by Neil Plakcy
A hushed moan left Conner’s throat. He raised his back end, pressing Kenji’s cock between his cheeks. Kenji thrust gently against him. Conner’s breath turned quick and shallow, the friction of Kenji’s cock sliding over his hole heightening his excitement.
Kenji sat up and reached for the lube. Slathering the fingers of his right hand, he lay at Conner’s side, his body leaning against him. He nuzzled into Conner’s hair, kissed behind his ear, and brought his fingers to Conner’s hole.
Feeling Kenji’s warm, moist fingers dipping into his crack, Conner parted his thighs farther. The gentle touch teased, flicking, tickling, rubbing. Kenji inserted the tip of his middle finger, then withdrew, only to repeat the tormenting pattern again and again.
As Conner wiggled his hips, a soft whimper left him. His pleading with body and voice did nothing to stir mercy in Kenji. Conner glanced at him, and seeing the mischievousness shining in Kenji’s eyes, he realized Kenji was thoroughly enjoying toying with him, and had he not been reaching a point of desperation, he could’ve chuckled at Kenji’s playfulness. As Kenji inserted his fingertip into him again, Conner lashed his hand back, grabbing Kenji’s wrist and forcing his finger fully inside.
Kenji laughed softly. “I guess I teased you too much.”
Conner smiled. “Well, I’m not the most patient of guys.”
Kenji withdrew his finger from him. “Then I apologize for making you wait,” he said, reentering him with both his index and middle fingers.
Conner moaned low. He felt Kenji part his fingers, stretching him farther, then dive deep and hook, seeking his prostate. His entire body flinched with electric ecstasy as the other man found it. With expert fingers, Kenji massaged gently, and within seconds had him panting and thrusting against the blanket.
Sensing Conner’s desire was peaking, Kenji pulled his fingers from him. He coated his cock in lube and moved over him, bracing himself on one arm, gripping his organ with his other hand. Conner lifted his ass to him. As Kenji’s broad cockhead nudged against Conner’s hole, Conner felt a deep pulsing around his rim with the need to be opened by the Japanese surf master. With a firm push, Kenji entered him.
Conner’s breath raced from him. He twisted the blanket in his fingers, clenching it tighter as each pleasure-tipped nerve was ignited the more deeply Kenji moved into him. Going slowly, Kenji sank into him until his hips pressed flush to his ass.
Kenji paused, allowing himself to enjoy the wet heat of Conner’s body. Conner’s internal muscles constricted, gripping him, and loosened once again. Kenji groaned at the feeling, then lowered his torso down to his elbows. He put his lips to Conner’s neck, laying tender kisses on it and the side of his face as he began moving in easy thrusts.
Conner lost himself in the slow pace. All sights vanished save for what he could see of Kenji. All sensations were gone but for the feel of Kenji’s hard body on top of him. All sound became muted except for Kenji’s breathing and his voice whispering to him words in Japanese that he didn’t understand, but which sounded beautiful none the less.
Kenji slipped his right arm under Conner’s and gripped his opposite shoulder. His left hand beside Conner’s, he moved it atop and threaded their fingers together. Conner turned his head toward his shoulder. Kenji found his lips in a kiss. He tightened his hold on him and added more force to his next thrust.
Conner sucked in a sharp breath. Each of Kenji’s thrusts came quicker than the one before. His strength and weight held Conner in place, leaving him unable to move on his own, though his body rocked under Kenji’s power. His cock ground against the blanket, the skin of his abdomen lubricated in precome and sweat. His sensitivity grew with each push.
Conner’s chest expanded in rapid breaths against Kenji’s arm, he squeezed his hand in a painful grip, then gave a shout. Through the surge of his orgasm, Conner felt Kenji continuing to thrust into him, drawing the pleasure out. As he began to come down from it, Kenji slammed him hard, his cock pulsing as it emptied his come inside Conner.
Their left hands still locked together, each remained motionless, enjoying the closeness and satisfaction.
After a few moments, Kenji grudgingly hefted his weight up and withdrew his softening cock from Conner’s ass. He rolled to the side and fell on his back. Conner eased to his back beside him and found Kenji’s hand. They lay quiet, their eyes on the night sky, their minds on what had happened between them.
