, like a farmer's daughter or something. Right? Tits like a fuckin' pair of grapefruits, this little stretched T-shirt... well, maybe small grapefruits. Or big oranges," he reflected.

"What was the other one like?"

"Kinda tall too, but thin. Hot. Way out of your league." They shared a grin. "Black dress, like the bar was a fuckin' cocktail party or something. And..." Barry held out his hands, maybe in an attempt to demonstrate or just recall the shape of her body. His hands dropped. "Shit."

"Sounds hot."

"How about you with that Indian girl? What was she like?"

Mark thought for a moment. Geena had been really sweet all night and he didn't want to ... well, besmirch her, he guessed.

But he was horny as hell, and she had been so hot. Sweet or not, he had really, really wanted to fuck her.

"Geena's like a little bundle of sugar, you know? Small and kinda hyper and ..." He paused. How could he describe what it was like to watch her lips as she talked, to catch her eye and see her smile as their gaze met? How warm she was on his lap, and how soft her waist felt under his hand? How she went from adorable wearing a smile, to smoldering without it?

"Pretty?"

"Oh yeah, real pretty."

"Good body?"

"Yeah... she has this tight little body... it was all under this long dress... but I was really looking forward to taking it off her, know what I mean?"

Barry nodded. Mark was being honest and he wasn't sure why.

Proving to Barry that he really did have the hots for this girl? For a girl?

Maybe proving to himself?

He wasn't lying. Neither of them was. Mark didn't want to be on his sofa with a male friend nursing a beer. Mark had wanted to fuck Geena. And if she was as pleasant sober and not a complete flake, he had thought, she might be girlfriend material.

And Barry had wanted to fuck Betty-Ann. From behind. Then on top. Or the other order was fine too. The girlfriend thing wasn't so much on his radar anymore.

They swigged a little beer.

"Oh hell I have just the thing for you," said Mark suddenly. Then stopped, sheepish. Then plowed ahead.

"There's this girl with pigtails, sounds just like yours. In my porn collection." He was already opening windows on his laptop, looking for the half-remembered movie. "And I think she was even in a lesbian scene with an Indian chick. Wouldn't that be a hoot."

Barry didn't respond. Didn't say anything or sit up. He thought about that for a second. Lifted his beer halfway to his mouth, then set the half-full bottle aside and waited.

He wasn't sure he was going to like this... but thought he probably might.

And he didn't feel like objecting.

Mark opened a movie onto the laptop screen, set it on the coffee table, and squinted and clicked to skip to the part where everyone has their clothes off.

The white girl didn't look anything like Betty-Ann. She did have blonde pigtails, but long, and with fucking bows in them, which looked ridiculous, Barry thought to himself. Too thin, and too much makeup. And boobs that were almost certainly not real.

The Asian girl was Japanese or something. Not remotely Indian. To be fair to Mark's memory, it had been quite a while since he had watched any of this particular movie... and he had never watched it all the way through.

Mark sat forward, resting elbows on knees, at the edge of his couch, watching as the ostensible lesbians on his laptop shared an open-mouth kiss and played with each other's boobs. The girls were turned to the camera, displaying for it, legs spread for it, both full-frontal as they made out for the boys.

Barry was already half-reclining on the arm of the sofa. His manhood had been led on all night. And now he was suddenly looking at a landscape of nude girl. Rolling hills of thigh and belly and arm graced mountains of tit, and both boys surveyed the twin valleys laid bare at the junction of each girl's legs.

It was a map of girls, a guide to sex: here the body is, look. Go from here to here. You see? Your destination is where you always knew it was: here, we'll lay it out for you, here, look.

The ex-football player's short, fat cock swelled in his jeans.

Sitting back, he could feel it grow, observe it without looking. No penis goes from soft to hard instantly. He felt the first blood pump into it, not stiffening it, not yet, just a gentle swelling.

As he watched the glowing screen, it swelled more, and began to harden. Just half-hard now. Now the stiffening was building, the spongy length turning into a shaft, the still-pliant tissues shifting and stretching in his pants.

