Great Christmas Tree Buy

He was in awe of my musculature. He wanted to worship my body, and I let him as we both stood in the shower cubicle under the running water and soaped each other's bodies up. I let him do me, gliding his hands all over me and stroking my cock as we stood in a facing embrace. He tried to come up on his toes for a lip lock, but I'm not that kind of guy. Getting that, if not liking it, he let his lips go to my nipples and to tracing the lines of the swirl of tattooing on my pecs as I crouched a bit to continue frotting our cocks together. When I put my hands on his shoulders and pressed down, he got the message and went down on his knees, kissing down my torso and belly and then taking my cock in his mouth.

Gino gave good head. I'm sure he'd done this before. When I was hard as a rock and panting, I pulled him up and reversed him, hovering over his back and pulling his bubble butt into my crotch to let him feel what I had for him. He started to whimper and moan, "Yes, yes. Put it in. Fuck me." I reached down, grasped my rod, and slapped it around on his buttocks. He sensed I was fumbling around with a condom packet I'd brought in with me, but he pushed that away.

"No need, unless you're worried about me," he said. "I want you to breed me." That was too tempting and I was too much into the moment. It would mean a trip to my good friend and fellow honey hunter, the discreet Dr. Curtis, the next week, but what the hell. It's Christmas. This would be a Christmas present.

He was trembling in my embrace when I covered his mouth with one hand to keep the noise down, palmed his lower belly with the other, and pulled him up, bent over at the waist, into my groin and onto my unsheathed cock. His feet came off the floor and he was completely under my control, bent over and dangling in front of me under the cascading water of the shower.

I had to hold fast on his mouth to muffle his cries as I penetrated and started the stretch. He was really tight, and I was taking him raw with just soapy water as a lubricant, but that was much of the thrill of fucking a small late teen, and his moans were telling me he was having a good enough time not to try to struggle away and bolt from the shower. This was really his idea anyway. When I was in and pumping with the combination of thrusting up into him and pulling him up into me rhythmically with my hand palming his belly, he began to relax and just dangle there, feet off the floor, as I pulled him on and off the cock. I was fucking him good and he was fully submissive to me.

I released his mouth and moved to a grip on his waist on either side as I raised and lowered him on the shaft. "This is what you wanted. This is what you came for," I murmured.

He didn't answer, but his moans and groans and his total surrender to me told me he was doing OK—or close enough.

When I'd come, we both gasped at the feel of the cum pumping inside him deep. I was healthy and virile. I was a pumper. I had a lot to pump. I also would recharge quickly. I was every young bottom's dream.

I lowered him gently to the wet tiles of the floor and he went into a near fetal position. "I'm sorry if that's not what you wanted," I said, now not so certain it was, since he hadn't exactly been vocal about wanting what he got, while he was getting it, "but you came on to me and this is what I do. I'm going to the sauna now. Not the one off the locker room. That's for guys who aren't easily shocked. There's another at the back of the place behind the door around to the right when you leave this shower area. You can shower and leave. It's almost 10:00 and your dad should be here to pick you up. If you want to get hold of me again, ask Franco at the front desk. He has my number. He'll give it to you."

"I have more for you, if that's what you want," I added as I turned to leave the cubicle.

He was just lying there, under the stream of water in half an inch of water on the tile floor slow to go down the drain. He was quaking and not answering. He was making other sounds than the moans and groans, either purring or softly sobbing. I couldn't tell which. He'd have to decide. He'd either taken more than he'd wanted, or he wanted to be taken more. It was up to him.

"Fuck it," I said, left the shower, grabbed a dry towel from the stack on a table in the passageway, and went to the more private sauna at the rear of the gym building.

There already were a few of guys in the sauna. One set of them was on the top bench at the side, coupling. Hank, a bodybuilder a couple of years older than I was was on top of a little guy I just knew as Sean, a swishy, cute young guy who came in now and again looking for what Hank was giving him. He'd signaled he wanted it from me, but he was too much the girl for me to have been interested. Sean was stretched out on the top bench, flat on his belly, arm dangling off the side, pretty-boy face with flowing blond hair and mascaraed eyes, turned to me, looking dreamy with his tongue hanging out, making little yippy sounds and whispering, "Yeah, baby; give it to me, baby."