Kenji raised Conner’s hand to his lips and laid a soft kiss on the back of it. “I think we’ll be seeing each other a lot more than just running into each other at competitions.”
Conner rolled his head to look at him, his bright smile visible in the darkness. “So do I.”
Kenji propped himself up on one elbow and leaned down to him. Conner cupped his face in both hands. Their smiling lips touched in a kiss that promised many more to follow.
T-ROOM SURFERS
Bearmuffin
Pacific Beach, San Diego. A marvelous sun-drenched day. Some might prefer El Lay with its beautiful boys trying to break into showbiz or San Francisco with its wild and raunchy leathermen, but give me San Diego any old day with its golden-tanned and oh-so-hunky surfers.
I watched Jason sprint toward the sea, his surfboard tucked underneath a brawny bicep. The six-foot-tall surfer was a sun-kissed muscle-god. He had a winning smile, flashing white teeth, and sparkling blue eyes. His wavy hair was gold. Jason’s powerful biceps and broad chest made my head spin.
Jason’s power-packed legs left me breathless. I wanted to be right under him, between those mammoth legs, looking up at him as he stood over me and pounded his ten-incher for all it was worth, until he spooged an explosive mess all over my face.
An hour later, Jason emerged from the sea. His gloriously smooth body was dripping with seawater. When he went into the toilet, I almost screamed with delight. You see, I’m not the kind of guy who falls in love with a dude just because I happened to suck his cock: I’m into low-down raunchy and anonymous sex. So of course I followed him inside, because I had to have him.
Jason was standing at the urinal. I heard him begin to piss. I stood next to him to watch the piss flowing from his gorgeous cock. He looked at me and grinned. I winked right back. Fuck! I had him! While he stroked his cock I watched it grow larger in his sturdy hands. “Go for it, dude,” he whispered to me. His surfing trunks hit the floor. In a flash I fell to my knees. Jason lifted his cock up and offered it to me, and faster than you can say, “Wipeout,” I wrapped my lips around it. It was honey gold, the blue veins fat, pumped up. I loved feeling his cock grow bigger inside my mouth.
Jason sighed, leaning back against one of the cubicles. I fished out my cock and began stroking it as my tongue slowly wandered up his shaft, teasing the tip. “Fuck, dude,” he hissed. “Put it in your mouth!” I licked the big, purple mushroom head, coating it with my spit. Now I was ready to swallow his meat. Even so I was afraid that his big, fat cock would trigger my gag reflex. Fortunately, I remembered a technique one of my lifeguard tricks had taught me, and I was able to accommodate his mighty cock by relaxing my throat and letting it slide all the way down my gullet. “You sure can suck cock, dude,” Jason moaned. Damn straight I could. And that wasn’t all I could do either. Yes, I was going to blow this dude’s fuckin’ mind! I grabbed his balls and began fondling them until his thighs began to quake.
“Slide your sweaty balls into my mouth, dude,” I said. “I’ll wash ’em ’til you’re ready to shoot!” Jason squatted right over my face. His fat balls were hanging really low, the ball sac just grazing the tip of my quivering tongue. “Suck my balls, dude,” Jason grunted. “Yeah! Lick my nuts!” Jason fisted his bloated cock, gritting his teeth and grunting hard while I sucked his fat balls. “That’s right. Suck those balls. My fuckin’ balls are filled with cum. I’m gonna shoot all over your fuckin’ face!”
As I sucked on Jason’s silky nuts I began to wonder if his asshole was just as smooth. So I reached behind him and ran my hands over his
muscular buttocks. Yeah, they were sensuously smooth. Jason kept his eyes closed and moaned. I slithered a finger along his asscrack. He hummed again, opening his beautiful mouth to sigh contentedly. That’s when I stuck my finger deeper into Jason’s butt. “Unngh,” he grunted. “Oh, yeah, go for it, dude!”
I stuck my finger right through Jason’s anal ring. “Fuck yeah!” he howled. The deeper I went the harder he moaned. He pushed his ass back until my finger was knuckle deep. I sucked his balls while I finger-fucked him.