And then his cock was stiff and erect, the head squeezed and pushed further into the stretched clothing. Pushing into the final stage of erection. The tension was still building. The hardness was turning into an insistent pressure. Shaft hard as wood now, and bulbous head bulging and proud.

I'm rock-hard in my pants, Barry thought, inanely.

He knew he and Mark were about to get each other off again. He was glad to have the distraction of the porno. He felt he could easily have gotten hard just by thinking about sex. But the porn was a good excuse, made the stiffening inevitable. At the bar he'd had to suppress an unwanted hard-on once already that night. It was wanted, now, uncertain but definitely wanted.

Barry didn't move, just sat back and watched, and listened. The Asian girl was fondling and sucking the white girl's fake tits as she oohed and aahed. Her rubbery nipples reminded him of Betty-Ann's little pebbles under her tight T-shirt.

As the camera tracked down, to show both girls playing with the blonde's shaved cunt, the lust washed over Barry like a flood. More than desire -- urges, needs. The image of holding Betty-Ann down as he fucked her came to him again. She had liked him, he knew it. He could be, should be, fucking her right now.

He stared at the pink flesh being spread and diddled by the two different hands, and could no longer see the movie. Just the image of his cock plunging into that girl's fuck-hole. He'd grab one thigh in each hand, and --

Goddammit.

He looked at Mark. Mark was just sitting on the other end of the sofa. Staring at the video, not moving.

The blonde's pussy was already getting worked over: the other girl was sucking and licking her clit, and sliding a couple of fingers in and out of her. The sound of a young woman in ecstasy filled the room -- fake, probably, but who knew?

"Nice lookin' porno you got there," said Barry.

"Yeah. I got a collection. I used to have a girlfriend who was a bit of a freak."

"She liked watching girls eat pussy?"

"Mm-hm. She liked watching girls eat pussy."

A pause.

"She liked... watching me... watch girls eat pussy. Too," he added.

Barry knew Mark was as hard as he was.

OK, he thought, we both know how this goes. Let's make it happen.

The thick, strong ex-jock stood, and, without any effort to hide the lump in his jeans, faced the lean, tall swimmer.

"Stand up," he said.

Mark looked up at him and took a breath.

"C'mon," said Barry.

Mark looked back at the laptop, and got slowly to his feet.

"I'm gonna do you first. Then you're gonna do me, right?" said Barry.

Mark nodded, still not looking at him.

Barry bent and lifted up Mark's button-down shirt. He had a smooth, lean stomach, with just a thin trail of hair that led down.

His bellybutton caught Barry's gaze for some reason. Naked, it looked infantile. An immaturity, a baby's mark on such a large, flat torso. His was an athlete's stomach, built for flexing and twisting.

He took hold of the button on Mark's jeans. He could see the sophomore's long rod, extending down, under a pantleg, lifting at the denim, levering it into a ridge.

The only sound was the moaning and squishing of the girls on the laptop. The lights were on. The room seemed very bright. Barry's heart raced.

He slipped the button free and unzipped. He looked at the front of Mark's pants, splayed open. Vulnerable. He thought he could smell the sweat, or was it his imagination?

Some impulse made him place a hand on Mark's penis through his jeans, and massage it gently. Mark twitched. He felt warm. Later, Barry would recall this as one of their more intimate moments, a rubbing through the pants of a still-clothed man. The anticipation building. The closest they'd yet been to foreplay.

Barry was on one knee. He gently lowered Mark's jeans partway down his thighs. His stiff prick still entangled in cloth. He took hold of his boxers, slid them down, just a few inches. Mark's stomach, seeming so muscular now, bore a thin trail of hair to -- as the waistband lowered -- the thick, dark nest of his sex.

He grasped Mark's dick through the boxers, and with both hands, slowly massaged it through the cotton. Mark's hands lay limp at his sides. Mark didn't move.

Barry's own cock bulged, trapped, uncomfortably, in his own crotch. He ignored it and slipped the waistband down and under Mark's balls.

The long, slim dick finally bobbed free. Barry's hands were already on it, both hands, caressing it from all angles, touching the young man's penis from top to bottom. It nodded and weaved under Barry's ministrations, propelled by his stroking and petting.