Hank, on his toes and the heels of his hands, his body stiff as a board, was giving it to Sean. He was doing pushups on Sean's ass. He was thick and long and came up to where the rim of the bulb could be seen before the shaft disappeared up to the pubes in the hole again. Sean was getting it good. They didn't stop when I came into the sauna, went to the top shelf of the side facing the sauna door, and lay out on my back on the spread towel.

A couple of other guys were on the benches across from Hank and Sean. a young, muscled-up guy I hadn't seen in the gym before was sitting on the middle bench, legs spread, and an older, gaunt gray-hair who I knew owned a jewelry store on Main Street was crouched on his knees on the next bench down, between the younger guy's thighs, and giving the younger guy head.

After a couple of minutes, the door to the sauna opened and Gino came in and climbed up to the top of the bank of benches where I was. He had a towel around him, which he opened and sat on below my feet. He was in erection, so I knew he wanted more. I had my legs together but not for long. I felt his hand on one ankle and then the other. He was coaxing my legs to bend and then to spread.

"So, you haven't had enough," I murmured. He didn't answer me but slowly glided his hands up my now-spread legs, coming with them on his knees, moving up until he could lean over and take my cock in his mouth. His hands kept coming up my belly, reaching up and latching onto my nubs on either side between thumb and index finger and working them. He hadn't forgotten how to give great head since we'd been in the shower. I held his head between my hands and let him work me ramrod straight while keeping his head in place until I was ready to let him stop. When he had me hard and throbbing, he rose, saddled himself on my pelvis, positioned the cap of my cock at his hole with a hand, descended on the shaft, and rode me dry for a second time in a "galloping across the prairie" cowboy.

This kid was a player. He rode me well. He rode the cock like a pro. I don't think he'd had it from many before me, but I think he must have been done by one or two guys often. He'd certainly been taught how to do a good cowboy.

He collapsed forward on me when we'd both come, both of us gasping as I blasted him again and again, deep, with my cum. I wrapped my arms around him to hold him close. We both concentrated on me going soft in his channel.

When that event was over, I whispered, "How many have there been before me, kid?"

"A few," he answered. "Mainly one. Mr. Davis. None with the body you have. I can't get over your body—and the tattoo."

I was proud of the tattooing—stylistic swirls in cobalt blue around the bulging pecs, following the line of the curves, and then down the left arm to the elbow. And an arrow in a heart low on my belly on the right, the arrow shaft bent and pointing at the goods. I had a silver ring pierced in my taint under the balls too. Gino had found that and given it a good tonguing and pull with his teeth. The kid wasn't shy.

"Mr. Davis?" I asked.

"My swim coach."

"Ah. Regularly?"

"At least once a week. He does Craig too. Your cock is bigger. Everything about you is bigger . . . and better."

"I barebacked you. You pushed the rubber away when I brought one out. You've let the other's fuck you raw?" I was more than a little concerned that he already was a casual player.

"No. Just you. I wanted it to be you who breeded me."

Alrighty then. "It must be after 10:00. Your dad must be waiting for you out front."

"My dad?"

"You told Davis that your dad was picking you up at 10:00."

"I lied. That's so he wouldn't come back and pick me up then himself."

"You said your parents were out of town today."

"I didn't lie about that. They are."

"Transportation?"

"I have my bike."

"I'm sure it will fit in the back of my Jeep."

"I was hoping it would," he said.

When we left the sauna, the gray-hair was in the young muscle guy's lap, facing him and riding his cock. Hank was still doing pushups on Sean's ass, and he was chewing on Sean's neck. If he'd been a vampire, Sean would be one now too. The little swisher probably would enjoy that. I wondered how old Sean was. I thought he probably wasn't any older than eighteen. We had sort of a fetish club going here at the Rocky Gym. Seeking late teens seemed to be able to find us here. We were careful that they were at least eighteen, though. Hank liked doing eighteen and- nineteen-year-olds as much as I did.

He certainly was doing one now.

As Gino and I left the sauna, two young muscle guys passed us and climbed up to the bench we'd vacated to start their own dance of the fuck. It was a busy morning in the back sauna at Rocky's Gym. The two new guys had been in the gym, watching what I was doing to Gino there. I smiled at the thought that I'd revved them up and brought them to the sauna to work out their tensions together. They had assumed the sixty-nine position before I closed the sauna door on them.

