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Practice Makes Perfect
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Practice Makes Perfect I slid the truck to a stop under the oak tree at the side of our house and leaped up the steps to the back porch. My mom was at the stove when the screen door slammed behind me, announcing my arrival. “Don’t slam the door,” mom admonished automatically. I hugged her from behind, careful to avoid pressing my raging hard-on against her backside and gave her a kiss on the side of her face. “Hi, I’m home.” I said. “Is there time for a shower before supper?” I asked. “I worked up a hard sweat today.” “You go ahead and wash up then,” mom smiled. “Save your dad some hot water though,” she warned as I was heading down the hall to my room. Inside my room I felt relief. Mom hadn’t noticed anything weird; I could have sworn the smell of cum was still on my breath. I could still taste it and was so glad she didn’t notice. I grabbed a clean pair of shorts and t-shirt and headed to the bathroom to wash. When I closed the bathroom door and looked in the mirror, I noticed I didn’t look any different, but I sure felt different. I just sucked a man’s dick and swallowed his cum. I was torn between being ashamed and being turned on beyond belief. I pulled my shirt off over my head and then wriggled out of my dirty jeans. My hard dick slapped me in the stomach once released from the confines of my pants. God, I was so hard I hurt. Squeezing my dick with one hand, I adjusted the water and stepped into the shower. The stinging streams of water sprayed in my face. I opened my mouth, filling it with steamy hot water, imagining it was Mr. Evans’ hot cum that was rolling down my throat. I couldn’t stand another minute so I squirted a glob of conditioner in the palm of my hand and began to wax my wood with abandon while remembering Mr. Evans’ thick hard dick. It didn’t take long before my cum erupted with such force it splattered against the shower wall. I had a cramp in my butt-cheek from clenching my muscles so hard and every nerve in my groin tingled but I finally felt relief from the raging boner I had ever since Mr. Evans seduced me into sucking him off. Now that my passion had been quelled, I was able to think more clearly and I reflected on the day’s events as I washed my grime along with my guilt down the drain. I came out of the bathroom just as my dad’s arrival was announced by the slamming screen door and my mom’s admonition, “don’t slam the door.” “Hey dad,” I greeted him as I lifted a lid on one the the pots steaming on the stove, “how was work?” “Just another day in paradise,” my old man replied with his stock answer. “How was your day? You still working for old man Evans?” Hearing his name made my scalp tense just a little, “I sure am. I cleared about half way down his south fence line today. It looks like I’ll have another two days before I get everything cleared out and hauled off. If this keeps up, I should have close to a thousand dollars saved up before I start school.” My dad whistled in response. “As hard as you’re working, your mom and me won’t have to pay much; hell, we may even take a cruise with all that left over college fund money?” he teased as he headed down the hall to my parent’s bedroom. Dinner and some TV, then I excused myself to my room. I flopped onto my bed, put my headphones on and flipped the knob on my reel-to-reel to play. The haunting, driving beat of Pink Floyd’s “Set the Controls for the Heart of The Sun” drowned out reality as my thoughts drifted once again to sucking Mr. Evans’ dick and how hot it made me. Before long, my dick made a tent under the sheet and demanded my attention. After I shot my load, I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming about my new-found “perverted” love of cum. Sometime, early dark-thirty, I awoke with my shorts soaked and plastered against my thighs. My nocturnal emission had made a mess of me and left a huge wet spot in the center of my bed. I got out of bed, pulled the covers back and stripped out of my sticky undies. Pulling on a pair of cut-offs, I rummaged through my secret hidey-hole in the back of my closet and pulled out my stash and an old corncob pipe. I packed the bowl and then climbed out my window and headed to a secluded corner in the back yard. I squatted down beside the shed and sparked up the bowl, taking a deep hit that sent shivers down my spine and brought luminous spots to my eyes. After a few tokes, I was completely<b> wasted. </font></b>I tapped out the bowl and climbed back into my room. Since I was wide awake, I stripped the sheet off my bed and remade it, stashing the cum-stained one in the dirty laundry hamper. The munchies had taken hold of me so I tip-toed down the hall to the kitchen. The clock above the stove said it was 5:00 o’clock as I poured a bowl of cereal and milk. Before I finished, I heard my parents’ door open and my mom shuffled in, surprised that I was already up. While she measured coffee into the percolator, she kept on about how proud she and dad were of the work I was doing to make going to college a reality and how glad she was that I found so much to do for Mr. Evans. My heart jumped in my chest when my thoughts flitted to what I have done for Mr. Evans, and how much more I wanted to do, and the guilt I had over those thoughts. Man, I was a mess. All turned on by a horny old man and at the same time, my conception of what was right and proper (as my mom would say) in direct opposition to my nasty desires. To tame my emotions, I helped my mom with breakfast, stirring the grits while she mixed up a bowl of scrambled eggs. “I have to feed my men so they can work hard,” she said as she poured the mass of eggs into the frying pan. I had finished cooking the grits when my dad came into the kitchen, dressed and cheerful and ready for another day. He kissed my mom and said, “hey buddy,” to me as he poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. “What are you going to do today,” he asked. “You have a big