Gay Erotic Stories

I’d just been cycled back stateside after a traumatic deployment, first to Kuwait, then to Iraq. It was my first combat mission, which I’d done everything I could to get. Chalk that up to the arrogant stupidity of my youth.

I was welcomed home with open arms, had a great posting and had been promoted. “Captain Cate” had a somewhat cartoonish or deep literary drama ring to it – I couldn’t decide which, just that although I was proud of my second promotion I didn’t like the way it sounded when it was said . . . and I should have!.

That niggling dissatisfaction was really an indication of the unsettledness of my inner being. I was pretty naïve when I went into the US Naval Academy, immensely proud to have made sufficient on my tests to gain entry to the Academy, but had an over-inflated belief in my understanding of the world. I erroneously thought that because I was raped by my school coach when I was fourteen, that I’d come down enough pegs and had experienced enough of life’s harshness to be a worldly young man. Combat knocked that perception out of me, along with most every other sense of understanding of what being a human being was about. And for the first time since my father died, not long before my rape, I was completely out of all sorts with respect to life.

As I said, I had a great posting – reposting – upon my return from what later turned out, unimaginably to me at the time, to be the first Gulf War. I was in training at Quantico to later, if all went well, be posted to an embassy. I was conflicted, thinking of that as a great opportunity but also thinking that I should honor my recently fallen comrades by being back in battle on their behalf and on behalf of our country, which we served with total devotion.

Although I always honored my uniform, when I was off duty my need to escape the demons in my head had spurred me to do some things that could have been as or more dangerous than being back in combat. I’d gotten into a few off-base fights, and I’d taken the dark turn toward rough, anonymous, mind-numbing – and often physically abusive – sexual exploits after an inadvertent turn one Friday evening when I’d gotten into something I hadn’t expected.

One of my artillery trainers from my Academy days, GS Hopper, had become a friend and mentor to me. Like most gunnery sergeants, Gunny Hopper was all muscle, all man tough as nails and a marine to the core of his being. But Gunny had a teenage son, eighteen, whose life wasn’t moving along the prescribed track. And aside from his resistance to joining the Corps, Jeremy Hopper was gay . . . and struggling to find himself.

Thus Gunny Hopper’s thought of me when he was concerned about Jeremy. Gunny knew me well enough to know that I was struggling myself, trying to gain back my self-confidence despite having lost my sense of foundation. And he knew I was gay, which he didn’t care about whatsoever. So he thought perhaps I, knowing Jeremy, could give him some guidance.

Fortunately, despite Jeremy being hotter than hot and looking far older than his eighteen years – a hunk of irresistible proportions – he didn’t express one moment’s interest in my sexually when we got together that Friday evening. I’d have been a goner if he had, I admit. But Jeremy also had resisted any and all attempts to get into anything more than surface-level in our discussion. And my direct forays were so obviously uncomfortable for him that his fairly deft evasions simply calls my attention to the avoidance and made me wonder what was going on under those careless rich brown curls and behind those fuck-me-senseless amber eyes of his, as his beautiful full dick-sucking lips moved.

Jeremy had told me when I asked him to meet for dinner that he had a “commitment” later, so we’d met with time in mind at a more local place in Woodbridge. I’d been granted use of a base vehicle, and Jeremy had arrived, most dashingly, on a motorcycle. I had, of course, retained the image of hot now-adult Jeremy with a powerful machine between his legs, and at times that image, having morphed to me pounding him senseless, had floated into my thoughts. Well, you got me: it pretty much hovered in my thoughts!

As if Jeremy’s mind had kept the timer running in his head, at precisely the right time he asked me the time. It was time for him to leave. I paid the check over protests of splitting, and we went outside together. I purposely didn’t head for the small parking lot behind the restaurant or make like I was there any way but via public transport. I walked out the front with Jeremy and made to left him on the sidewalk, and after a few words about giving me a lift on his motorcycle – which was indeed difficult to resist the idea of pressing my cock against his butt on that bike! – he went for his helmut, while I walked away.

But I had another idea. When he’d started the bike and pulled away from the curb I quickly ducked back to the parking lot and gunned the car into the chase. Yes, I was going to follow Jeremy.

