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ds_flashfiction2003-05-12 08:03 am
beledibabe.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2003-05-12 08:03 am
Entry tags:
Tra la! It's May!
Something a little different for me. Weighing in at 297 words.
He likes their big hands, big bodies. The way they grab his arm and pull him around the corner, push him back against the graffiti-covered cinderblock wall.
“Okay, Kowalski, do it.” Deep tones. Sometimes one voice squeaks or breaks, but mostly they’re rough, husky. Wide shoulders, hemming him in like those sharks he saw in last month’s National Geographic, that wild look in their eyes.
He unzips his pants. They shift and murmur as he pulls out his dick, already hard. A couple rub the bulges in their jeans. They have big dicks, bigger than his, but he’s seen his classmates’, his is big for his age. Thick and long and shiny at the tip, and he wraps his hand around it.
“What’re you waiting for?”
So he closes his eyes and strokes, base to tip, squeezing the drops out, spreading the wet over his hot skin. He can smell himself, smell them, sweat and cigarettes and that guy scent that makes his dick hard in the first place. That makes him want to do this.
Fingers press his shoulders back, pull off his glasses, probe his mouth. He sucks on them, bitter and calloused, as a hand fits around his like a mitten, speeding his strokes, squeezing harder. His pants fall past his knees, hands smooth up his shaking thighs, between his legs, behind his balls.
When the dry fingertip pokes into his ass, he yells, the sound muffled by the fingers stuffed in his mouth. But his dick jerks and his balls draw up and then he’s shooting into the waiting hands, cupped to receive his spunk like a blessing.
They pull his pants up, put back his glasses, and leave him leaning against the wall, his face burning. He knows he’s going to hell.
He likes their big hands, big bodies. The way they grab his arm and pull him around the corner, push him back against the graffiti-covered cinderblock wall.
“Okay, Kowalski, do it.” Deep tones. Sometimes one voice squeaks or breaks, but mostly they’re rough, husky. Wide shoulders, hemming him in like those sharks he saw in last month’s National Geographic, that wild look in their eyes.
He unzips his pants. They shift and murmur as he pulls out his dick, already hard. A couple rub the bulges in their jeans. They have big dicks, bigger than his, but he’s seen his classmates’, his is big for his age. Thick and long and shiny at the tip, and he wraps his hand around it.
“What’re you waiting for?”
So he closes his eyes and strokes, base to tip, squeezing the drops out, spreading the wet over his hot skin. He can smell himself, smell them, sweat and cigarettes and that guy scent that makes his dick hard in the first place. That makes him want to do this.
Fingers press his shoulders back, pull off his glasses, probe his mouth. He sucks on them, bitter and calloused, as a hand fits around his like a mitten, speeding his strokes, squeezing harder. His pants fall past his knees, hands smooth up his shaking thighs, between his legs, behind his balls.
When the dry fingertip pokes into his ass, he yells, the sound muffled by the fingers stuffed in his mouth. But his dick jerks and his balls draw up and then he’s shooting into the waiting hands, cupped to receive his spunk like a blessing.
They pull his pants up, put back his glasses, and leave him leaning against the wall, his face burning. He knows he’s going to hell.
well, damn!
He knows he’s going to hell.
naught, bad Ray is a good thing.
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A little dark and yet very pleasurable!
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Jeeeezus... (muffled squeak)
Sorry - this as close as I can get to human speech right now.....hot is not an adequate word for this.
SHAY
Zowie.
(Anonymous) 2003-05-12 04:44 pm (UTC)(link)Karen
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-R
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Lovely! *smooch*