Suddenly, Jason screamed, “Fuck!” He came a gusher, his mouth flopped wide open, panting wildly, his magnificent sweat-drenched body jerking, as the cum spurted from his pisser, totally drenching my face and splattering all over his chest, abs, and thighs. After he had spurted the last of his load, he glared down at me with a wicked grin on his lips. “Eat that cum, dude. Yeah, lick it all off!”
My tongue just flew all over his body, licking off the sticky cum-gobs dripping down his smooth, plated muscles. “Your tongue feels fuckin’ good, dude. I wanna feel it up my ass. Yeah, lick my asshole clean too!”
Jason turned around to expose the most gorgeous ass I’d ever laid eyes on. It was round, firm, golden tanned. “Spread those cheeks for me, stud,” I said. Jason reached around and wrenched his buttocks apart. His hole was just begging to be fucked.
“Fuck, dude,” he said. “Ream me!” I stuck my tongue right into his butt without a moment’s hesitation. “Aw, yeah, aw! Yeah, dude, lick my hole. Eat it!”
I was only too happy to oblige! Jason circled his ass round and round over my face, waving his butt over my invading tongue. Slavishly, I ran my tongue up and down along the crack. Then I dug my tongue into his hole as far as it would go until I swear I hit his prostate gland. That’s when he yelled, “Fuck me, dude!”
Jason grabbed his knees and pushed his butt out. I spit on his hot pucker, wrenched his cheeks apart, and drove my cock up his ass. At first, he resisted, crying out, “Oh, fuck no! Dude, your cock’s too fuckin’ big.”
I reached over and grabbed his pecs and started to knead them, massaging them between my horny fingers, until I reached his nipples and began plucking them. Jason arched back, tossing his head from side to side. Then I dug my nails into his nips.
“Yeow!” he screamed. When I felt his cock, it was a pure rock-hard boner. So I slapped his butt a few times. His butt felt tire-hard against my sweaty palms. “Grab ’em,” I ordered. He bent down and his cheeks split in two affording me a tantalizing glimpse of his spasming pucker. “Fuck me, dude,” he panted. Yeah, Jason wanted a good hard fuck. I rammed my big fat cock all the way up his ass to fuck him in full glory.
Jason screamed and moaned and jacked off the whole time I fucked him. He was bouncing up and down like a rag doll. His ass muscles clamped around my cock like a warm, loving mouth.
“Fuck me, dude. Fuck me” he chanted. I fucked him until he said, “Shoot your spunk up my shitter, dude!”
So I slam-dunked my cock one more time up Jason’s willing hole and shot the biggest spermload up his fazoo. Jason yelled “Fuckin’ A!” as he spooged all over the floor.
“Thanks, dude!” Jason said. “Hey, you want to go surfing?”
We put on our board shorts and sprinted out the door with our boards. I was happy to have found a new surfing buddy. And I couldn’t wait to fuck Jason again. Yeah, he was totally mine, for sure!
TAKING THE BAIT
Barry Lowe
He was standing under the shower at the Seaspray Surf and Lifesaving Club, just north of Sydney. And he really was beautiful. The refracted sunlight through the beer-glass tiles added to the luster of his tan. His impossibly perfect torso was caressed by the cascading water and his hair hung limp and blond over his softly chiseled face. But my attention was attracted by his muscular hand pumping his slim tanned cock with such force the veins stood out on his forearms.
Without glancing my way he knew I was watching. He was performing for me, and I felt like holding up a placard with a bold 10 on it like they do at diving competitions. Instead I just said: “Put it away, son. I know who you are.” He glanced over through his mop of straggly hair bleached by sun and saltwater, uncertain whether to continue.
“You’re one of Eric Layton’s sons, aren’t you? Not sure which one but…”
“Todd,” he muttered sheepishly as his cock began deflating. “You don’t like?” he asked, meaning himself.
“Oh, I like a lot,” I said and meant it. “But I’m not a complete fool.”
I was hoping to read disappointment in his features but if it was there I missed it. “Why don’t you dry off and I’ll see you outside,” I said. He nodded and began to spray the salt from his body. I took one last appreciative glance and he caught me. He smiled at the compliment.
