by Rob Rosen
He bent lower, said ass now jutting straight out, his cock, long and thick, pushed down between his thighs. I took a slurp on the head as I spanked both cheeks, his ass reddening at my exertion.
“Out of the tub,” I told him.
“Yessir,” he said, jumping up and hopping out, facing me as I climbed over. He looked up hungrily at my cock, then leaned in for a taste. I smacked it against the side of his face. He smiled up at me and opened his mouth, wide. I crammed it in, sending a gagging tear down his scruffy cheek. He reached up and grabbed my swaying balls, yanking down, matching me pain for glorious pain as I pummeled his throat.
I retracted my cock. “Move,” I told him.
He moved, sensing what I wanted him to do, reliving our last encounter, only sober this time. No excuses. He leaned up against a tree, hands behind his back, his own limb arcing straight out, slick with jizz that shined like a firefly. I walked up to him, kissed him hard on the lips, lifting the palm of my hand and crashing it down on his chest, the sound loud, reverberating. A benefit to living in the middle of fucking nowhere: no one to hear you getting mean and raunchy.
He growled like a bear as I yanked and tugged on both his nipples, tweaking and twisting them before slapping each one in kind. The growl turned to a whimper. My hand traveled south, smacking his belly, which tightened at the assault. “Yessir,” he said again, wincing as my hand smacked even harder just below his belly button, then even lower atop his thick brown bush. His body flushed red, his cock thickening in anticipation.
“You like it rough, boy?” I rasped, leaning into his ear, biting down on a tender lobe.
“You know I do,” he moaned back.
In fact, I did, remembering it clear as a bell, though his tolerance for pain had obviously increased with age. I leaned back and smacked the underside of his shaft, soft then harder. Again, he winced but otherwise stood in place, an ecstatic smile stretched from ear to ear. I slapped his prick from the side, sending it springing back and forth. He widened his stance. I slapped it again, the smile growing even brighter.
I crouched down, dick to face. I took it in one fell swoop, grabbing onto his balls as I did so, two fists tugging down as I sucked him like a Hoover. He groaned, agony and ecstasy clearly tumbling around the pit of his stomach. “Fuck,” he sighed, long and low and deep, all in one exhale.
I pulled harder on his nuts, stretching them to their limit. His head tilted back, his knees bowing out as he fucked my face. I stood back up, my lips a millimeter apart from his, my hands again torturing his nipples. “You like that, huh, boy?”
The grin returned. He tried to kiss me. I pulled away. “Yessir,” he sighed. “Harder, sir.”
I smacked his chest and resumed the abuse on his nips, my lips now brushing his. “Tell me something, Chet,” I said.
“Yessir. What is it, sir?”
“I haven’t changed all that much, huh?”
“No sir. Still the same.”
My grin matched his, my mouth for an instant pressing firmly against his mouth. “Then you recognized me right away back at my car, didn’t you?”
He laughed as I again smacked at his chest and belly. “Fuck yeah, sir. Sure as hell did.”
I reached down and stroked his cock, hard as the marble he worked on at the nearby plant. “So you knew this would happen then?”
His eyes stared into mine, his soul laid out before me in that very instant. “Hoped as much, sir. Been hoping for a good long time now, in fact.”
I picked up the pace on his cock, spitting down at it and lubing it up as I coaxed the come from his balls. Again, I leaned in and kissed him, my lips practically going numb as the saliva drenched our chins. His legs began to tremble. “Close, sir,” he moaned into my mouth. “So fucking close.”
I pounded on his chest with one fist, jackhammer-hard, while the other went into overdrive on his massive tool. My lips stayed just above his, our eyes open, neither one of us wanting to miss a second.
His lids fluttered, his breath quickened. “Fuck,” he exhaled as his body quivered and quaked, his knees trembling. And then his cock exploded, the sizzling hot come rocketing forth from his spasming dick, splattering my stomach, my legs, my feet. His groans echoed from tree to tree, ringing in my ears, etched forever in my memory just as they had all those years prior.
When he at last caught his breath, his body ramrod-straight and the contented smile returning to his handsome face, he offered, “Your turn now, sir.”
I matched his smile with one of my own. “We’ve got plenty of time for that,” I told him.
