Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI

by Jude Mason, Yvette Hines, Jessie Verino

  A look of panic crossed Greg's face. “I don't think I could sit in a bar. Not right now. Would you mind if we went to your place? Ours is miles out of town."

  "I wouldn't mind at all—,” he bit back the ‘sweetie’ that nearly made it out.

  Ten minutes later they were sitting in Sammy's small, but beautifully decorated living room, sipping beer out of frosted steins he kept in his freezer. They talked—Greg talked and he listened mostly, for nearly three hours. It was as if the dam had broken and words tumbled out of the man.

  Jean and he had been married less than five years. They didn't have any kids and he was torn about that, too. They'd both assumed there would be time, later. Now, there wasn't going to be a later. Their time had just about run out.

  They finished one beer then two, and Sammy got up to get another refill for them both. His mind was on both Jean and her coming death, and the lovely, lonely man sitting in his living room, who already mourned her loss. He felt drawn to the man. Standing in the tiny mauve colored kitchen, he realized he was trembling.

  It was late, he was tired, and having Greg there was adding some sexual tension. A stirring in his slacks only confirmed what he already knew. He wanted this tall good looking, soon-to-be widower. But, that was impossible. He opened the fridge to pull two more beers out, when a hand on his back made him jump.

  "The head, which way?” Greg stood there innocently; unaware of the turmoil he'd created.

  Sammy nodded down the hall, “Last door on the left."

  "Thanks,” he mumbled and a moment later, Sammy heard the bathroom door close.

  Glasses filled again, he took them back into the living room and waited for his guest.

  They'd talked until Greg spotted the morning sun peeking through the drapes. He'd left then, full of apologies, and also, Sammy thought, with a better perspective of what to expect as Jean's illness progressed and how it would inevitably end.

  That first night had been the beginning of something amazing.

  They met every time Sammy worked, spending a time together with Jean, and then they'd go to his place. It didn't take long for Sammy's attraction to get the better of him. Another evening of beer and talk led to a backrub—a backrub that escalated to a gentle stripping and caressing of new, unfamiliar flesh.

  Each meeting after that, the two men grew closer together, their relationship blossoming even as Greg's wife slowly faded. The man was torn with guilt and often cried long into the night while Sammy held him. One night, weeks after they'd met, Sammy suggested they try something different. Greg had been all for it. He'd soon learned that even though he was bigger, stronger and probably capable of tearing him limb from limb, it was Sammy who was in control. And even more shocking, he loved it.

  Jean's death, two months after they'd met, came as no surprise. Greg's mourning was heartbreaking, his need for solace and forgiveness, enormous. Sammy was more than eager to be there for him. But there seemed to be a barrier, some corner that just wouldn't allow Greg to be happy.

  Weeks passed, then a month, then two. Their life together became more permanent, more settled, but still Sammy worried. Often, when he was sure Greg wasn't aware of him, he sat watching him. There was a sadness that he knew had nothing to do with Jean's death. He let it go, partially out of fear—he couldn't bear to lose the man. Another part of him wanted to give Greg the time he needed—time for Greg to tell him what was tearing him apart.

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  Chapter Two

  Opening the front door, he was thrilled to see Greg approaching him and said, “Get out of those clothes and kneel.” He swished passed his lover, tossed his coat on the chair and headed for the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Greg's soft curse and then a thump. Turning, he stifled the chuckle that threatened. He'd pushed his jeans down to the tops of his boots then tried to get out of the boots. Again. He'd toppled over. The curse had been when he realized he'd lost his balance, the thump was when his butt hit the floor, or so Sammy assumed. He'd have a bruise for sure.

  Placing his hand on his hip, he pointed out, “If you'd just take the damn boots off first..."

  Greg looked at him, scowled, and then lowered his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I'm just in a hurry."

  "Sir?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Greg smiled, adding, “Sir."

  "Get naked, boy.” The words sent a shiver of pleasure running up his spine. He loved the feeling of power his control over Greg gave him.