He was in no hurry. They both knew what was to come. They weren't backing out. He could take his time.

Mark controlled his breathing, breathed through his nose, stood stock-still. He'd been expecting a hard jacking-off, and from the state of his Geena-prolonged arousal, he hadn't thought he'd last even one minute. He hadn't thought Barry would --

Barry was taking his time. He was actually enjoying giving Mark this kind of pleasure. He knew his friend was going crazy on the inside, even if he was just standing there.

He cupped Mark's balls with one hand, gently holding them while his other hand slid slowly, loosely up and down that long cock. Cupped his balls, and squeezed the hairy sack oh-so-gently.

There was so much to do with the sensitive skin of a young man's scrotum. He tickled Mark's sack with the light touch of two fingers, until it pulled itself up into a tight round package. Then a careful stroking, pulling the edges of the skin, stretching his balls bit by bit until they descended again.

Then he slipped his fingers under the waistband, curled them around the back of Mark's ball sack, and took a nice firm grip of it. He pulled it gently down and held it firm.

He lifted his other hand to his lips and dropped saliva into his palm. He spread the wetness over that svelte, long, cock, and stroked it up and down.

It wasn't like dominating a big-hipped blonde girl by impaling her until she cried out. But it was domination, of a kind. He enjoyed that. He didn't quite consciously see the reason he enjoyed that.

Barry's big hand was a nice big fist, a manly hand, wet with spit as he slid it up and down his friend's cock.

Mark's boner got hard as it could be, as Barry stroked it and stroked it.

Mark's mouth had fallen open, and he licked his lips as he controlled his breathing. Still watching the laptop, as if studying naked girls could ensure he wasn't gay, Still... unmoved. Unmoving.

Barry kind of liked that, actually. Mark could resist all he wanted. He was going to give in eventually. Going at it easy, and letting him resist the whole long way, was just the kind of pleasurable punishment he deserved for resisting.

Barry must have rubbed a bit hard, or the spit started to stick, because after a bit, Mark gave an "ah--" and, taking Barry's hand in his, lifted it away.

"Hold on a sec," said Mark. "You're chafing me. Can you get that massage oil there?" He pointed to where he'd left it.

Barry smiled, picked it up, and got a few towels from the bathroom too. Laying them on the couch, he knelt down and squirted a generous glob of oil into his hands.

The first touch, Barry's two hands together sliding frictionlessly from tip to base of his angry hard-on, was such ecstasy that Mark froze, not even knowing what he was feeling.

Mark had never had his cock oiled before. For the condoms' sake, his girlfriends had only ever wet it with water-based lube and their own fluids. Oil feels different, as he was discovering.

Oil turns a man's penis into pure slippery joy.

An oiled cock has no limits to pleasure. In the right hands, an oiled cock can dance in that pleasure, for hours.

Barry slid one hand back under Mark's balls, oiling his sack, and sliding his fingers back, further, between his standing legs. He rubbed Mark's hairy, oily taint as his other hand took a nice firm grip on his hairless, slick shaft. And pumped.

Mark must still be controlling his breathing. As the sound of the stroked cock joined the squishy mm's and oh's of the movie's licked pussy, Mark still stood there. Hands at his sides. Staring only at the screen.

Barry's own cock throbbed in his jeans as he gave Mark's exposed naked cock an oily jacking.

Mark's breath caught.

Then a sighed "ohhh" escaped his lips, as his hips twitched slightly forward.

Barry smiled, and kept up the stroking exactly as before.

With his other hand rubbing back and forth along Mark's perineum, he could feel the penis shaft where it extended out from inside his body. It was hard there too. He could feel the fat ridge on its underside, the tube his cum would squeeze through. With one hand on the exposed shaft and the other rubbing the shaft buried behind his balls, it felt like Mark's dick was a foot long.

Mark tensed and shuddered. His eyes squeezed shut. His hands fluttered, then clenched into fists.

Still he stood there.

What's he waiting for? Barry wondered.