day ahead?” I explained again that Mr. Evans’ fence line was not half cleared and that I would probably be cutting and hauling brush. Mom had dished up breakfast and we all grew silent while we ate. I finished first and took my plate to the sink and rinsed it off. “I think I’ll get an early start since I’m up and ready,” I announced, anxious to see Mr. Evans and also concerned about what he would think of me, now that I’d sucked his dick...not at all sure what I was going to say or how he felt, but I needed to see him and see what was up before I freaked out. I went to my room and stripped off my cut-off shorts. My balls were hard and tight and my dick hung thick and heavy, stiffening between my legs at being exposed to the light of day. Before I became too hard, I pulled on a pair of jeans, my swollen tuber bulging along my left thigh. I tied a long-sleeved shirt around my waist (to conceal the semi-hard in my pants) and shoved my feet into my chukka boots. Mom handed me a thermos of coffee and sack of sandwiches when I came through the kitchen. I kissed her in thanks and said, “I’ll see you tonight,” as I headed out the door...mom’s admonition to “not slam the door,” was cut off by the smack of the screen against the frame. I pulled the shirt from around my waist and tucked it, along with my lunch, behind the seat and climbed into my truck. A smile crossed my face when I turned the key and the engine roared to life. Ever since my dad and I put in the rebuilt 304 V8, my old International was one bad truck. I pressed the play button on the cassette player and dropped the transmission into first gear as the heavy metal thunder of Steppenwolf roared out of the speakers. With a spray of gravel, I was heading down the drive toward Mr. Evans and the uncertainty of where I stood. The sun was just above the horizon when I pulled off the highway and bounced down the rutted drive leading to Mr. Evans house. I pulled up and headed to the back door with excitement and trepidation. The dew was thick on the grass and my boots were soaked by the time I reached the back steps, so I kicked them off at the back porch before knocking. The day was already hot and Mr. Evans had the air-conditioner in the back window running full speed and the house buttoned up tight. I opened the screen and tapped on the glass. I could see Mr. Evans at the dinette, standing up to answer the door. He had on a plaid robe that had opened up, exposing his barrel chest and prodigious belly. Before pulling the robe together, I noticed a large lump in the front of his boxers that made my pulse quicken and my dick stir. Mr. Evans pulled open the door and raised his eyebrow. “You’re here early,” he said. “Come on in and have some coffee while I finish my paper.” “Yes sir,” I said following his towering form into the kitchen. “I need to talk with you,” I screwed up the courage to say. “Well have a seat,” Mr. Evans said cheerfully. “How do you take your coffee?” I pulled a chair out and sat down opposite from where Mr. Evans had his paper and coffee spread out. “Black please,” I said, grateful for the distraction from the topic on my mind. Mr. Evans set my cup of steaming liquid in front of me and sat back down in his chair. His legs slightly apart and the robe parted enough to expose the thick white mat of hair on his chest. “Alright then, what’s on your mind?” Mr. Evans asked as he focused his attention on me, a friendly smile on his lips. “Well,” I started, “well it’s,” I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, “it’s about yesterday,” I continued. “Yes?” Mr. Evans prodded. “It’s about yesterday when we did that stuff, you know?” I was sweating like a drunk in church and my thoughts were not coming to me in any rational order. “I’m not a homo!” I finally blurted out. “I know what I did but you gotta know I’m not a fag.” My heart was racing and I felt like I needed to puke. “Whoa there, Joe,” Mr. Evans put up his hand to interrupt, a smile on his face and a glint in his eye. “Who said anything about being a homo? I don’t think you’re a faggot.” “You don’t?” I asked. “Hell no.” Mr. Evans said emphatically. “What made you think that? I mean yeah, we fooled around, but that don’t mean you’re queer. Hell, I loved it, do you think I’m queer too?” he countered. “Well, no,” I paused. “It’s just that I...you LIKED it?” It dawned on me what Mr. Evans had said and a little thrill rushed through me. “Oh yeah, buddy. I liked it fine.” Mr. Evans chuckled. “Look Joey, there ain’t a gaddamn thing wrong with two men fooling around sometimes. It doesn't make you, or me, homosexual. Shit, men have been fucking around with each other ever since the Egyptians. The Greek and Roman nobles, they all messed around with boys, taking them under their wing, teaching them, guiding them to be good men. It don’t mean a damn thing but having some fun. How ‘bout you, didn’t you have a little fun too?” Mr. Evans concluded. “I had fun,” I said, still a little ashamed of the emotional turmoil I felt. “If truth be told,” I admitted, “I got so turned on I had to beat off as soon as I got home.” “It’s a shame I missed that,” Mr. Evans said with a mock pout. “Listen,” he continued, turning serious, “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want, but you are one sexy young buck and I want to do all kinds of stuff with you. When you opened up and sucked my dick, I knew you were one hot fuck. I’m sorry if you got confused about things.” “No, I’m good now,” I said with relief. “I was, and maybe still am, a little embarrassed about how turned on I got and what you might think about me.” “What I think,” Mr. Evans interrupted, “is that you and me just love getting nasty and getting off.” When I heard him say nasty, I felt a knot form in the pit of my belly and my dick thickened. “Yeah, I like getting nasty,” I said with a quiver in my voice. “That’s the boy,” Mr. Evans said softly. “Ain’t a damn thing wrong with two horny guys having a little fun.” “Damn straight,” I chimed in, showing more bravado than actually feeling, but