It wasn’t that easy, but Jeremy didn’t notice me in the sparse traffic. About ten minutes later, though, I was way back of him as we were on a rural road, and he was turned off, heading up toward a fairly isolated erstwhile farmhouse, with the only possibly welcoming sign a floodlight over a detached garage. I stopped the car on the road where I could watch him as he went up the incline on the road to the farmhouse and stopped his bike by a detached garage.

As I watched him tie his helmut onto the back of the bike, I’d expected to maybe see someone come outside to greet him. But instead I was surprised to see him strip off his t-shirt . . . and then take off his shoes . . . and then his jeans, all of which he stowed, the clothes neatly folded and on top of his shoes, under another tie-down on the back of his seat by his helmut. What the . . . !

Completely naked, Jeremy was obviously very well put together – even at this distance and in the light of only a glaring floodlight over the garage I was feeling a tingling in my nuts seeing him finish stowing his clothes and then walk bareassed toward the side of the garage and out of my view. I quickly got out of my car and headed up across the land, keeping low and behind shrubs and trees where I could, sprinting even lower to the ground where I couldn’t.

I covered the hundred and fifty or so yards to the edge of the road leading up to the house and stopped behind a large oak and got my bearings. There were a few windows on the house, but it was completely dark inside. I circled back away from the house and back farther from the woods parallel to the garage and then wide around back. There were no windows, but it looked like there was a separation in the ancient siding, so I headed in toward that, still low and working with the foliage as cover.

I got to the back of the garage and got myself toward where I’d seen the split in the siding and saw that it was actually a portion of a slat which had broken off and was missing, leaving a few feet long strip four inches or so. I could see light coming from the inside as I considered getting into position to look through, fairly comfortable that anyone inside wouldn’t see me for the light, but I was vulnerable and visible in that same light from the outside if anyone was looking toward the barn.

I ducked down and went around the other side of the garage to the side where Jeremy had gone when I’d lost sight of him, hoping for another position to surveil. There was only a rotting side door, without windows and firmly shut, presumably where he’d gone inside. That left only the missing siding slat.

But as I stood there I heard deep voices from inside. I couldn’t make out the words, just that there were several. Jeremy was inside this garage naked and wasn’t alone with another man. And when I got back around to the opening I could hear better before I looked in.

“Yeah, bitch, you lick his shithole REAL GOOD! Go on, now, get in there good and clean him up.”

The voice was deep and derisive in its delivery . . . and it wasn’t Jeremy’s voice, which left me with a good idea who the “bitch” was. And when I put my eye to the very edge of the opening that was confirmed.

The scene inside looked like a scene from a porn movie. Four guys, none attractive, naked, leering at or doing something to the young man whose hands were tied behind his back and his face was wrapped in a blindfold, kneeling on what looked like a dirt floor of this garage or shed or whatever it really was.

One of the Deliverance-like men held Jeremy’s head pushed into the big ass of another who was bent over and had his cheeks spread with his hands as Jeremy dutifully licked and tongue-fucked him.

“Yeah, bitch, you love cleaning shithole, don’t you?” Jeremy made a sound, but it wasn’t enough, and the guy holding his head slapped him hard. “SAY IT you unworthy cunt! Show your appreciation!”

Jeremy was allowed enough room to utter a muffled, “Thank you, sir, for letting me clean your shithole with my hungry tongue.”

I was disgusted, but I was also excited . . . and, God help me, I stood there and watched as they forced him to do the same to two other men, they pissed on him, they face fucked him, and, ultimately, they each took turns seeding Jeremy’s hot young ass. You might wonder why I didn’t move in to rescue him, particularly when he begged to not have to eat another shitty hole or when he was being pissed on. It was because from the moment I saw him there, kneeling in the dirt, he was rock hard and his cock dripped. And when they were pissing on him, he came without having been touched in the twenty minutes or so I’d been watching them. In other words, he was loving it. Ergo my excitement.

When the last of his ass-assaulters had finished and shoved his filthy cock in Jeremy’s face to lick clean, I was shooting my own load against the outside of the structure. My second load I’d jacked out while I watched.