  "Yes, sir,” Greg said, in that deep sexy voice he used only when the two of them were going into a scene. Jeans and boots finally formed a small pile beside him on the door mat. His shirt followed, a crumpled pile of white cotton. Finally, he wriggled out of his underpants and tossed them on the heap. He turned to face Sammy. “Here, sir?"

  Before he answered, he went into the kitchen and got a glass of white wine. Standing in the doorway, he said, “In front of the couch. Face away from it.” He watched and sipped, as the lovely man crawled to the specified spot. Greg knelt, turned away from the couch, making sure his back was straight and his knees spread wide apart. With his hands behind his back, his thickening cock was in full view.

  Sammy left him there and went into the bedroom. Going to the window, he sipped his wine and planned the evening ahead. Done, he put the empty glass on the bedside table.

  Stripping out of his suit, he hung it up in the closet along with the brilliant pink shirt he'd worn that day. He tossed his socks on the bed, then skinned out of his shorts. He pulled out the small box he'd shoved under the bed and opened it. A small collection of dildos and butt plugs, paddles and leather straps waited for him. They had all weekend, and he didn't want to start off too rough or Greg wouldn't be any good for either of them tomorrow.

  "The glove, yeah,” he muttered to himself and dug out the black leather glove. He replaced the top and shoved the box back under the bed. Rising, he smiled and headed out into the living room, and his beautiful man.

  Greg turned his head ever so slightly and smiled. But even the smile had a shadow of sorrow. Jean's recent death hung over them like a cloud.

  Pushing thoughts of Jean aside, Sammy said, “Lean forward, head to the floor."

  Greg instantly lowered his head, and pushed his ass high.

  "You have such a sweet ass, boy,” Sammy's voice wasn't deep or sexy like he thought Greg's was. In fact he couldn't understand why the man even took a second look at him. Slender, pale, nearly hairless from the waist down, he was the epitome of flaming gay and his every movement seemed feminine compared to Greg's pronounced masculinity. The hefty erection jutting from his middle was about the only really masculine attribute he had, and he stroked it while eyeing his boy.

  Mincing his way over to the couch, his mouth watered at the sight of the muscular buttocks facing him. The hard lines of the man's thighs and the large ball sac dangling beneath him, all begged his touch.

  He slipped his hand into the leather glove. There was a click when he pressed the snap closed, and he saw Greg shudder. “Have you been a good boy today?” he asked, and sat on the couch. Leaning forward, he slid his naked hand over Greg's ass. Taut, muscular, hot, his flesh quivered as Sammy explored the firm roundness of each cheek, teased the deep cleft between. A groan reached his ears when he slid his hand lower, taking the soft ball sac in his hand, carefully juggling the precious balls within. The hair tickled his hand, his wrist, and for the hundredth time, he wondered about having his boy shaved.

  "Yes, sir, I've been good."

  He slid his hand lower, leaning down more. His face was inches from Greg's ass. Heat radiated up from him. “I've been thinking about asking you to get rid of some of this hair,” he said, giving the man's pubic hair a gentle tug.

  "You mean shave?"

  He heard the surprise in Greg's voice, but also something more—excitement maybe—and smiled. “Yes, shave, you sexy boy. I want you smooth.” He moved his hand along the swollen length of his cock taking its weight, feeling it thro
b. He gripped the shaft, held it tight. Leaning back a little, just enough to get a good swing in, he brought his gloved hand down hard.

  "Hey!” yelped the supine man, but he didn't move. The taut butt cheek barely jiggled, but he'd obviously felt some pain, or surprise. Good enough.

  "You mean shave ... what?” he urged, both hands on the upturned ass, massaging them, pulling them open, pressing them together.

  "Sir, you mean shave, sir?” Greg rasped.

  "Yes, much better,” he cooed, and slid his gloved fingers along the dark cleft.

  When he sensed the tension easing, the muscles in Greg's ass softening, he pulled his hand back, and waited. His heartbeat drummed in his chest. This build up was always the most exciting for him. He adored watching the slow melt down of his lovers’ defenses—the sinking into that special place where his slavery blossomed.

  "Sir?” came the soft inquiry.

  And he brought hand down with a resounding ‘Slap!'

  Greg's entire body jerked.