feeling pretty good about my standing in Mr. Evans’ opinion. Mr. Evans leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. His robe parted a little more and I noticed his massive thighs disappearing up his boxers. I picked up my cup and brought it to my lips, my eyes locked on the space between Mr. Evans thighs. As I started to sip the coffee, I missed my mouth and poured a hot stream down my shirt and onto my lap. “Shit!” I exclaimed as I jumped up to avoid scalding my privates. “Har!” Mr. Evans bellowed with laughter. “Are you okay?” he asked solicitously. “You didn’t hurt anything important did you?” “No, I’m okay. That shit burned,” I said perturbed at my clumsiness. “Let me see,” Mr. Evans said, standing up. “Take off your shirt, I’ve got some ointment.” I stood and pulled my t-shirt up over my head. “I don’t think I got scalded,” I said, looking at my chest and firm, flat stomach. Mr. Evans came closer to examine me. His mitt-sized hand kneading my pectoral muscle. “For such a skinny shit, you’re pretty strong,” Mr. Evans smiled approvingly. “How about your pants? Did you burn your legs?” “I don’t think so,” I said as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid the zipper down. I spread the waist of my jeans, exposing the top of my pubs, noticing the large tent in Mr. Evans shorts. I smiled wantonly at the impact I had on him as I slid my hands down either side of my waistband, wriggling them down and letting my jeans fall to my knees. “I think I’m fine,” I said looking him in the eye. “,” he said with a heavy sigh, “you’re a whole lot of fine,” he finished, his voice husky with lust. Mr. Evans ran his hand down my stomach and cupped my scrotum. My rigid rod laying along his forearm. My senses were on fire. I did not give a flying fuck about anything but my dick and Mr. Evans hand at the moment. Not to sound like a girl, but my legs almost buckled when he touched me. “Oh yeah,” was the only intelligible thing that came out of my mouth. With a growl, Mr. Evans pulled me tight against him. My raging boner parting his robe, pressed against his hairy belly and his thick hard dick poked against my leg. Mr. Evans squeezed my buttocks as we ground together. His breath was hot against my neck and I wrapped my arms around him as we swayed and pressed together. “God boy,” Mr. Evans moaned in my neck, “you make me hot to fuck.” “Me too,” I gasped, feeling his dick pressing against me. I reached up under his robe to pull away the boxers separating our skin without success. Mr. Evans broke his embrace and I missed his hard prodding and squeezing instantly. “Shuck off those pants,” Mr. Evans ordered as he shrugged off his robe, letting it fall to the linoleum floor, followed by his boxers. I had not seen him naked before and I took in his massive, bear-like body. I bent to pull the leg of my jeans over my foot and nearly tripped in my haste and horniness. Bumping into Mr. Evans, our skin came together sending electric currents through me, making my dick throb so hard it hurt. Mr. Evans steadied me with a chuckle, bumping his thick dick against mine, making my sphincter tighten and the knot in my stomach harder. “Turn around,” Mr. Evans ordered as he sat back in his chair. “Let me look at you. Damn, you are one sexy-assed boy,” he said appreciatively. I literally blushed with pleasure under Mr. Evans admiring gaze and turned slowly and (what I thought) seductively to display my nakedness. My dick was pointing up at a 45 degree angle and my balls were drawn up into one huge mass, so horny was I doing my tease. “That’s a fine ass you have,” Mr. Evans growled gruffly. “Big hard dick too,” he added almost as an afterthought. “C’mere boy,” he told me. “Let ol’ Uncle Charlie play with you for a little bit.” I dutifully walked over to Mr. Evans, my dick bobbing up and down with each step. As I stood in front of him, he encircled my shaft with one hand and without hesitation, leaned down to take my swollen glans into his mouth. “Oh wow!” I exclaimed when my head was enveloped in Mr. Evans hot, wet mouth. I shivered with each sensation as his tongue slid along and around my swollen knob. Mr. Evans let a low deep moan build in his throat, the vibrations stimulating ever more nerve endings in my raging hard-on. Mr. Evans shifted his grip and slowly swallowed more of me. Instead of squeezing my shaft, his hand slipped between my legs, cradling my balls while his finger pressed firmly against my perineum. The pressure behind my balls made my asshole squeeze tight and I felt an almost unpleasant fullness in my balls. Over and over, my dick slid between Mr. Evans’ lips while he rhythmically pressed that spot. Just before I lost my mind and ejaculated, Mr. Evans pulled off my dick, leaving a long thread of saliva dangling from the tip. Before I could miss the hot, slickness of his mouth, he began squeezing and milking and stroking my dick while his other hand, slick from the accumulation of saliva, worked between my thighs, alternately pressing behind my balls and slipping along the crack of my ass. “Oh my god,” I gasped as Mr. Evans finger pressed against my butt-hole, overcame the resistance of my sphincter and slipped inside me. I thrust my hips forward involuntarily as I felt his digit press the same spot, only this time, from the inside. “Yes!” Mr. Evans hissed, his breath hot against my flesh as his finger slid inside, achieving his objective. “You like that, don’t you boy?” he asked, already knowing the answer from my reaction. “Oh man, I never felt so hard,” I gasped and pressed against his invading digit. “Man, that makes me so hard I feel like I’m gonna bust.” “Not yet,” Mr. Evans said firmly. I want to show you how good it can really feel before you get off. Still stroking my dick, Mr. Evans worked his finger around inside me, probing, pressing, rubbing that lump in my gut. Pulling his finger out, he showed it to me. “See that, that’s shit,” he said, sounding almost angry. “I like my ass clean and slick, boy. I’m going to show you how to clean your hole so I don’t