I’d gone back to my quarters with my head spinning about how/what made a man want to be treated that way. But Jeremy had cum three times while he was being used, and obviously he did love it. And obviously I enjoyed watching him. I had no idea what to tell Gunny, and I’d have to tell him something because I’d told him Jeremy and I were meeting for dinner.

As I showered and jacked again my thoughts were more to the way Jeremy begged FOR it than when he’d resisted what they’d done to him. He wanted – NEEDED! – them to use him like an insignificant bitch. These filthy pigs used him to satisfy their depraved needs, sexually and just for a piss.

My nuts boiled at the thought of the way Jeremy resisted then eagerly drank their probably-rank piss. And as I watched the scene again in my head, my body exploded in a climax so intense that I almost fell against the shower wall, my nuts blasting out seed like my life depended on it.

I awoke Saturday morning and was assaulted by dreams of my ass being the one they’d raped while I stunk of their piss and tasted it and their cum on my tongue. I was startled to find that my sheets were drenched with sweat . . . and around my crotch with something thick and dried. I’d had a fucking wet dream! About being used like a bitch, the last thing I’d ever thought would be something I’d even think about.

Whatever the fuck was going on with me, it had me more unsettled than I had been before. Throwing my arm over my eyes, I struggled to get a grip. I had a new posting, a bump in commission besides, I had to get the demons of my deployment out of my head! And I had Jeremy Hopper to worry about, not to mention what to tell Gunny.

When I moved to get my sorry self out of the bed, I felt a strange soreness in a place I wasn’t used to. My ass ached . . . more than a little bit! What the living fuck was going on? Instinctively I put my hand back there and found my pucker to be sore when I touched it. And then my brain kicked back to the dream, of being fucked mercilessly by a few stinking men with big cocks. How could my ass be sore from a dream? And then I wondered . . . surely not . . . but slowly brought my hand to my face anyway and sniffed. The stink on not just one but all four of my long fingers, up past all the knuckles to my hand itself, was unmistakable.

The thought was so unimaginable. Except for a couple of times – and I meant that literally two – I topped. My hole was EXIT ONLY . . . except for an occasional tongue! Never – and again I meant it literally NEVER – did I or anyone else finger my hole, outside and definitely I’d have punched anyone who attempted to stick his finger inside me. Yet . . . apparently I’d done just that to myself . . . and from the distinctive buttstink on all my fingers, I’d gone for the gold when I’d done it while I was dreaming.

Another revelation as I processed all this was that my cock was raging hard. A morning hardon was pretty usually the condition I found when I awoke, but mine had retreated when I’d been wallowing in my horrific wonder over my dream and the situation I found myself in. Yet thinking about my ass opened, stretched, about the feel of the ache and sting when I moved, and here I was full throttle. And as if to emphasize it, my cock emitted a large glob of precum, large enough to slip out of my slit and run off my head, drip off the flared edge and onto my abs.

Then I brought my other hand to my cockhead and swiped over the slick wetness and took hold with my lubed hand and began to slowly stroke myself. My usual thoughts when I was alone and had a hand on my hardon went to a bubble butt on a built, handsome man, his pucker parting as I stretched it open and entered it. Jeremy went through my mind, startling me, as I didn’t like younger men as a rule, certainly not sons of friends! And as surely as I thought that, my thoughts went sideways.

I was inhaling strong manbutt stink and had my face shoved into a beefy, hairy ass, my head shoved from behind by a meaty paw. I could taste his sweat and stink and was choking on the overwhelming scent. As I lay there I was deeply inhaling and licking my own fingers! But I couldn’t stop myself. As my grip tightened on my cock, in my mind I felt a big, slobbering cockhead pressed against my own sore pucker. It was so real I had to check to know I didn’t have my own hand back there. I didn’t, and I couldn’t, since I had my fingers of one hand in my mouth, slobbering my own asstaste, and my other hand was stroking my thoroughly precum-slicked rod as my mind wandered back.

“Take my hardon you fucking cockwhore! You know it’s what you want. TELL ME, BITCH!”

