Shooting Matt Ch. 03

Mr. Bigland's best intentions fall by the wayside.

Thanks, as always, to LarryInSeattle.

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I'm standing in the archway that separates the kitchen from the hallway. The house is small. The kitchen is small. Matt's cock is not small. It takes only a few steps for him to cross the kitchen. With every one of those steps I'm transfixed by his swaying cock.

My intention is to step back, to give him room. My intention is for him to take a quick shower, in the house's only bathroom, in the tub that should have been re-glazed or replaced several years ago. My intention is that after he's cooled off in that shower, that he slips his raggedy cutoffs back on and goes home.

My right hand goes to the back of his neck. I grip it, hard. We're roughly the same height. His eyes are locked on mine. My intention is to tell him to take his damn shower and then please just go. I open my mouth to tell him but I don't speak.

My mouth finds his. My tongue meets his. They wrestle for dominance. My free hand goes around his waist. I pull him close. Our bare chests touch. I can't feel his chest stubble through the thick, mostly still black, hair on my own. His hands grip my ass and he grinds his cock against the top of my leg and my bare belly.

I push him away and glance over my shoulder. The shades are drawn, to keep the hot sun out, but they provide privacy as well. On one can see us, not unless they're standing on the porch and looking through the small window in the front door.

I suspect Matt is stronger, physically, than me but he allows me to push him up against one side of the archway. My left hand finds his elbow. I lift his arm, force it up, bend it over the top of his head, opening his side to my gaze and my mouth.

I admire the finger-like ridges of his lats. I bend slightly. My tongue touches one of the many rivulets of sweat running down his side. He shivers as I lick the trail of sweat, imbibing the salt of his body and his youth (if only the latter were true). I close my mouth over his pit. The stubble of hair rasps against my tongue as I lick his pit. As much as I love his swimmer's body, I wish he didn't shave. I'd dearly relish burying my face in the hot wet hair of his armpit.

He doesn't stink nor does he smell of deodorant or AXE or Old Spice or any other such idiocies. He smells like Matt. He smells like Man. He smells like Sex.

I lower my head and drink again and again. He shivers each time. I long to give him a hickey, mark him, right dead center in his pit but I'm sure he has little desire to answer questions from his parents. In this heat, I can't imagine he wears a shirt at home. I hope he doesn't wear a shirt at home; he certainly doesn't in my imagination.

He rubs his cock against my leg, as much as he can, given how I have him pinned. I slide my body under his upraised arm. My chest presses against his right side. I twist him slightly with my right hand and take his left nipple into my mouth. He has, I notice, strikingly small nipples. I nip at them softly with my lips; he moans. I take his small nipple in my teeth and gently bite down. He moans louder. I increase the pressure, pulling slightly until I feel his body stiffen; I release. Now I have a sense of what he can tolerate. I grab his nipple with my teeth, bite, pull, release. I do this as fast as I can without risking hurting him. My hand finds his cock. My God, is he hard, fucking magnificent. I lube my palm by rubbing it over the head of his cock. His precum wets my palm. I wrap my fingers around his beautiful glorious cock and slide my hand down the shaft. I don't squeeze very hard. My hand is slick but not that slick. I don't want to pull the skin.

I apply a bit more pressure on the upstroke. I roll my palm over the head. Down stroke, slicker now, tighter. Up. Roll. Down. Up. After a few strokes, my hand glides over his cock, slick as if I'd used Wet. I haven't quit playing with his nipple.

I shift my attention to the right nipple. I'm biting harder now, really pulling. His fingers are in my hair. He's not pushing me away. He's pulling my mouth tighter against his tiny man nipple. His hips begin to move, matching the rhythm of my stroking hand.

I let go of his cock.

"No, dude. I'm so close," he whimpers.

"I know. That's why I stopped."

"Fuck, man. Just finish, please!"

"I thought you wanted to suck my cock?"

"I did," he stammers. "I mean I do but Jesus, don't leave me hanging like this."

I grab him behind the back of the neck and pull his mouth to mine. I shove my tongue deep into his mouth. He tries to rub his cock on my leg and I pull away. He groans.

"Come on, Matt." I start down the hall. "Hands off your cock. Step away from the edge. If we're going to do this, I want it to last more than five minutes."

He follows me to my bedroom.

"Sit down," I instruct. He sits. I change my mind. "Lie down, show me your cock. Don't stroke it, though."

He lies back on the bed, feet still on the floor.

