The Art of Seduction

"Johnny—your shoulders are tense," I said as I continued to massage him. "Here...is this better?"

"Oh, Mister Jones—" he groaned.

"SShhhhh..." I said.

I wondered how long he would let me touch him. A full minute passed then I reached around and massaged his breasts—his nipples hardened. When I pinched his nipples he jumped and snapped out of his reverie.

"Oh God, I—I have to go..."

"I want to make you lunch tomorrow, okay," I said.

He didn't answer. "Johnny, come over at noon for lunch, okay?"

His voice was unsteady, quivering. "O-Okay," he said as he quickly went outside into the humid night air.

I returned to the couch smiling. I poured myself one more glass of wine and sat back and basked in the glow of a successful evening.

When Billy saw Johnny go inside he came out of the shadows and into my house. I stripped off my boxers and lay full length on the couch. My prick was throbbing and my balls ached for release.

"Your mouth..." I told Billy, "...use your mouth."

Billy dutifully knelt between my legs and sucked me to two explosive orgasms.

When Johnny arrived at noon the next day and saw me wearing only boxers he frowned but immediately stripped off his tee shirt.

"You look pretty silly with those on," I said, pointing to his sneakers and white socks.

He sighed then removed his shoes and socks.

We ate a chicken salad I made from scratch. I gave him a huge portion and he ate it all. I loved gazing at his nearly naked body. His flesh was soft but firm and milky white. He had small blond tufts of hair under his arms with only a few blonde strands on his chest.

No matter, I thought. All of his body hair will be gone once he moves in with me.

At one point I inadvertently caught a glance under the leg-band of his tiny shorts.

"You know, Johnny," I said, "you shouldn't wear underwear with those shorts."

"W-What do you mean?" he blushed.

"Because you won't believe how good the nylon material feels against your skin," I answered then I changed the subject.

Later, when I watched Johnny leave for work I went next door and entered his apartment using the key Floyd had given me.

I went straight to his bed and pulled back the bedspread. I chuckled to myself.

There were four dried cum stains on his sheet and one that was still damp. He'd jerked-off just before showering for work. I searched for and found the magazine under his mattress. I was very pleased with myself.

I had a leisurely afternoon and evening. Much of the time I was on the internet, but I also made sure I took a long nap—it was going to be a late night. From here on out they all would be.

At 11:30 I threw on a shirt, slacks and shoes. At 11:45 the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Mister Jones this is John—ah—Johnny—there's something wrong with my car—it won't start—it's making funny noises—I don't know what to do."

"Johnny, calm down, I'll get dressed and come down there, okay?"

"Oh God—great—thank you so much, Mister Jones."

"Try to relax—I'll take care of everything, okay?"

"Okay--thank you..."

When I arrived at the grocery store Johnny was standing beside his car with such a forlorn look on his face it tugged at my heart-strings.

"I don't know what happened—I don't know much about cars but the engine sounded like it just died," he said.

Of course it did, I thought. Sugar in the gasoline will kill an engine every time.

"Don't worry about a thing," I reassured him. "I'll call my mechanic in the morning and he'll find out what's wrong with it."

"Mister Jones...I don't have the money to pay to get it fixed..."

"Johnny, I'll take care of everything—leave it to me, okay?"

"Okay...."

On the ride home I explained that I will take him to work, pick him up and take him anywhere else he needs to go until his car is repaired.

"Mister Jones—thank you so much—I really mean that."

I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

I parked the car on the street instead of my back garage. I told him he could use a glass of wine to calm his nerves and he readily agreed.

"Should I change clothes first?" he asked.

"Yes—why don't you, okay?"

"Okay...."

I went into my bedroom and stripped to my boxers then into the kitchen and prepared an ice bucket. I opened the wine and carried everything into the living room. I was a little startled to see Johnny already sitting on the couch.

While I stood before him pouring wine I snuck a glance under a leg-band of his shorts—he wasn't wearing underwear.

What a smart boy, I thought; a very good memory.

I sat beside him on the couch—our bare legs touching. He didn't seem to think anything of it. After awhile I put my arm around him and squeezed his shoulder. He didn't move.

He was still shaken from the car experience and I encouraged him to drink up that he'd feel better. By the time I finished my first glass of wine he'd had three.

I squeezed his shoulder again and said: "Johnny, you're still tense—you need a massage."