I struggled against the big buttcheeks which my head was mercilessly held against to answer. “Mmmmrrrrmmmmmgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh . . . “ I heard my own sounds. And then I heard myself scream into that hairy crack, “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” as I felt what seemed like a log shoved roughly into my own tight, sore hole.

With a loud grunt I felt the big man behind me slam his meaty groin into my asscheeks and felt his fuckrod about up to my sternum inside me. I was moaning in agony from the pain of the assault, but I was also moaning from the feeling of being filled by a man who was using me to satisfy his manly needs.

His thrusting started immediately, and his big, heavy balls slammed into my own slack hanging sac as he ruthlessly pounded my ass. The pain of the intense stretching of my muscle and inner channel and the punching through my inner ring with every thrust was overwhelming. But so was the barrage of sensations which were enveloping my consciousness and stoking my balls. Electricity, charged with pain and pleasure, spiked through me again and again as the marauder relentlessly drilled me.

“Yeah, this cunt fucking LOVES being used!” I heard in the edge of my consciousness. Registering only in that very cramped confine of consciousness, I realized to my horror that I did.

“YEAH FUCK YEAH FUCKYEAH FUCKING TAKE IT!” I heard from behind me. I felt his fucklog become impossibly thicker, and it felt like his head grew a broad edge that began pummeling my prostate with each thrust in and out and ripped at my inner ring every time it went through and pulled back out.

Showers of stars in my head began to shower through what consciousness I had left like skyrockets blooming then falling through the horizon, only to be replaced by another burst. My body was convulsing from the faster pace of the slamfucking I was taking, and I bit the pucker of the man whose ass was smothering me.

“OH FUCKING HELL YEAH!” I heard from in front of me as I bit and lapped and sucked at that ass, desperate for something to ground me as my entire body and being was erupting, spraying sparks and spasming from the anal abuse. He bucked back into my face hard and spasmodically, yelling “OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK YEAH” as he did.

And then I felt a harder slam deeper into me and felt the huge cock inside me erupting and blasting molten manseed into my guts as he shouted, “AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!” and pumped and pumped.

My own body I realized in a burst of sensation had erupted, my own balls exploding and forcing my load out like a rapid-fire cannon. I lost touch with the feelings and any conscious awareness at that point.

I was laying in my bed, my torso drenched in a huge load I’d shot, feeling some of it run off my forehead, cheek and chin. That awareness seeped in along with an equally powerful thought of being shoved away from the beefy butt I’d been munching and off the fuckpole that had been so deep and filling inside me with a painful plop. I could feel my fuckhole gaping screaming in pain and felt like the sensation of cum running out of it, the sting as it passed my battered puckermuscle and the trickle of it running off my ass and thigh was real.

“Clean it up like a good cockwhore!” I heard as a huge, stinking, slimy still-huge cock was shoved HARD into my mouth.

The taste of ass and cum and sweat was unimaginable, yet also incredibly delicious, and I went to work on it as ordered. I lapped and my aching jaw held out and my throat was ripped open as he shoved into me a few times, all of them laughing as I gagged and choked. And then I felt the first drops hit my face and smelled the unmistakable stench of manpiss as one of the others let loose and the drops became a stream. I struggled, but the one who’d fucked me and had his cock in my mouth clamped his hand on my throat HARD.

Another stream hit my torso, and the laughing continued. I was pinned by the beefy paw on my throat, too little air already getting into to me from the cock shoving into my throat to fuel any fight but definitely none left now. It rained piss on me . . . and suddenly I was inhaling deeply and feeling the buzz of excitement and bliss of use.

Without warning I felt another stream, this one in my mouth as the fucker let loose his stream. I sputtered, spit and choked on the vile stuff, but his hand clenched on my throat tighter. “That’s it, take that piss. You need some hydration anyway, cockslut!” he growled, and the others laughed as their streams began to wane.

I struggled to swallow the fucker’s piss and then struggled harder as I realized I wanted it, wanted every drop. The others were shaking off their cocks, splattering last drops on me, which I gratefully savored each splatter, while I redoubled my effort to maintain against the stream in my throat. I gagged a few times and sputtered, but relatively little gurgled out of my mouth and down my cheeks and neck.