I sit on the small chair beside the bedroom door. I keep my eyes on Matt, on his eyes, his expression, but mostly on his cock. He's squeezing the base. His cock is dark red. The head nearly purple and shiny.

He's cut. I guess he's probably seven inches, maybe a little longer. His balls hang heavy, resting atop the edge of the mattress. As if aware of my gaze, his sack contracts and his balls are pulled closer to his belly.

I bend, not taking my eyes off his body, and unlace my boots. I pull them off one at a time and set them under the chair, as I do every day. The socks follow, each tucked inside the top of a boot. I'll retrieve them, along with my boxers, and toss them in the clothes hamper later. I stand. His eyes are on my crotch. Good. I unbuckle my belt, thumb open the top of my work pants and then unzip them. I take them off, like I always do. I'm not trying to put on a show, unless it's a show of restraint, a demonstration that I'm still in control here.

My cock tents the front of my boxers. They're wet, not as wet as they'd be if Matt was wearing them, but wet. I waste a moment wishing my cock had slipped out the fly before I step out of them.

Matt licks his lips. His eyes leave my cock and find my own, begging. No yet, I tell him silently. In three steps, I'm beside the bed. I kneel.

I lean over his cock. His hand is still around the base. He tilts it forward. I open my mouth and swallow his cock.

I've done this before. His cock is a beaut but it's not monstrous. I don't gag. I take it whole. My nose bumps against his hand. I close my mouth around the base of the shaft. I try a trick I learned years ago, when I wasn't much older than Matt. I hum. I turn the muscles of my throat into a vibrating sleeve. I hum and his hips push off the bed, trying to force his cock deeper into my throat.

I remind myself he lacks the control that only years and experience can provide. I don't want him to cum, not that I'm not dying to taste his load, but not now.

I pull my mouth off him slowly, pressing with my tongue against the soft underside of his shaft. I purse my lips and let the crown pop out of my mouth. I tongue the slit, lapping off his body's offering. That's all I'll risk at the moment. I lean back.

"Fuck, Mr. B, let me suck you or let me jerk off or something. Dude, I'm fucking dying here."

"No, no you're not, big guy. Hang on. I think you'll like this and then, if you still want to, I'll let you suck my cock."

"How big is it?" Matt whispers. "It's bigger than anyone I've ever tried to blow before."

"It's not as big as yours. You don't have to deep throat it, Matt. You don't have to do anything at all." I look at him. "How often have you done this?"

He shrugs. "A few times. It's tough. I don't want to get busted. It's not that big a campus."

I nod. I know what he means. I smile at him. "Don't sweat it, Matt. Go ahead and scoot on up in the bed."

He does as I ask. I open the drawer in the small bedside table. I take out a condom. There's condoms in there because I use them on the dildo I fuck myself with, not because I have so much sex in this bed. In fact, I can't remember the last time I've had sex in this bed.

I hand the condom to Matt. He takes it and looks at it.

"Dude, Mr. B..."

"Matt, I think we can dispense with 'mister' don't you? You can call me Randy. It's a perk I allow anyone who has, or will be, fucking me."

"Mr., Randy, I'm clean. We don't need this."

"I believe you but yes we do. I'll risk oral but not anal, not yet. Besides, I usually, uh, plan ahead, so to speak. I don't want it to be too messy for you, if you get my drift."

He looks uncertain.

"You ever done this?"

"No."

"With a girl? I don't mean anal, just fucking in general."

"No," he looks embarrassed. I feel for him; I do. "No, not really."

"Toss it back, then."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

He looks upset.

"Matt, hey, bud. I'm not upset or pissed or anything. But, if this is your first, I want it to be a little more special than this." I leer at him. "Besides, I decided I'd rather suck your dick."

"But..."

"I know. I know. You want to suck mine. It's not going anywhere." I look at him, stretched out on my bed, cock bobbing and leaking, fuck he's a good looking man. "Have you ever had a blow job? I good one?"

"Yeah, well I thought they were pretty good." He glances at me. "From girls, not a dude."

I lie down beside him.

"Why not? I know, believe me, how hard it is when you're afraid of getting caught, afraid someone will find out your secret, but it's not hard, in my experience, to find someone to suck your dick."