I stood and retrieved my 'special' massage table from the hallway closet and set it up in the living room. His eyes grew big.

"Ah, Mister Jones, I don't know...."

"Don't be silly—c'mon—stand up—come over here and lay on your stomach—I'm going to help you relax."

I went to the kitchen and carried a large bowl filled with warm massage oil to the table. I coated my hands with oil and began massaging his back. He groaned.

"Oh, Mister Jones, that feels good..."

He was right, of course. I have become something of an expert masseur and I can guarantee there is nothing more sensual and exotic than a hot oil massage. He would never forget this night.

I worked the oil into his creamy flesh. He was soft to the touch and my cock stiffened in my boxers. He wouldn't notice—he was face down and loving the feel of my strong hands.

Over and over I worked his back and shoulders then I moved down to his legs. I did his ankles and calves and when my hands stroked his thighs he cried out "Oh God" and tried to escape my kneading hands.

When he calmed, I stealthily hooked my fingers in the waistband of his shorts, and in one fell swoop, I yanked them down his legs and off.

"Mister Jones, what are you doing?" he exclaimed.

"Johnny, don't be childish—I need to get at your sciatic nerve—I need to massage you all over."

I poured oil on his buttocks and kneaded his flesh. Soon he began to moan again.

Now my massage table is 'special' because the lower half has actual 'legs' that come apart when I press the motorized button. I opened the 'legs' slightly and found the straps underneath.

"Johnny," I explained, "I'm going to attach your ankles to the board so don't panic, okay? If they're not firmly attached to the table you might fall off. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mister Jones...."

When his ankles were firmly in place, I pressed the button and the legs extended out ward until Johnny's legs were wide apart. He expressed his dismay but I quickly soothed his doubts.

Now I worked his buttocks and thighs in earnest. His legs supported the lower half of his body but his crotch area was completely exposed. His penis and balls hung unsupported. I looked and saw he had an erection. I oiled my hands and massaged his private parts—he squirmed and tried to avoid my contact but the straps held him in place.

"Johnny—stop moving—you're making this difficult—do you trust me? Johnny, do you trust me?"

His voice was small, whimpering. "Y-Yes...I trust you—I trust you..."

"Good boy, lay still—let me make you feel good, okay? OKAY?"

"Okay," he said barely audible.

With that I poured more oil on his bottom and my fingers worked it between his cheeks. He started when my finger first touched his anus.

"Relax...I want you to feel good...relax...relax...relax..."

My oily finger massaged him from his anus to his perineum and back. Back-and-forth...back-and-forth...back-and-forth....

I poured more oil between his cheeks and gently rubbed his anus. His hips began a slow movement. He wasn't trying to escape my finger any longer—he rotated his hips with the movement of my finger.

Guttural moans came from deep within his throat. I poured more oil on my finger and pressed it against his anus.

I softly chanted, "Relax...relax...relax...relax...."

He barely noticed when my oily finger pushed through his anus. His hips jerked but he didn't cry out. I poured more oil on my finger and pushed it further inside him. His groaning became louder.

I oiled my other hand and took hold of his erection.

"OH-GODDDDDD...." he cried out.

I stroked his cock while my finger pushed deeper-and-deeper into his asshole. Finally, my entire middle finger was inside him. I began to slowly finger-fuck his asshole as I stroked his cock.

His upper body writhed on the table as I jerked his cock faster-and-faster. My finger plowed in-and-out of his asshole. Both hands increased speed and tempo. Now his hips bucked wildly—his cock expanded in my hand—it was time—it was time—I pushed a second finger into his asshole and he cried out in ecstasy as his balls exploded—wave-after-wave of cum shot out of his pulsating cock. He screamed—his body shook—I milked his cock for every drop of cum he had.

He collapsed on the table. I released his softening cock and pulled my fingers out of his ass. He would never forget his first time with me—he would never forget how much pleasure I had given him.

"Oh God, Mister Jones..." he gasped.

I had placed a towel on the floor beneath him and there was an impressive pool of his cum on it. He reached for his shorts but I stopped him.

"You need a shower to wash the oil off you," I said.

"Ah, yeah...sure," he answered. He was still dazed and confused.

I led him through my bedroom to the master bathroom. He seemed oblivious to his nudity. When I stripped off my boxers and climbed into the tub with him I saw surprise on his face but he didn't say anything.

