Pete quickly tied the dinghy to the rail and climbed aboard. A pretty substantial something was arching up inside his denims. He said to Jason, without malice, “My little cousin, with whom I’ve been aching to do what you’re doing, and you get there first! Never guessed about him, all these years. Sharing a cabin with him’s been torture. Had to wait till he was in the shower, or I was, before I could even play with myself. Now look at him, the crafty little devil!”
Simon said to him, “I wanted you all that time too. I never guessed that you…”
Pete hadn’t waited for an invitation to pull his jeans down and join in the onboard activities. Jeans were already around his tanned, muscular calves, underpants halfway down his thighs like a safety net. His cock had come soaring out of its confinement, a great, up-curving, circumcised boner that Jason realized was nearly as big as his own, now bobbing about in the aftermath of its sudden upswing. He stepped—or rather stumbled, since he had his pants down—toward the other two, and drew them both into the embrace of his arms, and then, in a second, they were all madly at work with their hands on each other’s cocks. Jason was firmly pumping Simon’s thick short one, Pete had his hand clasped round Jason’s and was hauling at its massive length till Jason’s foreskin flickered like a fluttering eye. And Simon had his own hand where he’d wanted it for years, tugging the thick curved length of Pete’s most private organ—that massive but svelte adornment that he’d never seen before.
After a minute Pete gasped, “I can’t stand up, my legs are buckling.”
“Mine too,” whispered Simon and, as one, the three of them gratefully sank to their knees on the deck, though without interrupting the flow of their piston strokes by so much as a beat. Anchored by their knees now, they found themselves helplessly jerking their crotches in and out in uncontrollable pelvic thrusts that threatened at times to pull their penises right out of the grasp of the hands that were milking them.
Simon, younger than the other two by a few years, did not surprise them when he announced quite loudly that he was going to come. “Oh, man, guys, I’m going to shoot!” The words were hardly out of his mouth before his sperm was out of his short, fat, round-headed cock. It fell heavily, a massive load, onto the deck just in front of his bare knees, with an audible plip. The sight of this was too much for the other two. Pete’s strong, fast-moving hand caused Jason’s prick to spurt out a long, white string of spunk that landed right inside Pete’s underpants, which were still stretched, net-like, between his thighs. Simon, seeing this, said, “Looks like you’ve caught a fish, Pete.” And that, in turn, proved the trigger to make Pete’s cock unload its own supply of sperm.
Perhaps Pete hadn’t come for a few days, or longer. He delivered the biggest spunk-squirt that Jason had ever seen, and one of the most energetic. It was giant water pistol time. His first, fast, upward squirt went arcing between the shoulders of the other two, and disappeared from sight behind them. Then came another, which caught Simon on the chin, and a third that made it no higher than Jason’s belly button and landed on his upper thigh, but then pearls of diminishing size kept popping out, not traveling far now before they fell to the deck, but they went on and on and on. He was helped in this by Simon, who didn’t cease or slow his frenzied strokes on his cousin’s cock after he had come himself. Simon might have been only a private masturbator before today, but he had certainly proved that he knew what to do when the time came to pump spunk with somebody else.
It took them a few moments to recover themselves. Still kneeling and naked, Jason addressed Pete, himself kneeling on his crumpled denims, his slowly deflating cock still oozing the last threads of its abundant store of come. “I’m Jason. Don’t know if you remember, but we met last night. And I’m sorry, but I seem to have shot into your underpants.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Pete said, broad-mindedly. “I don’t reckon I’ll be pulling them back up any time soon. Like any time in the next few weeks.” He grinned and jerked his head toward his young cousin. “Now that the two of us know each other a bit better.” And Simon giggled and tousled Pete’s hair.
That evening it was Jason’s turn to tell his tale to Nick and Danny in the village pub beside the beach. “They wouldn’t hear of me swimming all the way back,” he finished, “but took me in the inflatable, all three of us bollock-naked now, and dropped me near where I’d left my trunks. They headed back out to their yacht—presumably to try a few more adventurous ways of having sex together. But they said they’d see us here for a drink sometime later tonight. And—I hope you both don’t mind—I’ve told them they must come up to Wrynack Cottage and see us at home quite soon.”
“Sounds like that might be something to look forward to,” said Nick a bit archly. He took a gulp of his Badger ale. Then a smile spread slowly across his face. In through the pub doorway came his friend’s new friends. All five of them were fully dressed right now. But all of them privately thought—smiles breaking out as eyes met across the room—that that would not remain the case for long.
FOR JORDAN
Rafaelito V. Sy
“One thing my films always have is ass eating. Make sure you guys do that.”
No problem, I thought. Gladly, I thought.
“Have some dialogue to start the scene.”
What? This is porn. I’m not supposed to think, much less think about conversation. I asked, “What sort of dialogue do you want? What’s the scenario?”
He looked peeved, the director did. Not a bad-looking director to be having sex in front of, though—salt-and-pepper hair, military cut; features that were chiseled and boyish; hazel eyes that indicated his impatience to get the scene started. I would’ve expected more direction since that was his job. He fucked me once, too, days after the first shoot I did for him. He had called me to his studio, where I climbed a ladder to his loft. I stripped butt naked. My body was still brown from the tan I had gotten for the shoot, pumped as always from my four-day-a-week workout. He dropped his pants—that was all, didn’t take off his shirt or anything else. I lay on my back on his unmade bed and raised my legs. He clamped his hand around my neck. I saw wooden walls, a wood ceiling, a wood floor.
Everything was wood, wood painted black; and white, white sheets, white pillows.
He spat on his prick, shoved it up my butthole, closed his eyes, ejaculated into my gut and told me to get dressed and get out. That was fine with me because that was exactly what I wanted from him. The beautiful thing about us men is that we can get in touch with our animalistic side and not feel like shit about it.
You were in that first video with me, Jordan, you and another guy, some mean, lean soldier dude with a blond buzz cut. I was on all fours on a lazy Susan built for a body. The two of you were spinning me around, taking turns plugging my mouth and my fuckhole, raising my legs over my head, standing with your hard cocks inside of me, hammering mercilessly.
What a duo you and the other top made, Jordan. You: six-one; early thirties; bodybuilder’s hard, thick physique blurred by reddish-blond hair; pierced nipples and ears; cleft chin. Him: six feet; midforties; swimmer’s build; a biohazard tattoo to the left of his navel; eyes blue and intense as the deep sea; a lean and long cock challenging your thick manhood. And me: five-seven; age somewhere between the two of you; black hair and black eyes; a twenty-nine-inch waist; muscular pecs; brown skin. The two of you tagging me was enough to get my mouth going: “Slam it up my nasty butthole… Ravage my filthy whore guts… Heat up my insides with your gnarly man juices…” When the video came out, a brochure wrote of our scene: Most bottoms just lie there. But this Asian is one aggressive fuck who calls the shots.