He reached up and stroked my hair, his hand coming to rest atop my shoulder. “Just until tomorrow, when my brother comes to pick you and your car up.”
“Nope,” I said.
He looked at me in confusion, his head tilted to the side. “Nope?”
My hands pulled him in, his sweat-soaked body pressed flush against my own. “Nope. Moving back here. Been gone too long.”
His smile broadened. His lips found mine, soft and tender. “You stayin’ with your ma then?” he eventually asked.
“Was planning on it. For the time being.”
He paused, staring deep into my eyes yet again. “Plannin’ and doin’ ain’t always the same thing, sir.”
“Why’s that, Chet? That bed of yours big enough for two?”
“I reckon it is, Luke. If the two is me and you.”
We stood there like that, kissing as our cocks again grew solid and stiff, the sound of the warm breeze rustling through the trees around us filling my ears, the smell of the South, of Chet, wafting up my nostrils, welcoming me back at last.
I shot him a wicked-ass grin and hummed him my intent, “Sweet home Alabama, Chet,” I said. “Lord, I’m coming home to you.”
Jingle Balls
Santa was beside himself. It was two days until Christmas, and three of his elves were out with the flu. He could lend a hand in the workshop, but even then, the toys would never get finished in time.
“What can we do?” he asked his wife, who was busy sorting out the good and the bad girls and boys on her Mac.
She scrunched up her nose and strummed her chubby fingers on her equally chubby chin. Staring at her computer screen, her eyes suddenly lit up. Quickly, she Googled her search and came up with a solution. “Elf temp,” she soon replied, pointing at the monitor. “Right here on the North Pole Craigslist.”
Santa scratched his wooly, white head. “I thought only we made lists up here, good wife. Who is this Craig fellow?”
She laughed at her behind-the-times husband. “Never you mind, Santa. I’ll just email this temp and see if he’s available.”
Santa shrugged and let her have at it. She typed lightning-fast and waited for a response. Seconds later, they heard the lilting you’ve got mail. She smiled big and bright as she read the reply. “He’s free,” she shouted, her voice filled with glee. “And if we all pitch in, the toys will get finished just in the nick of time.”
Santa’s grin stretched from east to west, the jowls beneath his chin jiggling like Christmas pudding. “It’s a miracle, wife,” he proclaimed with a relieved sigh. “An honest to goodness miracle.”
The miracle arrived the next morning, and only twenty minutes late.
“Jingle’s the name,” he said with a bow, “and toy making’s my game. From China to Uzbekistan, and all the sweatshops in between. I can make a yo-yo with just one yo and a Slinky that hops down stairs two at a time.”
“Oh, no,” laughed Santa as the little elf bounded in, his head nodding up and down as he did so. “No cutting corners here, Jingle. Our yos come in pairs.”
The elf winked and grabbed his crotch. “Yeah, Santa, I got your pair right here, and they’re itching to get to work, if you know what I mean.” The wink repeated itself.
Again, Santa laughed, not sure what to make of this strange, little elf. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he happily showed Jingle around and then planted him at his
station. “Here you go, Jingle. The work is hard but enjoyable enough, especially when you see the smiles on the happy children’s faces.” And with that, he was gone.
Jingle glanced around, adorable elves on all sides, diligently working away, their sinewy arms and sweat-covered brows glistening in the ambient factory light. “Man,” he groaned. “Something’s hard alright, and it ain’t the work.”
“What’s that you said?” asked the elf next to him as he hammered and nailed and screwed a toy train together.
Jingle turned and looked at the delectable elf by his side, his sleeves rolled up as he toiled away, rippling little muscles moving to and fro as the train took shape. “I said,” Jingle replied, sidling over. “I can hardly wait to get to work.”
The other elf looked up, his twinkling blue eyes locking on to Jingle’s, his candy-cane crisp breath mingling with Jingle’s slightly gin-soaked one. Nervously, he said to him, “Um, name’s Tweeker.”
Jingle grabbed the elf’s hand and gave a firm, if not lingering, shake. With a leer, he said, “Oh, I’d like to tweak you.”
“Excuse me?” said the other elf apprehensively.
Jingle coughed. “Oh, I said, pleased to meet you. Name’s Jingle. Jingle Balls.”