When the last of the pissstream in my mouth was spent, he pulled out, gently. “NICE!” he said, releasing his grip on my throat and rubbing my chest, surprising me. “Yeah, you’re a GOOD cockwhore!” he said.

And as those words echoed through my head, and I was experiencing the realization that I was indeed a good – and grateful – cockwhore, I realized that in the real world I hadn’t stopped jacking my cock and was cumming again. My load was heavy, maybe as heavy as the first, and I felt the splatter of long ropes on my face, neck and chest and then the dregs on my abs and groin as I pumped the last out.

My head was spinning as I lay there. I was fucked up on so many levels my normally logical, controlled thoughts were swirling. I resolved that it had all been in my head, supported by the physical surroundings and the absence of piss, but it had otherwise been so very real that I had to hold onto that physical evidence to be certain. And I’d been a top since the first time, even when I tried bottoming I knew it was just pain and no gain and that when I fucked again my cock would be in the guy’s ass and I’d love it. Yet . . .

Jeremy . . . Gunny . . . What to do? And as if the universe sought to push that issue, my phone rang.

“Cate,” I answered my quarters phone, as I always did.

“Captain Cate, it’s Gunny Hopper here.” He refused to use our first names even though we were now friends and had been for years. “Request some of your time to discuss the matter we have open, sir!”

“Gunny, cut the sir shit and the formal talk. I’d rather not talk about it on the phone. Can I buy you breakfast in town?”

“Sir, yes sir!” he maintained the formality.

I told him where to meet, and he gave me another formal acknowledgment. I doubted he’d ever change. As a career enlisted man, I got the conditioning, but I didn’t understand it then and wouldn’t for many years into my own career.

With a violent mental reproach for my self-induced indignity, I jumped out of bed – FUCK I’d worked my ass over! – and limped to the shower in my quarters. The bump in rank had come with an improvement in my quarters here at Quantico, and I wasn’t complaining. Two rooms instead of one, private shower, not just toilet and sink, even a phone by my bed. Flying HIGH, I thought . . . and living LOW . . . NO! NO MORE OF THAT! I barked in my mind as I stepped in and felt the sharp attack of the freezing water.

I got to the restaurant twenty minutes early, purposely. I knew Gunny would be there a bit early, but not more than five minutes. I went to the pay phone by the restroom, knowing Gunny would be out of the house, and dialed there. Jeremy answered after many rings.

“Jeremy, it’s Bill. I need to tell you something, and I want to ask you a question.”

He was clearly thrown and very hesitant. “Okay,” he said apprehensively.

“Your dad is worried about you, Jeremy. And I followed you last night after our dinner.”

“You WHAT?” he shouted into my ear.

“You heard me. And Jeremy, I’m not judging, okay? You know I mean that if I say it.”

“You fucking FOLLOWED ME?”

“Yeah, I did, and I saw where you went and what you did and with whom.”

Pained now, but loud. “YOU SAW ME?”

“Yes, and we can talk more about it later if you want, but right now I’m meeting your dad for breakfast so I can tell him about our dinner last night.”

“Oh and what – you’re going to tell him his son is a totally fucked-up faggot?” he shot back, again loud and now defiant.

“No, Jeremy, I’m not. And if I’d had my way I would have met you in person and talked with you before seeing your dad, but I overslept and your dad caught me first. I’m just going to ask you a question, and again, I’m not judging you, Jeremy. You know I’m gay myself and have all the issues being a gay marine officer brings, and I’m not interested in anything other than knowing that you’re okay.”

He was silent. So I pushed on.

“Jeremy, ARE you okay? I mean really, are you okay in your head about you and your worth in the world?”

“Why, because I like to be fucked and used?” he spat, though with less force now.

“No, because I’m going through some shit myself, and I realized I needed to get a grip before I lose myself, and because I saw you and wonder if you’re slipping toward the dark place I’ve decided I have to get out of.”

He was quiet . . . again.

“So I want to know if you’re okay or not Jeremy. Because your father means a lot to me and asked me to connect with you on a level he can’t because he loves you and senses that you’re not yourself. And just for the record, I care about you, too.”

His breathing was louder, but he was still silent.