He stays on his back, talks to the ceiling.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought it about it, you know?" He's quiet for a bit. "I don't know, maybe it's weird, but when I get all amped up, you know, really like fucking horny and feeling like I'm stuck inside a cage, sucking other dudes is what I fucking can't get out of my head. I can always get myself off. It's not like I've never cum before. I can cum, any time. But feeling a man's cock in my mouth, feeling the way it's hard and soft at the same time, feeling the way the head gives when I pull my lips over it and then the way it swells when my mouth comes off it, those things I can't do myself."

"Sure, I get that," I say nodding my head, though he's not looking at me. "But dude, a blow job is way better than just jerking off."

Matt shrugs. "Then maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I haven't had a good blow job."

I smile and roll close enough to kiss his right shoulder. "Let me see if I can fix that for you."

I turn and kneel beside his legs. I feel his hand rest on the back of my leg. I take his cock in my hand.

"You have a gorgeous dick, Matt. Truly. Fucking. Gorgeous."

I take his beautiful dick in my mouth and deep throat it. I don't hum, but I do shake my head. I pull back the same way I had earlier, except this time my hand follows, stroking his shaft behind my mouth. I lick my way around the crown, lick the dew out of his slit, and slide my lips down the underside of his shaft.

I pull his right leg toward me, bending the knee. I push my head between his legs and tongue his right nut. His sack does a slow crawl. I pull back on his cock with my hand, pulling his balls upward, where I can get at them with my tongue. I realize I want to do more than suck this young Adonis' cock. I crawl off the bed. I hook my hands under Matt's knees and pull him over to the to the edge of the bed. I kneel between his legs. I grab his legs and push them toward his belly, rolling him up. His balls are right there, right in my face.

I lower my head and suck one of his nuts into my mouth. From above me, I hear a soft umm of pleasure. I suck his nut, not too hard and let it fall from my mouth before sucking in the other. His balls are too big to bet both of them in my mouth.

His cock and balls taste and smell like his pits, like a man. His crotch scent has a heavier, musky smell. I love it. I push harder against his legs.

I press my tongue against his asshole and he tenses. I pull back.

"Relax, bud, just my tongue, nothing more. Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so." His voice is very soft, tentative.

I kiss the back of his leg, or maybe technically I kiss his ass, it doesn't matter to me. "Matt, if something bothers you, say so, even this. I think you'll like what I'm going to do. I like it. I like it a lot, both doing it and getting it, but not everyone does."

"Are you going to put anything inside me?"

"No." I wait but he doesn't say anything more. "We cool?"

"Yeah."

"Good," I kiss the back of his leg again. "Just relax. Say stop if you want me to stop."

I flick my tongue several times over the crinkled and twitching muscle of his asshole. I lick my way up the hard ridge that runs up to his sack and roll his balls, one at a time, in my mouth. My hand slowly, very slowly, strokes his cock. I turn my attention back to his asshole.

I push my tongue against it. I don't try to penetrate him, much as I want to. I told him I wouldn't. Slowly, I feel him relax. Soon, he's writhing under my lashing tongue. I stop stroking him. He's too close.

I leave his ass, reluctantly. I intend to return there.

I let his ass fall back against the bed. I lean over him and flex my neck, take his cock in my mouth and start to suck it. I force myself to go slow. I deep throat him. Pull back slow, stroking with my hand. I play my tongue over the crown and his piss hole. I slide my lips up and down the sides of his shaft. The whole time, one hand cups his balls, pulling, squeezing, all ever so carefully. His balls are as glorious as the rest of him; I treat them with the respect they deserve.

I feel him, in my hands, on my sides, grow more and more desperate. His breath comes in great sighing hitches, held for long periods before being released. I peek at him, over his flat and tight belly. His head is back, mouth open, eyes closed. His fists are balled up in the sheets.

Time to rock his young world. I begin to stroke him, stroke him with my mouth and with my hand. My mouth focuses on the head, the ridge of his crown. My tongue plays with the V of his crown and his slit. My hand slides up and down his rigid cock meat, twisting as it moves. He tries to move faster, tries to fuck my mouth, tries to bring relief.

I deny him. I slow until his thrusting stops. I resume. He thrusts. I stop. He stops. I resume. He gets it. He lies still, well at least his hips are still, as I continue the movement of my hands and mouth over his living joystick.

His body grows rigid and I hold completely still, his cock head barely in my mouth. I wait. I don't doubt my timing. I'm not vastly experienced but experienced enough. I know my body and I've found it responds along the same lines as other men.

I wait. It seems an eternity. I remind myself that it will seem even longer to Matt.