  "Oh, I do love it when you jump like that.” Sammy rubbed the spot he'd slapped, spreading the heat. “Want another one, boy?” He emphasized ‘boy', and hoped Greg would know to ask for more.

  "Yes, please, sir,” he replied, pushing his ass back.

  Instead of the expected slap, Sammy leaned down and ran his tongue over the swell of the left butt cheek. Laying his face against the warm flesh, he murmured, “Oh yes, so very sexy.” The hair on Greg's ass tickled Sammy's nose, and he turned his head. Taking a little of it between his teeth, he pulled.

  "Youch!” Greg yelped as the strands of hair pulled free.

  Another slap followed an instant later—and before Greg could catch his breath, another, and another. Sammy let his hand remain flat against the man's ass that last time. Even through the glove, he felt heat. “You say you're a good boy, but then you're bad. You keep forgetting the Sir. A very important word."

  "Yes, sir,” Greg echoed, “A very important word. I'll try to do better."

  Even while he proclaimed his desire to do better, he left the word off and pushed his ass back toward him. “Sir,” Sammy said, and raised his leather gloved hand.

  "Sir,” came the soft reply.

  Sammy brought his hand down with all of his strength, then raised it up again, and said, “Do you want another?"

  A moment of silence followed, and then the very soft, barely discernable, “Yes, sir. Please, sir."

  Sammy smiled, but didn't strike. He wanted more. His cock ached it was so hard, and he grabbed it with his free hand, squeezing the base hard. Taking a step closer, he rubbed the swollen purple glans over Greg's overheated ass cheek. The sensation was almost too much, and he had to tighten his grip even more.

  He heard a groan from his beautiful man, and then softly, “Please, sir, spank me."

  "But you're my boy, and only I decide when you're punished,” Sammy replied. He raised his hand, ready, poised, waiting for just the right moment. It came when Greg turned. Not his entire body, just his head. He looked back at Sammy; he dared to move without asking, without being permitted. And the hand came down. That time he didn't stop. With his erection firmly held in one hand, he spanked Greg with the other. He kept it up until Greg's ass was lovely and red, warm to the touch and must have burned something awful. But still the man pushed it back, as if silently begging for more.

  When he stopped, his hand, even though it was covered, was sore. His breathing sounded like he'd run a marathon, and his cock was literally dripping. “Come here, baby boy, Sammy wants to be sucked off.” He slumped down on the couch, splaying his legs wide. His own pubes were neatly trimmed with just the faintest dusting of sandy colored hair around the base of his cock, and none on his balls.

  Greg turned, that time being instructed to do so, until he faced the couch. His face and chest were flushed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension. His eyes fastened instantly on the swaying meat between Sammy's legs. He glanced up, their eyes locking for a long, heart-stopping moment, and then he shuffled closer. His shoulders rubbed against the inner flesh of Sammy's legs, pushing them even further apart.

  The damp flesh against his made his head spin. Legs lifted and draped over the man's broad shoulders, his cock tapped his face. The tip pulsed and left a trail of its stickiness on Greg's cheek, then bounced on the side of his nose.

  "Suck it. Don't use your hands though. Not on you, and not on me.” His voice was harsh, filled with lust. The muscles in his thighs trembled, tensed, then relaxed.

  "Yes, sir.” He breathed a small gust of warm air across Sammy's glans.

  Sammy's cock twitched, slapping against his lips with a soft, wet thud. Greg opened his mouth and leaned in, trapping the swollen, plum-shaped crown. Soft wetness engulfed him, and it was all he could do to keep from lunging ahead. His thighs were trembling. The soft slithering of his boy's tongue slathering around the head of his cock was almost more than he could stand. Only by biting the inside of his cheek did he manage to keep still and to keep from spewing his load. His balls churned, and when Greg sucked him in deeper, they shifted, moving in tighter to his body. He groaned, then slid his fingers through the mop of hair between his legs, clenching tight, holding the man's face where he needed it to be. He controlled the depth and the position, but had no power to stop the insistent suction or the smooth lapping of the man's tongue. Around the glans, then he flicked the tip into the slit bisecting the crown. He probed ever so gently, driving Sammy mad with lust and the need to fuck his mouth, his face.