When he stared at my seven-inch erection I asked him, "Do you like that, Johnny?"

His face flushed red and he stammered, "I, oh Mister Jones...I..."

"This is what you do to me, Johnny—you make my penis hard whenever you're with me—you're a very exciting boy."

I soaped him all over and washed the oil off his tender flesh. I saw his cock twitch so I paid special attention to his crotch. He became hard again—I massaged his erection.

He didn't know what to do or say. I handed him the soap.

"Johnny, will you do me a favor?" I asked softly.

"Ah...yeah...." he answered.

"Good boy...use the soap on me down there," I told him as we looked at my hard-on.

"Mister Jones—please—I, ah—please don't make me gay," he whimpered.

"Johnny, quit being childish--I can't make you 'be' anything you don't want to 'be'—I just want you to do me a favor—haven't I treated you well?" I continued massaging his stiff prick. "Johnny, boys do this for each other all the time—we do each other 'favors'—I'll make you feel good, and you return the favor to me—that's all—you understand that don't you?"

"I guess so..." he said.

I took hold of his hand and placed it on my cock. He hesitated then wrapped his small hand around it, his fingers barely fit around the shaft. He imitated the movement of my hand on him.

He was a good student. When I stroked him faster he did the same to me. When I slowed the tempo he did, too.

"Johnny, your touch feels wonderful...keep going like that...I know it feels good in your hand...tell me how it feels in your hand. "

"It's so warm...it feels so smooth and warm..."

I could tell he was enjoying the feel of my cock in his hand. He squeezed it harder and stroked it faster. His face was flush with lust and desire—he was straining to cum—we both were. I reached down and fondled his balls.

"Johnny, rub my balls like I'm doing..."

This time he didn't hesitate. He gasped when he felt the weight of my scrotum. My ball sac was very heavy in his hand. He massaged my balls. I was thrilled with the progress he was making.

Suddenly I felt his balls contract in my hand. I pushed the tip of my finger into his anus. He screamed and his hips jerked wildly. His grip tightened on my cock and we both shot our cum at the same time. We stroked each others' cocks until our balls were empty.

I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss him, but it was too soon. I didn't want to scare him with the intensity of my feelings for him. There would be plenty of time for that later.

We finished washing ourselves. Before he left I told him to come for lunch at eleven. He said "Okay."

I drove him to work and picked him up that night. I didn't ask him how it felt to have a man's penis and balls in his hands. He was quiet and obviously wrestling with these issues. I had checked his bed and there was more dried cum stains. I hoped he was dreaming of my cock when he masturbated.

When Johnny changed into his shorts and walked into my living room, he didn't seem fazed by the sight of the massage table already set up. As a matter-of-fact, I thought I detected a slight smile on his face.

As soon as he finished his third glass of wine I asked him if he would like a massage.

"Ah, yeah...sure, Mister Jones—if it's no problem," he answered.

I smiled and guided him to lie down on the table. I didn't waste any time, I stripped his shorts off him—he lifted his hips to help get them off. I fastened his ankles and spread the legs of the table as far apart as they would go.

I covered him in oil and went to work. By the time I pushed my oily finger into his anus he was moaning with lust. I finger-fucked him a minute or so then coated a hard rubber tube with oil.

The tube was six-inches long and an inch around. When I pushed the tip into his asshole he groaned and tried to pull away. I pinched his bottom-cheek hard.

"Relax, Johnny—relax...relax...relax...relax..."

He accepted the entire length of the tube. I began to fuck him with it. His tiny cock trembled in my hand as I stroked him. I brought him to the edge of orgasm then pulled his balls back in his sac denying his climax—he whimpered in frustration.

Then I fucked him hard and fast. His head rolled from side-to-side—he pushed his hips back to meet the thrusting dildo. A constant stream of unintelligible sounds and noises escaped his lips. He was lost in the ass-fucking. This time I allowed him to cum. His cries of joy were loud as his body shook violently and his cum formed a large pool on the towel beneath him.

I released him from the table and guided him back to the couch—we sat on another towel I had already spread out. I stripped off my boxers and placed his hand on my cock. He instinctively knew what to do.

I put my arm around him and held him tight while he stroked my cock. I repeated to him "You're a good boy, Johnny—you're a good boy."