Tweeker, his hand growing sweaty in Jingle’s, swiftly went back to work, after pulling his slender fingers away. “You start on the tracks, Jingle, while I finish this train,” he told him, a quiver to his reedy voice.
Jingle laughed and smacked him on his butt. “Well, Tweeker, the caboose is looking mighty fine, already.”
Tweeker jumped in place. “But I’m just starting on the engine car.”
Jingle winked at his coworker, and retorted, “Exactly, Tweeker. Exactly.” And then he began the business at hand—though his hand ached to return to his neighboring elf’s end.
Which gave him an idea.
He toiled long and steady, the tracks churning out super-fast, the trains boxed and giftwrapped in no time flat. In fact, Jingle was soon ahead of schedule, and even managed to whittle out a gift of a different sort.
Tweeker looked over, and asked, “What do you have there, Jingle? Is that a train whistle?”
Jingle held the long, spherical object up for the other elf to see. “Nah, it’s for a good little ho, ho, ho in Minneapolis.”
Tweeker played with his blond chin hairs, which coiled down to a tapered point as he twisted them between his dexterous fingers. “What’s it do, though?”
“Do?” Jingle asked, shifting over once again, locking laser-sharp eyes with the curious elf. “It’s a smile-maker.” He paused, inching in even closer. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a smile-maker before, Tweeker.”
The elf blushed, a crimson red flush spreading from one pointed ear to the other. “Of course, I’ve seen a smile-maker,” he replied. “I’ve just, well, I’ve never, um, played with one before, is all. How’s it work?”
Jingle looked at the clock on the toy factory wall. “Our break is in ten minutes. Wanna play with it then?”
Tweeker smiled, a brilliant white array that lit up the room like a moonlit night. “Oh yes, I love to play,” he replied wholeheartedly.
“Oh, I bet you do,” Jingle fairly moaned, and counted down the seconds until their break, churning out the toys at a jarring pace.
Soon thereafter, the clock began to chime, and all the elves stretched their tired little arms up high, or at least as as high as they could go, and filed in for some hot cocoa and cookies. All, that is, save for Tweeker and Jingle.
“Where can we play with the smile-maker?” Tweeker anxiously asked.
“Where’s your room?” Jingle asked in return.
“My room? Can’t we play with it outside?” came the hesitant response.
“Oh, no,” Jingle told him. “Good boys and girls play in bed. With the smile-maker, I mean.”
“I see,” was all Tweeker could think to say, and led them both down a long corridor to his small room, closing the door behind them as he hopped onto the undersized bed. “Now what?” he asked, his eyes wide and the nervous grin returning to his adorable face.
“Now?” Jingle said, his breath instantly growing shallow. “Now we hide the smile-maker.”
“Oh,” said Tweeker. “You hide it and I find it?”
“Sort of,” said Jingle, jumping on the bed with his playmate and taking out the toy from his back pocket. “Only, trust me, you’ll know just where it’s hidden.”
The elf shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, you will,” Jingle rasped, setting the wooden object down, and then changing the subject with, “I like your little blond beard.” He paused, then added, “Does the carpet match the drapes?” Jingle pointed from Tweeker’s face down to his crotch.
“My carpet?” Tweeker practically whispered. “Well, um, yes, I suppose it does. Why, doesn’t yours?”
Jingle grinned. “Actually, I don’t have a carpet. I clip it off. Elfscaping, I call it. Want to see?”
The little elf gulped and nodded. “Sure. I mean, I’ve never seen an, um, elfscaped carpet before.” In fact, he wasn’t even sure what one was.
Tweeker stared in rapt wonder as Jingle got on his knees and unbuttoned his leather shorts. He slid them down a few inches, revealing nothing but brown stubble. “See,” he said. “No carpet.” Then he pointed back down to Tweeker’s suddenly burgeoning crotch. “Now it’s your turn.”
Tweeker slowly did the same, his shorts bunching up as a thick, blond bush came into view. He laughed. “Yep, they match the, um, drapes, alright.” He paused, his hands still on the waistband. “They even match the, um, the rear doormat,” he informed, again a red blush blossoming on his already rosy cheeks.