  Slowly, that luscious mouth sank onto him. An inch more vanished into the man's sucking mouth, then another and with each disappearing inch; more flesh became available for the man's delicious torture. Greg lapped hungrily along the underside, his tongue slithering along the heavy vein from his balls to the flange. Finally, the tip pressed against the back of his mouth, and he gagged. The clenching of his throat was almost his undoing. Tight, hot, slickness, exquisite pressure tugged at him, threatening to drag him over the brink.

  "Yes,” he hissed, his head falling back to lie against the sofa. He raised his knees, lifting them off Greg's shoulders, spreading himself wider. With his fingers buried in the man's hair, he pulled Greg's mouth hard against his groin. Balls pressed firmly against his stubble-rough chin, he dragged Greg's face back and forth. Come rose, churning higher, boiling up his shaft.

  Greg swallowed, and again his throat tightened, clenching on him. A sob from the kneeling man sent a shiver of pleasure from his cock shaft deep into his belly. Greg groaned an extraordinary hum of sheer bliss.

  Sammy dragged his lover's head up and down, heedless of the man's desires or needs. All he could think of was his own lust—his own undeniable need to come. The muscles in his legs clenched, his toes curled and the world vanished as the first blast of come erupted and burned its way up his shaft. He groaned as the hot nectar let fly, a ribbon of liquid fire gobbled up by his boy's eager mouth. He shuddered and sent another splash of come into Greg's mouth, and then another. When he couldn't stand the man's mouth on him any longer, he eased back, pulling his cock free. Greg tried to follow, but with both hands still wrapped in his hair, he was unable to.

  "Good boy.” Sammy released him and quickly scooted up, taking his cock and balls out of Greg's reach. He watched the play of muscles along the man's back, the sheen of sweat making his flesh gleam in the soft light. “Lean back. Spread your legs.” His voice wasn't strong; in fact he thought he sounded more fem than ever when he squeaked the words out.

  Greg looked up at him, lust plain on his face. He eased back on his knees. For a moment he looked confused. He licked his lips, shuddered, and then eased his knees apart. Hands, clenched, went to his knees where they rested like hard knots of rope held together to keep from touching himself, of that Sammy was sure.

  "Hands behind your neck,” he said in a much steadier tone. “Straighten up."

  Greg instantly swung his hands up and clasped them behind his head. Back strai
ghtened, Sammy thought he looked like one of those gorgeous hunks in a skin mag. And, he's all mine. He was close enough that he could reach his foot out and nudge the dripping cock head with his toe. Greg moaned, but kept in position. Chest heaving, face flushed and eyes clouded with lust, he obviously wanted to come, but was too stubborn to ask. They'd played this game before, and both loved it.

  Sammy scooted off the couch and onto the floor. He lay on his side, close enough to Greg to smell how horny he was, but far enough away so the man couldn't rub against him. With the tip of one finger, he slid it over the drooling head of his cock. “You want something?” Dragging his finger along the shaft, he wasn't surprised to see Greg's thighs tense.

  "Sir, I want only to please you.” He glanced up.

  Sammy caught his eye, the desire held at bay shone there. He continued his teasing, dragging his nail along the heavy vein until it disappeared just below the flange. Circling the crown, he smiled when it pulsed and bounced. “Whatever pleases me. Maybe I'll go to bed, to sleep."

  Greg groaned, but quickly bit the sound off.

  "Nah, methinks I've got a better idea.” He slid his hand lower, his fingers going to the tight, wrinkled sac below. Caressing it, gently pulling on the jewels held within, he murmured, “Poor baby's balls are all full of come.” A finger strayed back, brushing over his perineum, tapping at the dark hole nestled between those lovely muscular cheeks. “Ask me what I have in mind."

  "Sir. Oh god, Sammy, you're driving me insane—” The words spewed out of him.

  "Stop it,” he said sharply. “Do as I say."

  Two or three deep breaths later, Greg got control of himself, then asked, “Sir, what do you have in mind for me?"