get any shit when I finger that ass. You want that?” I felt embarrassed for having gotten shit on Mr. Evans and almost sobbed when I asked him to show me how to clean myself out. Smiling generously, Mr. Evans stood and taking me by my dick, lead me down the hall to the bathroom. “Don’t worry sonny,” he consoled, “you’re new to this, so old Uncle Charlie will teach you how to keep your hot little ass nice and clean.” Mr. Evans washed his hands, paying particular attention to the middle finger he had up my butt. Drying his hands, Mr. Evans pointed to a red rubber bag hanging on a hook behind the bathroom door. “You know what that is, right?” he asked. “Sure, that’s a hot water bottle. We have one at home,” I volunteered, proud of my knowledge. “A hot water bottle, eh?” he scoffed. “That’s a douche bag,” he continued. “Girls use it to clean out their pussy. Boys can use it too, to clean out their ass pussies.” I was confused, but didn’t let on as Mr. Evans pulled out a long rubber hose with a clamp at one end. “See,” he added, “this is the nozzle that you stick inside to wash yourself out.” Mr. Evans busied himself adjusting the water temperature and proceeded to fill the bladder of the douchebag, running the water over a bar of soap before it flowed into the bag. When the container was full, Mr. Evans screwed on the hose and hanged the apparatus on the shower head in the tub. “Alright, sonny boy; come bend over the tub and poke your hot little butt up at me,” Mr. Evans smiled, waving the douche nozzle like a wand. I kneeled on the cool tile with my thighs against the outside of the tub and leaned forward. Mr. Evans guided my chest lower until my head rested on the floor of the tub. “The best way to take an enema is to be bent over, hugging your knees,” Mr. Evans explained. “Your ass, rectum,” he corrected, “has two rings of muscles that keep everything inside until you’re ready to take a crap. With a little practice, you can learn to relax your muscles. You were getting good and relaxed earlier when I was fingering you, weren’t you?” he asked. “Yes sir. It hurt when you first stuck your finger in, but after a minute, when you got me used to it, it felt good,” I agreed. “Well, practice makes perfect,” Mr. Evans said encouragingly as he took the top off a large jar of petroleum jelly. “Let’s grease you up a little to make it easier to slip inside,” he said, spreading my buttocks and applying a liberal dollop of Vaseline to my anus. A shiver ran up my spine when his finger rubbed and pressed against my tight ring of muscle and I willed myself to relax. Sensing my receptive state, Mr. Evans slid his greasy finger inside me, making my dick jump and my asshole clench involuntarily. “Easy , bear down and just relax,” he said soothingly while slowly buttering my bottom. I focused on my breathing and willed my anal sphincter to relax as Mr. Evans kneaded my bottom and gently worked his finger in and out and all around inside me, gradually helping me to relax and become receptive. “Now then,” Mr. Evans said softly, “let’s clean you out.” With that, the thin plastic wand of the douche slid effortlessly up my ass. “Excellent,” Mr. Evans patted my bottom and opened the clamp on the hose. “You’re going to feel fullness in your belly, but just keep relaxed and take as much of the water as you can,” he soothed, still rubbing my butt and occasionally letting his hand slip between my legs and caress my balls and dick. “I can’t take any more,” I whined as the liquid in the bag flowed up my rectum. “Shhh, just a little more,” Mr. Evans coaxed, still stroking me tenderly. After what felt like an eternity, Mr. Evans closed the clamp on the hose and deftly pulled the wand from between my cheeks, squeezing my buttocks together. “Just lay still and hold it a little longer,” he said. “Just a little longer and then you can let it out.” My guts were cramping and I had to go with tremendous urgency by the time Mr. Evans deemed I had held the enema in long enough. “Okay now, be careful not to shit yourself and get on the can,” he said the magic words I had prayed for. I carefully stood, holding my belly, and minced the few steps to the toilet. I had barely sat down when a flood of water and feces poured out of my bowels, leaving me feeling weak. “Oh man,” I exclaimed. “I think I just crapped my guts out.” Mr. Evans was leaning against the wall watching me with a smile on his lips. “You’re doing fine. Just sit there for a minute to rest up and we’ll do it again. You should usually rinse three or four times until you pass clear water,” he instructed, “that way your ass will be squeaky clean and slick...just like a pussy.” Have you ever fingered a girl’s pussy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I blushed and stiffened a little at the memory of my first serious make-out session. We had been visiting my grandparents and my cousin Becky was there. We teased and flirted for days when the night before she had to return home, we all went to the movies. Becky and I decided to sit in the balcony which was nearly deserted. Sitting in the dark, we began kissing and making-out. She was one hot chick and much less inhibited than any other girl I had fooled around with before. She rubbed my dick through my pants and allowed me to squeeze her tits, and before long put my hand up her skirt and let me feel her up. I was amazed at the heat emanating from between her legs, and surprised at how wet her pussy was when I finally managed to spread it open and insert my finger...but I digress. “Yeah, once,” I admitted. “It was great.” “I’ll bet,” Mr. Evans grinned. “Your ass feels a lot like pussy,” he added, “only much tighter.” Mr. Evans saw the doubt in my eyes and said, “go ahead, wipe yourself and finger your hot little hole,” he encouraged. “You can do it any time you want, it’ll be great practice to get used to my d...finger up inside you.” I may not be the most sophisticated guy when it came to sex, but I’m not stupid either. I sensed what all this preliminary cleaning and reaming was leading up