disgraceful if you came all over my shoes, wouldn't it?"
He was struggling to breathe evenly.
"Wouldn't it?" I repeated sternly, jerking his chin up.
"Yes, Jonathan," he whispered, "it would be disgraceful."
I could feel his balls tightening, his hips contracting.
"I could let you fuck me," I said thoughtfully, jerking his
head up a little further. "Hey, look at me, kid, we've got some
serious problem-solving to do here." His eyes flew open, the
pupils big and black, distended with fear and desire.
"See, here's the problem," I said. His cock was swollen,
like a mushroom after a summer rainstorm. "If you fuck me,
you'll get shoe polish on my nice white cotton T-shirt, or on
those bedsheets, hey, even on the headboard of the bed or
something. I mean, you'd leave nasty little black fingerprints
somewhere, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, kid?"
"Oh, no, Jonathan," he gasped, "I'd keep my hands
behind my neck ...uh, no, clasped at the small of my back,
I think, and I'd keep my balance."
I glanced down at the neat muscles in his belly. "Yes, I
suppose you could do that. But how do you intend to grease
my asshole? Not with those fingers."
"With my tongue, Jonathan," he whispered urgently.
"It's, uh, unusually long."
"Really." I had to laugh, pressing my fingers into the corners of his mouth to open it up. "Show me."
And it was, too. Long, pink, strong, a semicircle of even
white teeth beneath it. Kate must have opened up his mouth
like this, I thought, when she'd examined him, in some auction hall somewhere.
I dropped my foot, let his chin go, stood up, and stepped
over him to get a small jar of grease from the top of the dresser.
I opened it, put it down on the floor in front of him.
We were still in front of the mirror, facing sideways
now. I took off my shorts, keeping my eyes on him as he
bent gracefully from the waist, dipping his tongue into the
jar. His back straightened-a flower unfolding-as he carried his little wad of grease up to my ass.
Ah. He pushed it in, patiently, insistently. Not too deeply
at first. I could feel his nose, between the cheeks of my ass,
his chin below. He dipped down again. And yeah, his hands
were folded at the small of his back, like a skater. He held
his body elegantly. And his mouth and chin were shiny with
grease and saliva. I liked the contrast.
A bigger cargo of grease this time. Perhaps I'd opened up
more, while I'd been watching him. Oh, yes, he really could
use that tongue. He pushed it upward, wiggling it a little, too.
Breathing hard, straining the muscles at its root-muscles I
hadn't really given much thought to until this moment, the
more fool me. I felt my belly clutch a little, tremble, as he made
another trip downward. I didn't want him to finish this part.
No, scratch that. I got a glimpse of his cock, springing
out from him, dark and shiny, but with a kind of downiness,
too, and a drop of precum at its tip. I knelt on the bed, spreading my legs. Sighing, opening.... "Oh, and kid...I want you
to make this last a while."
A deep intake of breath, and a clenched-sounding "Yes,
Jonathan."
And he did make it last, opening me, filling me-filleting
me-enthusiastically, but respectfully, too, drilling into me
like a docile little machine, never forgetting who was boss. I came all over those sheets that I'd been so solicitous to protect
from his fingerprints. And then he finally let go-screaming,
almost, with relief. I could feel his hard belly muscles relax
as he allowed himself to drop lightly on top of me. But his
hands were still behind him.
He kissed the back of my neck, softly, and then he rolled
off and slid off the bed, to his knees. Waiting for me to pay
him a little attention. I took my time.
And then-first things first. Nope, no smudges, no fingerprints. Not on the sheets, the pillows, not anywhere on
the bed. And not on my T-shirt either. I turned slowly in front
of the mirror, to get a full view of it. Of course, it
He was struggling to breathe evenly.
"Wouldn't it?" I repeated sternly, jerking his chin up.
"Yes, Jonathan," he whispered, "it would be disgraceful."
I could feel his balls tightening, his hips contracting.
"I could let you fuck me," I said thoughtfully, jerking his
head up a little further. "Hey, look at me, kid, we've got some
serious problem-solving to do here." His eyes flew open, the
pupils big and black, distended with fear and desire.
"See, here's the problem," I said. His cock was swollen,
like a mushroom after a summer rainstorm. "If you fuck me,
you'll get shoe polish on my nice white cotton T-shirt, or on
those bedsheets, hey, even on the headboard of the bed or
something. I mean, you'd leave nasty little black fingerprints
somewhere, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, kid?"
"Oh, no, Jonathan," he gasped, "I'd keep my hands
behind my neck ...uh, no, clasped at the small of my back,
I think, and I'd keep my balance."
I glanced down at the neat muscles in his belly. "Yes, I
suppose you could do that. But how do you intend to grease
my asshole? Not with those fingers."
"With my tongue, Jonathan," he whispered urgently.
"It's, uh, unusually long."
"Really." I had to laugh, pressing my fingers into the corners of his mouth to open it up. "Show me."
And it was, too. Long, pink, strong, a semicircle of even
white teeth beneath it. Kate must have opened up his mouth
like this, I thought, when she'd examined him, in some auction hall somewhere.
I dropped my foot, let his chin go, stood up, and stepped
over him to get a small jar of grease from the top of the dresser.
I opened it, put it down on the floor in front of him.
We were still in front of the mirror, facing sideways
now. I took off my shorts, keeping my eyes on him as he
bent gracefully from the waist, dipping his tongue into the
jar. His back straightened-a flower unfolding-as he carried his little wad of grease up to my ass.
Ah. He pushed it in, patiently, insistently. Not too deeply
at first. I could feel his nose, between the cheeks of my ass,
his chin below. He dipped down again. And yeah, his hands
were folded at the small of his back, like a skater. He held
his body elegantly. And his mouth and chin were shiny with
grease and saliva. I liked the contrast.
A bigger cargo of grease this time. Perhaps I'd opened up
more, while I'd been watching him. Oh, yes, he really could
use that tongue. He pushed it upward, wiggling it a little, too.
Breathing hard, straining the muscles at its root-muscles I
hadn't really given much thought to until this moment, the
more fool me. I felt my belly clutch a little, tremble, as he made
another trip downward. I didn't want him to finish this part.
No, scratch that. I got a glimpse of his cock, springing
out from him, dark and shiny, but with a kind of downiness,
too, and a drop of precum at its tip. I knelt on the bed, spreading my legs. Sighing, opening.... "Oh, and kid...I want you
to make this last a while."
A deep intake of breath, and a clenched-sounding "Yes,
Jonathan."
And he did make it last, opening me, filling me-filleting
me-enthusiastically, but respectfully, too, drilling into me
like a docile little machine, never forgetting who was boss. I came all over those sheets that I'd been so solicitous to protect
from his fingerprints. And then he finally let go-screaming,
almost, with relief. I could feel his hard belly muscles relax
as he allowed himself to drop lightly on top of me. But his
hands were still behind him.
He kissed the back of my neck, softly, and then he rolled
off and slid off the bed, to his knees. Waiting for me to pay
him a little attention. I took my time.
And then-first things first. Nope, no smudges, no fingerprints. Not on the sheets, the pillows, not anywhere on
the bed. And not on my T-shirt either. I turned slowly in front
of the mirror, to get a full view of it. Of course, it
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