The foam spurted out in waves. She clutched the small ass cheeks in her hands as he delivered. Her back against the floor, she rubbed her spine against the blanket as he drowned her with his cum.
The network of female flesh had come apart in stages and all the women but Irene were staring intensely at Francine's and Claude's performance.
"Wow," said Mary, her hand moving across a thigh behind her. Of its ownership she was uncertain. She felt the moss of hair and sweaty, scented tissue. "Wow," she said, as her finger tested the vaginal cavity.
Irene's fingertips pressed against the floor as she pushed herself back, out of the young woman's casual reach.
Chapter Seven
"Do you remember me, Claude?" The hand that grasped Claude's own gave it a slight squeeze, as if to convey some secret message. The hand was slim and bony, almost without hair. It was neither masculine nor feminine, but warm. The voice was more interesting, Claude thought. The pitch, which was high, was not important-sounding. Rather, what struck Claude was the rise and fall of certain stressed syllables.
Claude had seen other male homosexuals, and he knew what they were and what they did. Yet it was already clear to him that the effeminacy that he had seen television comedians -- and even other children at school -- ridicule, had little relation to the behavior of any women he had known -- not his mother, and certainly not any of her more mannish women friends, nor any of his friends' mothers. In the behavior of men like Tony, the imitation of women seemed to gain something. If it lost anything, Claude was not quite sure of what that was.
"What's for dinner?" Tony asked casually, his tone expectant but not at all serious.
"Shrimp Creole," Elaine replied for Irene, who was preparing it at the stove. The homosexual's eyes traveled again to the boy, who looked away. Claude did not suspect it, but Tony was suppressing a dirty joke about dessert.
Something about the man -- who must have been thirty, though everything about him, dress, hair-style, and even speech, was calculated to make him seem younger -- impressed Claude. Irene had prepared him for the visit by showing him photographs of clothes Tony had designed for women. The bright colors and the designer's almost geometric concern with line and flow had pleased the boy's primitive aesthetic sense, and he was impressed by the mentions Elaine had made of his wealth. He was gratified when his mother had excitedly opened the present Tony had brought her. The dress the package contained was certainly prettier than the one he had brought for Elaine -- though Elaine always professed unconcern for fashion.
Tony seemed genuinely interested in Claude; the boy was almost embarrassed at having his opinions -- on a variety of matters -- taken quite so seriously. He knew that Tony was treating him as a clever child, but there was nothing condescending about his attitude.
All four moved to the living room with coffee after dinner, but Irene returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes while Elaine and Tony talked. The television set was on, but Claude could barely hear it under the camouflage of conversation. He was left out of the discussion -- it almost seemed as if Elaine was competing with him for Tony's attention.
Perhaps she felt she had won, but in any case she rose after ten minutes. Claude could not have said why he stayed; why he did not return to his own room. But he had felt the fascination with male adults before.
"Do you have any girlfriends?" The tone was casual, and Claude could detect the irony in the question. He shook his head. "Do you like boys?"
The blood rushed through Claude's chest was not fear, and Claude did not recoil. It was a nervousness similar to what he had felt when Francine had made him touch her. Yet Tony had not touched him. Blood made his penis swell, and a growing erection surprised the boy as it strained against his cotton underpants.
"Elaine said you knew the facts of life, Claude." The voice was sly. He shifted a few inches closer on the couch. Claude looked at him appraisingly; he did not know what to make of the proposition he knew was coming. The uncertainty, in turn, evoked passivity, and when Tony's hand rested, cupped over his knee, he merely waited for the next move.
Tony was pleasantly surprised that Claude did not move back, shocked, out of his reach. Claude had advanced to a point where shock and even mild surprise were no longer a possibility. Each new indignity was but the fulfillment of the prophecy of prior indignities. And the feeling inside his warm prick would have made him wait, in any case, out of curiosity for what he would feel when the hand finally did grasp his phallus.
That contact was delayed, however. Tony turned and faced him completely, just as Tony's hand reached under his arm and, pressing at the small of his back, drew him closer. Tony's mouth breathed warm air into Claude's nostrils. The designer nudged closer, and Claude felt a bristle from the man's light beard tickle his lower lip, just as the lips pushed forward and covered Claude's thinner lips with their moist softness.
Tony's tongue shoved forward between the boy's lips and caressed his tongue. The tip rolled against his inner cheek, ran over the surface of his side teeth, then wrapped itself over and over again around Claude's tongue, which was passive as the older man made love to it with his own tongue. The glossy spit wet Claude's lips, and the rustling of Tony's teeth made them ache.
The designer raised his hand to Claude's chest, and he rubbed the boy's cotton shirt over the nipple until it was stiff and felt raw. He pulled the shirt out of Claude's trousers and moved his hand lightly against the naked skin beneath. Tony rolled his fingertip inside the navel and Claude breathed in deeply. His cock twitched and slid against the drop of gummy fluid that had spurted onto the front flap of the briefs.
Tony noticed the movement below Claude's stomach and moved his hand down from the adolescent's chest to his crotch. He pulled at the zipper, and Claude held his breath while the man extricated his penis from inside his briefs. Tony pulled at the head, his fingertips tight around the shaft. He bent the cock down and then released it, letting it spring back until it was stiff and upright once again. His other hand jammed against the small of Claude's back, drilling the boy to him, supporting him as Tony began to play with his sex. His hand turned at the wrist so that when he had pulled the skin around the cock to expose the glans, he could brush his small finger against the scrotum. Claude's balls wriggled inside.
The cock pointed straight out of the undone zipper and undershorts. Tony held it motionless for a moment before he dropped to his knees before the couch. Pushing the boy's limbs apart with his hands, Tony kissed the cockhead with closed lips, then washed the head clean of the seminal spray with his tongue. The cock moved in a spasm as Claude's fists clenched at his side.
Tony rose and pulled at his belt. He unbuttoned his tight pants and pushed them down almost to his knees. They clung to his skin and would not go further. He wore no underclothing, and his penis was straight and hard. It was the color of marble, surrounded at its root by a web of blond pubic hair that almost obscured the small pink bag that hung under the cock's base. The scrotum seemed out of proportion to the rest of his sex.
Kneeling, the man bent back, his palms supporting his upper torso. Claude knew what Tony wanted him to do, but he hesitated, afraid of the giant cock, afraid it would choke him.