to and smiled both in anticipation and apprehension as I wiped my ass and tentatively pressed my finger tip against my resisting rosebud. “Wet your finger,” Mr. Evans instructed. “You can finger your hot little hole better when you’re slick.” I drooled a glob of saliva onto the tip of my finger and leaned back on the toilet seat to lift my bottom forward. The spit mixed with the remnants of the petroleum jelly coating my crack, and my finger slid easily inside my anus. I shivered as the sensation of being penetrated registered and bore down to open myself up. I wriggled my finger around in my hot wet hole and it felt amazing; just like Becky’s hot, wet vagina and I felt the pressure build in my balls, just as it had when Mr. Evans probed my ass. “Okay now, that’s MY ass,” Mr. Evans joked as he sensed I was really getting into finger-fucking myself. “Bring your horny li’l self back over here so we can finish cleaning you out.” We repeated the infusion of warm water into my rectum two more times; once with the remaining soapy water and then a final rinse. I felt alternately full to bursting and then empty and receptive during the administration and subsequent voiding and intermittent diddling. When I had voided for the last time, Mr. Evans tossed a wash cloth and told me to wash my ass and follow him to his room. “Now sonny boy, you just get in bed and let uncle Charlie take care of you. I told you you’d come today, and now’s the time.” I climbed up onto the unusually high four-poster bed and Mr. Evans put his hands on my hips, stopping me on all fours. Giving my ass an appreciative pat, he grabbed my swinging dick and began squeezing my shaft like milking a cow. “My,” he sighed, “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t remember when I had such a hot, nasty boy for a berth-mate.” “Birth mate?” I questioned. “Berth, berth like bunk, or bed mate,” Mr. Evans corrected, pressing his face between my legs, his whiskers prickery against my thighs, his breath hot on my scrotum as he licked my balls. “What do you think, you want to be berth-mates with me?” I was thrilled both by the ministration of Mr. Evans hands and mouth but even more at the proposal to be lovers, or “berth-mates,” as it were. “Yes sir, Mr. Evans,” I started. “I think we can dispense with the MR.,” Mr. Evans interrupted. “We’re a lot better friends than that.” Now I was raised to respect my elders from the time I was born. It was always drilled into me to say “yes sir, yes ma’am, please, thank you, Mr., Mrs. and Miss” to those older than me or in a position of authority. “I don’t think I feel comfortable calling you by your first name,” I explained between soft moans of pleasure. “What should I call you?” Mr. Evans was distracted by tracing his tongue up along the crack between my buttocks which he had one in each hand. Planting a kiss directly on my ass-hole, causing it to pucker under the suction, Mr. Evans said “you can call me Charlie, or if you like, how ‘bout Uncle Charlie?” I pressed my butt out, hoping to reconnect with Mr. Evans’ tongue, “oh Mr...Charlie,” I gasped, “that feels amazing.” Charlie growled as he dove back between my cheeks. “Lay down on your back and spread your legs,” he said, pulling my dick and pushing me down onto the bed. I gladly complied, drawing my legs up to my chest, raising my hips up to provide free access to my exposed bottom and raging boner. Charlie kneeled beside me, his left hand wrapped around my throbbing dick, his right hand between my legs, spreading my buttocks as his middle finger pressed, then slipped inside my clean and slick anus, worming itself round and round in time to his stroking left hand. I arched my back and humped alternately against his fist and his probing finger. I was so intent on the sensation I hardly noticed when he introduced another finger into my gaping hot hole. The added girth provide by his second finger stretched my sphincter even more; opening me up, making me gasp with pleasure as he deliberately frigged my boy-pussy while stroking my throbbing, hard dick. My muscles tensed and I raised my hips up off the bed and with almost audible force, my cum spewed forth, tracing a high arch before splattering on my belly. Mr. Evans continued stroking, making me writhe with pleasure as his cum-slick hand milked glob after glob of thick cum from my dick. Shivering with delight I gasped, “please, no more,” unable to take any more friction on my hyper-sensitized glans. Mr. Evans eased up on my dick and tenderly squeezed my now empty balls while he still worked his fingers slowly around inside me. “You hot little fucker,” he exclaimed as he stroked himself with his cum covered hand, spreading my gooey, stringy spunk all over his own thick, hard meat. Changing his position, he slid between my still spread legs, his dick slipping and sliding wetly between us as he laid full-length on me. His mat of coarse hair was rough against my chest, his hot dick prodded my bottom as he humped back and forth against me, my cum making his belly slip and slide against mine. Taking some of his weight on his arms, he lowered his head and pressed his lips against mine. I was taken by surprise by his kiss but instinctively opened my mouth to him as we locked lips in a deep passionate kiss. It was so fucking sexy; his tongue dueled with mine as his dick rubbed between my legs. “God, I want to fuck you so bad,” he breathed into my mouth. “You make me want to fuck you all day long.” “Me too,” I gasped while desperately trying to catch my breath. My hands clawed Mr. Evans big, hairy ass as I pulled myself against him. My emotions were on fire; on the one hand, I was worried about his thick hard cock splitting me open, on the other, I wanted his thick hard cock splitting me open and I wriggled beneath him to position my virgin hole against him. “Not today, babe,” Mr. Evans said reluctantly as he raised himself on his arms, sliding his dick along my cum-covered belly. “I want to fuck you deep and hard and for a long time, we don’t have time today...besides, you’re not ready yet,” he said with a smile. “But there is something else you can use practice with, don’t you think?” “Oh yes sir, Mr. Charlie,” I agreed gladly as he grasped the headboard and straddled my chest with tree-trunk like legs. He lifted my head and slid a pillow under my neck, then repositioned himself until the bulbous head of his dick was rubbing between my parted lips. I opened my mouth wider, flicking my tongue along his engorged shaft, tasting the salty bitterness of my own cum on his cock. I put my arms around his legs and pulled myself toward him so I could capture his dick. I wanted his dick so badly. His big, hairy balls and belly and thick throbbing dick made me moan with desire. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth,” Mr. Evans grunted as he slipped inside me. “God, I love your sweet hot lips wrapped around my dick.” I cupped his balls and moved my head further onto his shaft until feeling myself gag on his big knob in the back of my throat, made me pull off. “Don’t forget to breath,” Mr. Evans chuckled. “Breath out through your nose when you go down on it and the take a breath when you aren’t choking any more. Take it slow, then take some more,” he advised. I did like he said; slowly feeling him slide along my tongue, exhaling as I slowly took more of him into my mouth. When I reached the point where I could not take any more, I worked my way back up his shaft until only the wonderfully slick head was between my lips. Mr. Evans’ moans and tight balls encouraging me to repeat the maneuver over and over, slowly at first and then with more confidence until his thick mat of pubic hair fluttered every time I exhaled. “Oh yes!” Mr. Evans exclaimed. “You suck dick good. You make me feel so good.” I have always been praise motivated and Mr. Evans’ lusty laudatory made me feel great, and even more eager to please this hot, sexy man. I let go of all restraint and worked my mouth up and down his thick, hard meat with lustful gusto. My arms and neck ached from the vigorous motion and awkward angle, my jaws ached from being stretched around his fat prick but I was delirious with lust and continued sucking him feverishly. I don’t know if Mr. Evans sensed my uncomfortable position or if he just wanted a change in the action, but he stretched himself higher on my chest until the head of his dick kept banging against the roof of my mouth. “Here,” he said, adjusting his position, “scoot over to the edge of the bed and let your head hang down.” Mr. Evans raised himself to allow me to position myself as instructed. In doing so, his dick was free of my ravenous attention and I immediately missed him thick, hot and hard and in my mouth. Mr. Evans slid off the bed and stood astride my head, his dear dick, red and slick, aimed directly at my chin. “Now boy, I’m going to fuck your pretty face,” he said gruffly while pressing his dick between my parted lips. I opened my mouth wide to accommodate him and almost forgot my training to exhale as he thrust his hips forward, driving all the way down my gullet. “You like that? he asked. “You like to suck big hard dicks, don’t you?” I was not able to articulate my love of big hard dick with his pumping in and out of my throat, but moaned my appreciation and matched his thrusts with wild abandon. My saliva flowed thickly across my cheeks, my eyes watered, and my ragged exhalations caused my nose to run, yet my passion was in control and I gave my mouth and throat up to his forceful fucking. Again and again he plunged into me, his heavy, hairy balls smacking me between my eyes as I hung head down over the edge of the bed. Mr. Evans leaned into his work and shortened the depth of his strokes until suddenly, I felt his hot cum flood my mouth and run into my sinus. Moaning loudly, Mr. Evans buried himself past my tonsils and my throat constricted around his glans in my effort to swallow. Breathing through my nose was no longer an option. Snot and cum filled my mouth and sinuses and I worked desperately to clear my airway without vomiting. After a few seconds, that felt a whole lot longer, I regained a semblance of control and gently nursed his diminishing dick, while he gently worked it in and out, relishing the salty, bitter, tang of his seed. I was in a dream-like state, filled with love. Love for Mr. Evans, love for his darling dick and love for his hot load. “Whew, .” Mr. Evans exclaimed as he withdrew his softening prick that only minutes ago was so thick and hard. “You like it a little rough don’t you boy,” he asked looking down at my cum covered face. “You’re one hot fuck.” Hearing him call me a “hot fuck” sent a thrill through me and my own dick stirred with renewed libido. “Yeah, Mr. Charlie, I really love sucking your dick,” I replied hoarsely. “You make me want to fuck all day.” “Well, I’m too old for that,” Mr. Evans chuckled as he waddled to the night stand, opened the drawer and pulled out a hand towel. “Here you go, you’ve got cum all over you,” he said with a smile as he tossed the towel toward me and used another one to wipe his dangling dick. “But if you want to spend the night some time, we’ll fuck as long as we’re able,” he added, finishing his thought. “Really,” I said eagerly. “That would be far out.” “Far in, more likely,” Mr. Evans retorted as I rolled over to allow the blood to drain from my head. “So what do you think? What are you planning this Saturday?” he asked, only slightly less eager than I felt. “I think I want to see how much we can fuck,” I said. “And how far in I can take it,” I finished with a leer. “Oh boy,” Mr. Evans said smiling and shaking his head at my wantonness. “You bring yourself by in the afternoon. We can have some beers and I’ll grill some steaks and then I’ve got some more meat for you.” I don’t know exactly what it was that got me so hot, but I was instantly turned on by the prospect of spending an afternoon with Mr. Evans. “I can hardly wait,” I said with a blush. Mr. Evans smiled in agreement and said, “we can spend the next two days getting you in practice. But