* * * *

Gino stood inside the door of my neat Arts and Crafts bungalow on the established and quiet North Morrison Street and looked around as I lit the place up. I was glad now that I had taken the time to put the tree up and decorate it. I also looked at the bearskin rug laid out in front of the fireplace with new appreciation. A flick of a switch turned on soft vocals Christmas music too. I had other music that could be brought up at the flick of another switch. The TV above the fireplace was loaded, as well, but I wouldn't turn that on yet—or ever, if this didn't work out. He still could and run when he realized this was going to become more intense if he stayed.

The setting was perfect. I only now was appreciating how much effort I'd taken to set this Saturday up.

I went over and lit the fire in the fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable," I said. "I'll go get us a couple of beers."

"Can't drink beer," Gino said. "The DUI." He didn't really have to remind me of that. He was standing there, by the door, looking all of the nearly nineteen that he was. A cute, sexy little guy, with dark, Italian looks, and a body to die for with a guy like me. If I hadn't already paid and fucked him, I wouldn't have thought he was attainable.

I liked them young, small, with smooth, supple skin, flexible, yielding, and with enough awe of the act and older, controlling and demanding men to make me feel like I was deflowering the young guy each and every time. Gino had all of that in spades, plus he had the experience to give a first-rate blow job. And he had come for me, and I don't mean just in shooting his load. He had sought me out. I hadn't had to make the effort to cut a young guy from the herd and seduce him. There was phenomenal risk in covering a young, skittish guy whose response could be unpredictable, but Gino had taken some of that risk away. He'd come looking for it.

And he wanted to be barebacked. Can't have a better Christmas present than that.

"You're illegal to be here with me and to do what we have done and are about to do again," I said. "You took my money, which makes what you're doing prostitution. That's illegal in the jurisdiction of Kokomo. We're both on the wrong side of the law here. So, beer or wine, or something harder?"

"Something hard?" he said and giggled, showing that he was still a teenager in many ways.

"I'll get us a couple of beers," I said. He said nothing, so I went to the kitchen. When I returned, he was naked and reclining on his back into the corner of the sofa facing the fire, with the lit-up Christmas tree in view beside the fireplace.

And he was looking oh so fine.

I walked over and put the cans of beer on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Well, this is disappointing," I said.

"You find me disappointing? You don't like my body? I'm too short and skinny for you—not all muscle and big dick, like you are?"

"No, I find you perfect for my tastes. And you have a very nice dick," I said, which made the little guy smile. And he was perfect. He fit my fetish perfectly. He was stretched out there on the sofa, leaning into the corner, legs parted, and hand slow stroking himself. His pelvis was rolled up and I could see his hole, rosy and puckered, still dilated from the last time I'd been inside him. Ready for me—more than ready because I didn't have to make the effort to ream him to my specifications now before fucking him real good—and I hardly could wait. I was about as erect as I could get, my shaft pushing to free itself from my sweatpants.

"What I'm saying is that I hoped I'd get to unwrap my Christmas present myself."

"You think of me as your Christmas present?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," I answered. That obviously pleased him as well.

"You're my Christmas present too. Can I watch you unwrap yourself?"

"Sure," I said and peeled off my clothes, such as they'd been, and stood there, by the sofa, throbbing erection in hand, the bulb pointed at him. "So, what do you think of Santa?" I asked.

"You're not Santa, you're a fuckin' god," he said, stretching out his fine little body in the corner of the sofa and nearly purring. "You're Mr. America. You're Mr. Universe. Shit, your muscles have muscles."

"I have a muscle for you. You want this god fucking you?"

"Shit, yes," he answered in a breathy voice. "Fuck me again. Fuck me from Christmas into the New Year. Screw the hell out of me."

So, I did. I came down on top of him and between his spread legs. I fondled and licked and kissed him all over, moving on his body as he, moaning and panting, moved against mine. Once again, he wanted a lip lock, but I didn't give it to him. This wasn't a romance. This was a ravishment. He wanted to see this as romantic, lovemaking, but this was fucking. Me fucking him. He was a whore I had paid for.