Does he think there's something wrong with him for liking this?

Why won't he give in to it?

His big fist slid up and down the hard, oily cock. Up and down the slippery shaft, while the swollen little head at its tip got hidden and revealed, over and over..

Barry was enjoying it. Actually enjoying pleasuring a man's penis. It was really a lot like eating pussy, he realized. He wasn't getting much out of it either way, but it was fun to make someone else cum. It was fun. And Barry's cock -- for whatever reason -- stayed stiff and hard in his pants, so who was he to say he wasn't enjoying it?

He focused on the flesh of the stiff penis in his hand. As he watched himself sliding his hand up and down it, he could almost feel the sensations himself.

He slowed his pumping rhythm, took a measured pace. Long minutes of a measured pace. Just fast enough to not be slow. Not giving Mark the hard swift jack-off he really wanted. Lifting him to it. Bringing him to the point where he wanted more.

Holding him there, wanting more.

Finally, Mark moaned. His ass clenched, hips jerked forward, head fell back, eyes closed.

He slid a hand under his shirt to caress his own tensed stomach.

The picture of a man giving in to ecstasy: his hips thrusting forward, bucking as he surrenders to the rhythm; one hand rubbing his torso from groin to chest; the other grabbing his own hair; shoulders hunch and head lolls, mouth open.

Mark moaned, giving a tense "ohhh," and started to pant as he succumbed to Barry. So horny, so incredibly hot for sex, and yet the oil stretched out the pleasure, erasing friction and leaving him with the slipping, pulling, sliding, raw stimulation. It built and built.

Some part of his mind wondered how had not cum by now.

His cock was pure pleasure, full to bursting, ready to explode, yet there he stood, gasping and groaning, twisting his body. The tight muscles of his ass squeezed as he thrust the core of his pleasure forward.

He'd resisted so long, and now he was lost to it, helpless, surrendering to the strong hands of a horny college boy.

Barry watched Mark's face as his eyes snapped open. "Ah -- I --" was all he got out at first, and then, eyes wide, "oh God."

Barry stroked five more times, a little harder now, a little faster. Long, faster strokes, all the way up and down Mark's long, slender cock. He felt his balls rise up tight, and then: "shit --"

"Shit --"

"Oh, fuck -- fuck!" said Mark.

"Yeah," said Barry softly.

"I'mgonnacum," Mark said, fast, then again: "I'mgonnacum."

"Yeah," was all Barry said.

Brought to the edge, and carried over...

"Shit -- shit --"

"Oh --"

"Oh shit --"

"Not on the computer --" he got out as the flood of orgasm rose up in him. Barry pointed him away from the now-ignored laptop, and squeezed harder, and jacked fast -- fast -- up and down on the head of Mark's cock --

Fast, hard, right on his cock-head --

"Fuck!"

The orgasm broke across him a full second before his balls shot his cum.

Head back, Mark thrust his hips into the big slick fist. Barry felt the pulse of hot cum rushing up through that spongy little tube.

Silence, held breath, as the first spurt of liquid shot out of Mark's cock.

Then -- "Ngaaahh! Aahh! Uhhh!" -- a gasping wordless groan as Barry's fist pumped the rest of his cum out of him. Barry watched the second pulse, a stream that spat onto the floor, and the third a blip that spilled out over his hand.

He eased his stroking. The fourth and fifth involuntary contractions from deep within the younger man's body squeezed only a few more drops of white fluid, trickling from his hot reddened cock-head onto Barry's knuckles.

Mark panted an "uh -- uh --" as Barry wound down.

He slowly squeezed and stroked Mark's shaft as a long train of contractions spasmed through his manhood, and he gently pulled and caressed his tensed balls until they relaxed.

Behind him, oblivious, the girls were still at it.

A week ago, the first time either of them had been with a man, they had brought it to an end as soon as they were done. This time, Barry just waited, giving gentler and slowing strokes as Mark, deflated, returned to Earth. The cum-spasms weakened and ended. Soon the senior was just caressing the sophomore's half-hard cock, barely touching the now-sensitive head, eking the dregs from the experience.

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