right now, I have to get ready to go into town and you ought to get started on that fence line before it gets too hot. I’m not paying you to suck my dick you know,” he added with a big grin. “Oh I know, Mr. Evans...Mr. Charlie, that’s just a bonus,” I said with an innocent smile. Mr. Evans literally guffawed at my insolence and smacked me on my ass as I climbed down from his bed. “You’re such a find,” he said with sincere appreciation. “I’m lucky to find a hot and nasty slut like you.” I rolled off the bed and flexed my shoulders and rolled my neck to work out the stiffness from hanging head-down over the edge of the bed. “I’b godda bow my dose,” I said with a snort. “There’s some Kleenex in the bathroom,” Mr. Evans pointed with his chin. “I need a shower,” he announced, leading the way. “You want to rinse that cum off?” I looked down at my cum-crusted belly and thighs, then at Mr. Evans broad back heading down the hall and I felt the need to shower in the worst way. The douche bag was still hanging from the shower head and Mr. Evans plopped it into the sink before running the water for the shower. I was finishing blowing my nose when he stepped in and pulled the curtain. Poking his head out he said, “are you getting in?” A rush of excitement filled me and my dick thickened. I hadn’t expected to shower with Mr. Evans but the notion revived my libido. I carefully opened the shower curtain to step in without splashing water all over the floor. Mr. Evans was under the spray of the shower head and I feasted my eyes on his broad, hairy back, bulging buttocks and massive thighs as I stepped in and closed the curtain behind me. Mr. Evans turned toward me with his head under the water. Arching his back to rinse, his hips projected his thick, limp dick against my raging boner, sending thrills up my spine. I reached for him and ran my hands across his hairy chest, causing him to flex his muscles. I reached for the bar of soap and caressed him with slick, soapy strokes. Across his big barrel-chest, down his pot-belly, between his legs and balls. “You turn me on so bad,” I gasped when I wrapped my hand around his shaft and began stroking his stiffening dick. Mr. Evans was not going to be so easily distracted from his bath and turned back to rinse the soap I had just applied. Not to be put off, I began soaping and rubbing his back, down his butt, then along each leg, making sure to brush against his balls, accidentally of course. Turning once again, Mr. Evans’ brought his thickening, but still semi-soft prick back into reach and I<b> wasted </font></b>no time in squatting in front of him and wrapping my mouth around his dripping, wet pole. Caressing my head, Mr. Evans groaned and sighed as I suckled. He was responding to my mouth music but was nowhere near as hard as he was earlier when fucking my face, so I easily took him all the way into my mouth, loving the sensation of stuffing myself. “God, boy,” Mr. Evans interrupted. “You need to let that be. I don’t have time to get started up again right now.” “Uh,” I pouted but reluctantly released the lip-lock I had on him. My hands trailing upward as I stood gave his turgid tube another tempting squeeze. “I know,” I said dejectedly, “I just love sucking your cock.” Mr. Evans stepped toward me, getting out from under the water and his dick slid against my skin. Pulling me tight against him, Mr. Evans kissed me hard on the mouth. “That’s what I love about you, boy,” he hissed passionately, “you’re a hot, nasty cocksucker.” I was horned up beyond belief. My dick stood up against my belly and my scrotum was a hard mass. All I could think about was dick and to cum. “You make me so hot,” I gasped when our lips parted. Mr. Evans held my shoulders as we pivoted in unison, changing positions with me under the stinging spray of the shower and Mr. Evans back to the wall. Leering at my raging erection he said, “It must be great being young; you just busted a nut that would choke a Saigon and now you’re sporting wood that could bend nails.” “I can’t help it,” I grinned sheepishly, “I get so horny I can’t think of nothing but sex. Besides, how can I not get hard being naked with you?” “Well you should take care of that,” Mr. Evans advised, nodding at my boner. “You ain’t ever going to shove that big hard thing down your jeans.” I grinned in agreement as he leaned backward against the shower wall and casually pulled his foreskin back and forth across the thick purple helmet of his glans. “Go ahead and jack off,” he directed. “Show me how you jack your dick when you’re thinking of fucking.” I did not need to be told twice and wrapped my hand firmly around my throbbing hard dick and slowly began sliding it up and down the length of my shaft. “Do you like to watch me jack my dick for you?” I asked with a smile. “Yeah,” he responded breathily. I began swaying my hips back and forth, driving my dick in and out of my hand as if fucking my fist and looked Mr. Evans up and down, pleased with the effect I was having him. His cock was red and thick and curving under its own weight, reminding me of of a ring of bologna. Droplets of water glittered on the ends of the hairs on his chest, belly and pubes. Smiling, I pulled back my foreskin hard and squeezed the base of my prick, engorging my head until it looked like a big shiny plum. Making a ring out of the thumb and forefinger of my other hand, I worked my cock-head furiously until the nerves were near overloaded. God, I couldn't cum, and I couldn't not cum, so with ragged breath I whacked on. Mr. Evans was enthralled watching me beat my meat, a dreamy look in his eyes, a crooked smile on his lips and a thick, mostly hard cock in his hand. “Boy,” he began, “if I hadn’t just cum, I’d bend you over and fuck you stupid,” he growled spinning me around and pushing me against the wall under the shower head. “God yes, Uncle Charlie, I need a hard fucking!” I squeaked in surprise, still stroking myself furiously. Mr. Evans stepped behind me and rubbed his hot man meat between the cheeks of my ass, pushing his