He doesn't disappoint. The kid is a champ, in every sense of the word.

His first spurt fills my mouth, fills it to overflowing. I feel his cock cream leak past my lips. I envision it running down his cock as he continues to fill me. I swallow, loving the feel of his jizz sliding over my tongue. His cum tastes better than any I can recall, sharp, tangy, musky, indescribable, in every way, other than, not salty.

His hips begin to buck. This time I let him fuck my mouth. I imagine the piston of his cock turning his cream into butter inside my mouth. Another eternity, an entirely enjoyable one, passes before his body collapses into the mattress. When I take my mouth off his cock, he looks deflated, as if he's emptied a goodly portion of himself into my greedy mouth.

I know his cock remains in a state of hypersensitivity but the site of the cum that escapes is too much for me to resist. I lick and slurp the precious white essence off his balls and on the side of his thigh. I risk taking his cock back in my mouth. It's start to soften. He tenses but doesn't push me away. I hold him in my mouth until he's soft. Or as soft as a twenty-year old with his cock in a warm mouth can get.

***

It's my knees that force me to give up his cock. The floor is hard. I let his cock slip from my mouth, kiss the top of belly, just where the stubble of his pubic hair merges to begin its race to his belly button.

I move up and lie beside him on the mattress. I lie on my side and watch him. I watch his face. I watch the way he licks his lips. I watch the gradually ebbing tide of his panted breaths. He's been strangely quiet.

He chuckles. He opens his eyes and turns his face toward me.

"You're right, Mr. B. I've never had a good blow job before." He takes a deep breath. "And that was nothing like jerking off."

"I'm glad you like it."

I realize I'm toast, unless I'm really careful and really dig deep. It's already nearly impossible for me to think clearly about this kid. I need to hold on to something, some sense of reason, of reality, something, but at the moment I either can't or don't care. My only concern is how will he respond.

I raise up on one arm and lean over his chest and kiss him. I part my lips, offering, waiting to see if he'll push me away. He accepts my offering. His tongue plays over mine. I bite his lip, the tip of his chin. He giggles.

"You eat your cum?" I ask. "After you jerk off?"

"Sometimes. Not always. Do you?"

"Usually. It's not as good as yours, that's for sure, but, yeah, usually. It beats crusty sheets."

"I still want to suck your dick, honest but..."

"But your dick is no longer commandeering your brain and you realize I'm twice your age," I snort, trying to sound like I'm joking or that I'm okay with it. Trying to sound anything except what I am, panicked.

He pulls away. "Don't be a dick, Mr. B"

"Randy"

"Whatever, Randy, don't be a dick. Okay? I still want to suck your dick BUT I need to catch my breath. Okay?"

"Sure, okay." I pause, then plunge ahead. "Bud, we need to be realistic here. This is a 'one off'. I'm too fucking old. You're too fucking young. Your mom and dad will take turns shooting my dead body. My son will hate me. My junkie ex-wife will gloat. And, I'll be run out of town."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" His pissed. He rolls onto his side. "What happened to all that shit about making my first time special? Huh? You sucked my dick. Now I suck yours and then it's fuck off, Matt, you're an inconvenience?"

"It's more than an inconvenience, Matt. You know that. Don't bullshit me. You seriously talking about, what, dating? Me and you? What, we'll go down to the Knack for a couple of burgers and footsie under the table? Hold hands at the movies? Head over to catch the Tribe trouncing the Soxs and seeing if we can get on the kiss cam? That's fucking impossible."

Matt looks at me like I've lost my mind. He's probably correct in that regard. I feel my cock sag against the inside of my leg.

"Whoa, Randy. Get a grip dude. I'm not asking you to marry me. I mean, I like you and everything. I think you're cool." He flashes me his try-to-be-pissed-at-me grin. "For an old dude, anyway. I've been imaging screwing around with you all year. I want to have fun, a lot of fun. That doesn't mean I'm ready to walk hand-in-hand down Elm Street, waving at all the neighbors."

I'm a fucking idiot. I have nothing to say. I've showed Matt I'm the emotional equivalent of a 5^th grade girl with a crush. I wrack my brain, trying to think of something to say, some way to salvage enough pride to at least get my dick hard again. I come up empty. I realize I'm staring at Matt's chest, one of his freakishly small nipples to be specific. I feel my face getting red. I hope the light is dim enough that the most obvious physical sign of my humiliation, aside from my now limp dick, might go unnoticed.