I walked down the concrete steps to the beach and sat among the spinifex grass fighting an interminable battle against surf and wind erosion. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of a beach. A small strip of sand in a bay sheltered just a little too well by prominent headlands that enclosed it like almond crescents, my favorite kind of shortbread when I was a kid.
It was from this vantage point, physical and emotional, that I had first seen him: a lone surfer out in the distance waiting for unenthusiastic waves. It was midweek so he was bound to be a local.
Seaspray was named after an old wooden sailing boat that plied the east coast until it ran aground and the town sprang up near where it sank. Seaspray came alive, and then only marginally, on weekends when city folk made the trek north from Sydney to this sylvan unspoiled village. It would be size-queen talk to call it a town, this cluster of weatherboard cottages that had lain dormant and largely undiscovered for most of its existence. Created in the nineteenth century as a fishing village, it supported a few dozen families until the fish and consequently its accompanying industry departed almost two decades ago. Those few denizens who remained drove the thirty kilometers to the nearest major town, sometimes farther, each day for employment.
The reason for Seaspray’s somnambulant existence was that it lay off the freeway between Sydney and Newcastle, the turnoff signposted on rotting wood and rusting tin. The roadway was uninvitingly asphalt-free, its verges overgrown with the prickly blackberries that thrived in the area and which the secretive locals did nothing to cut back. Itinerant surfers normally bypassed it for beaches farther north with waves less lazy, leaving Seaspray’s beach to families and hobby surfers whose daring amounted to little more than actually standing upright on their boards.
This influx was the town’s lifeblood. The small Seaspray Inn opened Friday night through Monday morning. If locals wanted anything midweek they knocked. And the village would have remained this way had it not been for the invasion of the rowdy, the patronizing, and the nouveau riche looking for a trendy real estate investment and somewhere cozy, a convenient drive from the city. The villagers were suddenly alive to possibilities, those at least who still needed to earn a living. The retirees and the old-timers sided with the environmentalists to petition the government to list Seaspray as a natural treasure to save its heritage from the development bogey.
It was my job to recommend to the government whether development should be allowed or not.
The surf indolently churned itself onto the sandy beach as if it couldn’t care less about the politicking. Todd came out of the surf club and walked casually over to where I was sitting, his board under his arm. He sat much too close and I sidled away. He made no attempt to breech the distance. “Beautiful, mmm?” I said.
“You mean me or the beach?” Todd grinned.
“Both,” I said. “But then everyone tells you that, don’t they?” I looked him over. “Is that why you were chosen?”
He almost got the tone and pitch of genuine surprise: “For what?” He realized he hadn’t carried it off and had the good grace to look down at the sand he was sifting through his fingers.
“You could have had me in there, you know,” he said. “But I’m
glad you didn’t.”
“Yes, I know I could have,” I told him truthfully. “But it would not have been of your own free will. And there would have been consequences.”
“I’m of legal age,” he said.
I turned to look at him.
“They weren’t the consequences I was thinking of,” I said and turned back to the waves.
“I haven’t had a lot of experience but…”
“Does your dad know?” I looked at him again.
He flushed slightly which merely made him more attractive. “No. He only chose me because I’m family and he could control the outcome.”
The townspeople of Seaspray knew me; after all, I’d grown up there. And they knew why I had returned, and at least one of them had his own idea about how to get me to make the decision that he wanted.
Todd was silent for a moment, then he turned and nodded toward my car. “That your board?”
“Yep.”
“How about it?”
In response I stood and peeled off my stifling city casual wear down to my board shorts, which I’d taken the precaution of wearing. I tossed my clothes on the front seat of the car and unstrapped my board from the roof rack. “I guess there’s no point in locking it?” I asked.
“Nah, they’ll just damage the car if they have to force it open,” he said.
“I thought so. But they won’t find anything.” It was a paramount rule of my department that you never carried any papers that gave the slightest hint of your thinking. Rule number two was to never underestimate the skills of nosy townsfolk or prying journalists. And it was unprofessional to second guess a decision before the facts were all correlated.
I ran down the beach and into the sea with Todd in pursuit. We paddled out slowly, playfully, like two porpoises until we were far enough out, and I turned to notice that a number of townsfolk had made an appearance on the beach and around my car.