I guided his other hand to my scrotum. He never hesitated—he cradled my balls in his hand. I sat back and enjoyed the hand-job. I kissed his forehead and whispered "You're a wonderful boy—you're a wonderful boy."

His eyes were glassy and fixated on my cock. When I saw his penis twitch I stroked his thigh until he was completely hard again.

"Johnny, play with your cock while you stroke me—I want to watch you masturbate."

"Oh God..." he whispered, but did as he was told.

I sat back again and gloated at what I had him doing. He was lost in a fog of pure lust and desire—he couldn't help himself. I fought to control my own orgasm—I wanted to time mine with his.

His hands moved faster—he squeezed my cock harder. He was breathing through his mouth—gasping for air. Sweat formed on his face and chest. Then his hands became a blur.

I felt the pressure building in my balls. He was grunting and groaning as he strained to make us both cum. I couldn't hold back any longer—my balls exploded and my cum shot straight in the air. That set-off Johnny and he screamed as he shot another huge load. His body shook and gyrated. He stroked my penis until I pushed his hand away.

He collapsed against me and I held him close.

"You're such a good boy—you're a good boy, Johnny."

The next day I had Johnny come over early. We spent the whole morning and afternoon together. We surfed the internet, talked and laughed. I fell in love with him—he was everything I had been searching for—I wanted him to feel the same way.

Just before he had to get ready for work I asked him if he wanted a massage.

"Oh-God-yes, Mister Jones."

I had him go home and bring back his work clothes. When he saw the massage table he took off his shorts on his own and climbed on the table. My heart was filled with happiness.

I used the dildo on him again—he loved it. He pushed hard against it trying to get all of it inside him. This was the first time we did this without alcohol—I wanted to make it good for him. He was an expressive boy—his shyness was gone. He moaned loudly and cried out as his cum exploded from his balls.

We took a shower together. I had him stand behind me. He reached around me and stroked my cock. I had him massage my balls with his other hand. He was into it now—I was getting ready to cum when I felt his hard cock against me—he was excited again and it thrilled me.

After I climaxed I squeezed his stiff cock and told him he needed to get dressed for work. He whimpered in frustration. When I told him I would give him a special treat after work—his eyes lit up.

While Johnny was working I tried everything to make the time go faster—it didn't work. My penis was stiff with anticipation the whole night. It took every ounce of self-control I had to stop from calling Billy to relieve me.

On the ride home I had Johnny sit beside me. He didn't hesitate. I stroked his thigh and from time-to-time squeezed his prick through his slacks. He was excited, too.

I parked the car in the garage in back of the house. I told Johnny he didn't need to change into his shorts. The massage table was already set-up and when I stripped to my shorts I went to the kitchen and brought back the wine.

Johnny gave me a pleasant surprise: He had taken off his clothes and sat on the couch wearing only his black bikini briefs. God, how he looked sexy!

I sat beside him; we talked as he drank three glasses of wine to my one glass. I had my arm around him and stroked his warm flesh—his skin was as soft as a girls.

I stroked his thighs and massaged his breasts and nipples. His cock pushed hard against the front of his briefs.

"Would you like a massage?" I smiled.

"Oh, God yes," he answered. He sprang up from the couch, peeled off his shorts and laid down on the table.

I covered him in oil and lovingly kneaded his flesh. When I began oiling his anus he groaned and pushed back against my probing finger. My finger slid easily into his asshole and I finger-fucked him until there was no resistance. I pulled out my finger and immediately pushed the dildo inside him—he cried out with pleasure.

I stood directly behind him—his wide-split thighs on either side of me. I used the dildo for a few minutes and when he began wriggling against it I withdrew the dildo—pushed the head of my cock against his hole then slowly pushed the entire length of my stiff prick into his clasping asshole.

"OH-GOD-OH-GOD-OH-GOD...." He screamed.

I held him in place and buried my cock to the hilt. I stopped and allowed him to get accustomed to my size. I was happy and proud that he didn't beg me to stop. I had conditioned him well.

My balls were already aching for release so I knew this first fuck wouldn't take long. I gave him six hard thrusts then I filled his asshole with my pent-up lust. I held him still—my cock stayed hard and impaled his deliciously tight rectum.

When I regained my breath and strength I sawed in-and-out of him with long, steady strokes. The walls of his asshole excited my cock so much that I soon found myself thrusting harder-and-harder. I grabbed hold of his throbbing cock and stroked him in time with my thrusts.