“Do they now?” Jingle asked, leaning back on the bed. “That I’d like to see.” A gross understatement if ever there was one.
Tweeker grinned sheepishly and pushed down on his shorts, his prick bouncing out as he flopped on his back and kicked the leather material off. He held his teeny feet in his tiny hands and bowed his short legs out, revealing a pink, crinkled hole, lined, as promised, with a matching blond whirl of fuzz. “See,” he said, swirling his finger around the slot, “everything matches.” He chuckled and chortled and winked at the gazing, drooling Jingle.
The kneeling elf groaned the faintest of groans. “My oh my, everything most certainly does,” he admiringly whispered. “And now, would you like to see where we hide the smile-maker?”
Still ticking his hole, Tweeker replied. “Yes, please.”
Jingle giggled with a wicked if not completely captivating grin. He quickly shucked off his leather vest and wriggled out of his tight shorts, leaving him in nothing more than his green and red striped knee-socks. Tweeker stared upward, and noted, “Now I see where you got your apt name from.”
The turgid elf swayed his low hanging balls, and sang, “Jingle all the way.” Then he leaned in and took an appraising sniff of Tweeker’s chute. “Smells of cinnamon and spice and everything really nice,” he practically purred, taking a lick and slurp and suck on the blond hair-rimmed ring.
The sprawled out elf moaned and bucked his ass into the lapping mouth. “Oh hole-y night,” he gasped.
Jingle laughed and grabbed for the larger than average—by elf standards at any rate—cock, downing it in one fell swoop, while sliding a spit-slick finger to the farthest reaches of Tweeker’s tiny tush. “Ready to see why it’s called a smile-maker?” he asked, in between hungry sucks and gulps.
Tweeker looked between his outstretched legs at the eyes staring intently at him. “Are the five rings golden?” he replied.
Jingle took that as a yes and reached over for the wooden phallus. Back on his knees, he stared down at the randy elf, now stroking his Yule log, waiting to see where the smile-maker would get hidden, and then happily surprised where it did.
Lubing up the virgin territory with more thick spit, Jingle pressed the end of the toy up against Tweeker’s tight hole. Then, with one eas
y glide, he slid it down the chimney with care. The supine elf sucked in his breath, his eyes fluttering as a million tingles, enough to light up an entire evergreen forest, coursed through his shortened limbs. And then, as the oaken shaft butted up against his farthest inner reaches, he smiled, big and full and wide and blissful, just as was promised.
“Ah,” he moaned. “I see where it gets its apt name.”
Jingle laughed knowingly, and bent down to suck on the shiny, plumb-sized knob that sat perched high above the thick shaft, while the smile maker slid in and out, in and out. And then he suddenly stopped pushing and prodding and sucking and slurping and looked up at the enraptured elf. “Would you like something to make you smile even brighter, Tweeker?” he asked.
“Is that even possible?” giggled the elf, now stroking his fat prick.
“Only one way to tell,” replied Jingle, popping the wooden rod out, and then reaching over for his shorts, from which he removed two more items. He jumped off the bed and stared back down, holding the objects in his hand.
“What are those?” asked Tweeker.
“I’ll tell you, but first remove your vest and socks, and then lower your legs.”
The elf did as he was told, soon lying naked on the bed. Jingle crouched down and ran the palm of his hand across smooth skin, sending goosebumps rising in its wake. His slender fingers ran up silken hills and down sleek valleys, coming to rest for a time on two pink nipples, tiny raisins that he plucked like a harp, causing the elf below to sing in turn. “A more beautiful elf I’ve never seen,” moaned Jingle, taking in the sight like a starving man would a Christmas goose.
“Then gaze in the mirror,” responded Tweeker.
Jingle grinned. “Good one,” he said, and hopped back on the bed, swinging Tweeker’s legs up and placing his cute, little feet atop his own shoulders. The first item he held in his hand he slid down the length of his steely prick. “For safety’s sake,” he informed.
“And the second object?” Tweeker asked.
Jingle grinned and bent down, placing it over the elf’s head. “Mistletoe,” he told him, stealing a soft, lush kiss on Tweeker’s full, pouty lips, their mouths meshing together as the top’s cock pressed up snug against the bottom’s tight hole before it rammed in and up and all the way to the back.