I was all about worshipping his body and celebrating mine, gliding my hands on his curves and in his crevices, but this wasn't lovemaking. This was fucking. This was finger fucking him until he was begging for the cock, not giving him that until I'd taken his cock in my mouth and drained him dry. And not until I'd opened him more tonguing his sweet rosebud of a hole.

This was my five-hundred-dollar Christmas present to myself and I wanted to savor it.

And then this was about raw fucking—me covering him and using the little whore for my pleasure—not for his; for mine.

I picked up one remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV above the fireplace to a looped fuck scene from a new Web site that featured older muscled studs ravishing small, young guys. Another remote changed the music from Christmas background vocals to the strong, insistent beat of the background music to some favorite porn scenes of mine. This was all happening faster than I had anticipated, but, what the hell, it was exciting and exhilarating—just like barebacking him was. Merry Christmas to me.

Then I fucked him. I covered him in the corner of the sofa, lying on top of him, between his legs. I grasped his wrists in my hands, forcing his arms over his head. He gasped and yelped as I entered him, strongly, insistently, deeply.

"Shit, fuck," he exclaimed. "Not so fast, you're hurting me. Fuck. Shit! Yes, YESSS, fuck me, FUCK ME. FUCKME! Screw me to the floor!"

I almost immediately established a pumping rhythm that matched the beat of the background music and the rhythm of the fuck on the screen above the fireplace, which Gino turned his head toward and watched, as I buried my face in his throat and hummed as I worked.

This was a job for me now. Bring him to the ceremony. Lay him on the altar. Slay him with my cock. Sacrifice his youth and innocence to my need. Teach him all of it—to take it all.

I let loose of Gino's wrists and he moved his hands to my shoulder blades and dug his fingernails in, now reduced to whimpering, "Yes, yes, yes." He hooked his knees on my hips and bucked with me, taking me deep in his soft, spongy inner core. We were fucking, one coordinated fucking machine, at one with the beat of the music and the rhythm of the fuck on the TV screen and the giving and taking spirt of the lit Christmas tree and fireplace.

"Shit, you're so fuckin' big," he moaned.

Why, yes, yes, I was.

He jerked and called out in passion, "Shit! Fuck! You're in so deep!" as I grasped him closely, pulled back, almost exiting him, and then thrusting hard and deep—"Fuck!"—and then again—"Shit!"—and again "FUCK!"—making him jerk and lurch and cry out with each slaying thrust.

We came almost together, holding, both concentrating on the release of the warm cum, and moved into a period of calming our breaths and the beat of our hearts, I picked him up and moved him to the bearskin rug. There, I put him on all fours, his head turned toward the fireplace to watch it, dreamily with his mouth open in a perpetual gasp, as I crouched over him, memories of my first time with a muscular man on this same rug flowing into my brain; mounted him; penetrated him; and fucked him again. He was beyond all verbal response now, lying docilely in my embrace, panting low and taking it and taking it and taking it. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money, but I was getting my money's worth.

I was, as he had wanted, a muscular, older fucking god for him. And he was all I wanted in a fetish for compliant eighteen-year-old, sweet young guys. To do it bareback, with each of us enjoying the sensation of me ejaculating again and again inside him, was an extra Christmas present for us both. There was no tomorrow to think about. It was all today, now. A Christmas present for each other that neither would ever forget.

This time we did come together, me deep inside him, him from the hand I'd snaked under his belly and grasped and stroked his cock with. I'd topped him off with cum, which was burbling out of his hole and dripping down his inner thighs. Afterward, he collapsed under me and I came down with him, rolling to the side and holding him close, each of us looking into the fire and up to the Christmas tree. We couldn't see the TV screen from here, but we could tell, from the sounds, that the muscle man and seeming teenager were still having a good time. Once again, our hands roamed over each other, the man enjoying the supple, resilient skin of the young guy and the young guy enjoying the hard curves of the man's muscles and tracing my tattooing with his fingers.

"When do you have to be home?" I murmured in his ear. "When do your parents get back from Indianapolis today?" I knew the answer to that. He wouldn't have come home with me for just an hour on the sofa. He clearly wanted more. He wanted it all. I was just the man to give it to him.

"My parents don't come home until tomorrow night," he answered.