bulbous head against my resisting sphincter. His dick, still only semi-hard, was unable to penetrate that tight, ring of resistance but still sent shivers of pleasure up my neck. I felt him step back and then noticed him taking a bath-brush from the window ledge. The brush had a long, flexible handle that terminated in an egg-shaped pommel. “I need to open up that tight little ass,” he announced before pressing his index finger against me and with insistent pressure, parted my rosebud and slid inside my still slick rectum. “Oh my God,” I gasped at the pressure in my bowels and pressed back against his invading digit until it was seated deep as it could go, his knuckles pressing hard against my bottom. Jacking myself I wriggled with pleasure as Mr. Evans’ finger squirmed inside me, loosening my constricting muscles. After minutes of increasing pleasure, he withdrew his finger and spread my cheeks apart, rubbing the oval end of the brush around and around my puckering hole. “Bear down, boy,” he whispered in my ear, his whiskers scratching my cheek. “Open up your tight little ass-pussy so I can get it soft and ready for a good fucking.” I was losing my mind to passion. Inches away from relief, my climax just would not come. I willed my ass-hole to relax, and bore down as if taking a dump when with a sharp twinge of pain, my anus gave way and the thick end of the brush handle slipped inside me. “Good boy,” Mr. Evans coaxed. “Give me your hot, tight ass,” he said as he began pressing the makeshift dick around and around inside my accommodating sheath, working it deeper, pressing places I had never been touched before. I moaned with pleasure as Mr. Evans deftly began pumping the brush in and out between my cheeks, fucking me with the bath accessory as if it were his dick...only a much smaller version. The pressure in my nuts and the pit of my stomach was so intense I could barely stand it. I began pumping back and forth, mating Mr. Evans’ thrusts and jacked my cock for all I was worth; my hand a blur as I worked for the release I desperately need. My muscles were clenched so tightly they trembled until finally, thankfully, I shot a load of cum that splattered against the wall and trailed downward. Mr. Evans skillfully worked his makeshift dong round and round inside me as my rectum constricted around it, milking load after load from me. Every bit of tension flowed out of me. My legs nearly buckled and I put my hands against the wall to keep from falling to my knees. My breath was ragged and I felt warm and empty and relaxed all over. “Oh man!” I exclaimed, “that was amazing, I came so hard. Thank you.” Mr. Evans had stepped back a little, giving me space to turn around, watching me catch my breath. He was still deliberately pulling his foreskin back and forth and his peter was almost fully hard. I smiled adoringly as I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around the root, pressing as much of my naked skin against him as I could. Mr. Evans held me tight and I rested my head against his massive chest, feeling safe and loved and completely spent. Mr. Evans interrupted my euphoria by breaking off our embrace. He reached down and turned off the shower, then put his hands on my shoulders he smiled happily and looked me in my eyes. “, you sure know how to make an old man happy,” he said. “You make me horny like nobody’s business, but I have to get to the bank and we can’t be fucking around all day.” “I know,” I acquiesced, “I’ll be good,” I added with a mock pout as I reached for a towel. “Not too good I hope,” Mr. Evans squeezed my bottom as I stepped out of the shower, sending another nasty thrill through my horned up head. “I’m going to be extra good for you, Mr. Charlie,” I said saucily, getting into the role of a slut. I made a show of drying myself as Mr. Evans watched and played with himself. Feeling completely decadent, I turned and bent from the waist to dry my ankles; my round bottom pointing directly at Mr. Evans and I peeked back at him between my legs. I reached up and grasping my thighs, spread my buttocks apart to reveal my puckering butt-hole. “I’m going to be really, really good, Mr. Charlie,” I whispered wantonly before I stood up and headed down the hall with a swing in my hips. I found my clothes on the kitchen floor and tucked myself into my jeans. The snug fit and my debauched thoughts made my dick thicken and bulge. I was pulling my t-shirt on over my head when Mr. Evans came into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his replete hips, the outline of his pecker pressing against the damp, clinging terry-cloth drew my eyes and made me smile. He shook his head and grinned before taking a deep drink of his cooled coffee. “You really get me hot,” I said, “but since I promised to be good, I guess I better get at it.” “You be good and I’ll bring you something when I get back from town,” Mr. Evans said with a twinkle in his eye. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” he said dismissively and headed down the hall to his room. I looked at the clock before heading out the door to start my chores and noticed it was not even eight o’clock. It sure seemed like we had spent a lot longer fooling around than we actually had. So much fun in such a relatively short span of time kind of made it seem as if time stood still. The hot, humid air hit me like a wet towel when I opened the door and stepped outside; South Georgia summers are brutal. I drove down the path to where I had left off clearing the shrubs and scrub oak the day before and got to work. I was just pulling out the first stump when I saw Mr. Evans open the garage door and go inside. A few minutes later, his emerald green Buick was heading out the drive. I watched until he pulled onto the highway and continued fighting with the deep roots holding the stump in the ground. The rest of the morning fell into a grinding rhythm of digging and cutting and pulling and sweating until I took a break around noon for lunch. |
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