“I think I have my answer,” I reluctantly said at length.

“NO!” he shot out quickly.

“Jeremy, I only have a few minutes until your dad gets here, and no way I’ll lie to him.”

“You don’t have to lie, Captain Cate.”

“I’m not Captain Cate, Jeremy. I’m the guy who’s known you since you were thirteen and a friend of your dad’s and was at your mom’s funeral last year. I’m Bill, Jeremy, and I’m your friend here, just reaching out to see how I can help you, IF you need help.”

He was silent, just the breathing. I was running out of time – Gunny would be showing up soon. Just when I was about to prompt him, Jeremy finally answered.

“Do you think I’m a total perv?” he asked in a soft voice, so unlike the young man I knew.

“No, Jeremy, I don’t. Remember I’m a gay man, too, like you are, and we’re different than straight men. But if you’re asking me that, are you comfortable with what you’re doing?” I didn’t want to push him, but I was by then concerned for him.

Quietly, he said, “I’m okay, Bill . . . but I’m not in a good place.” He paused long enough for me to think NO SHIT I CAN RELATE TO THAT! but then he went on in a shakier voice. “Thanks for calling me a man.” And then I heard him choking, which I knew was crying.

“Look, Jeremy. If you’re being straight with me that you’re okay, then that’s what I’m going to tell your dad. And I have liberty all weekend, so as soon as I leave your dad I’ll call you and we can get together and talk if you want. Or actually I want to, if you’ll meet me somewhere.”

He had pulled himself together. “I could really use that, if you are willing to waste your time on my whining.”

“Jeremy, we’re friends, and I care a lot about you. It’s not a waste of my time to spend any time with you, and certainly not if I can be a help to you or just a friend to you when you need one. We all need friends and support, Jeremy. Being an adult usually means you need that more, not less. I know I have!”

And as I said it I realized I did need help and had needed help ever since I got back from Iraq, maybe well before that, but before that I was single-mindedly focused on my missions and the men I was deployed with, not on my problems.

“I’d really appreciate it, Capt- er, I mean, Bill. Really, you don’t know what it means to me,” he said, again choking up.

“I’m having breakfast with your dad and will call you as soon as I’m done, and we’ll get together right away after that, Jeremy.” And I would also, after I talked with Jeremy, do some talking with myself at least, maybe about myself, if I could find someone I could talk to.

“Thanks again, Bill,” he said quickly. “Bye.”

I didn’t have time to say goodbye – he had hung up. Which was good, because I saw Gunny come into the café from where I was hanging up the phone.

Later, I used the men’s room and Gunny left, and I called Jeremy. We met by the river at a park a few miles away from Quantico. It was a beautiful day, quite warm, and, of course, humid, so by the time he got there, I had my shirt off and was enjoying the sun.

“DUDE, you’ve got an amazing body!” Jeremy said by way of greeting.

I jumped up and took his outstretched hand and shook, pulling him into a hug. “Hey buddy,” I said as we embraced, and I held him a bit tighter than ever before. He seemed to appreciate it and held on while I did.

“Oh,” I told him when we were parted again. “Just to be clear, I appreciate your compliment, but it’s a little weird coming from a man I think of more like a little brother.”

Jeremy smiled but blushed, too. “I’m just human, sorry. And you’re HOT!” I gave him a stern look, and he blushed and looked down. “You can’t blame a boy for trying!” he said, bring his head up with a great ‘come on, you know you want to’ grin and look in his eyes.

I pushed him away playfully with a hand tosseling his hair. “Enough of that, young MAN!” I admonished. “And Jeremy, you ARE a man.”

This time his blush was really more contrite than playful. But he didn’t say anything at all, just looked away after a moment.

I saw down on the picnic table I’d been on when he got there and leaned back on my arms and looked up into the sun. “Why don’t you enjoy the sun and tell me what’s on your mind, Jeremy?”

Jeremy looked startled when I’d spoken then turned and looked at me and then up at the warm sun. Finally he stripped his t-shirt over his head and got up on the picnic table in the same position I was. But then he was quiet and didn’t say anything for what seemed like a long time. I waited him out.

“Are you going to tell my dad what we talk about?” he asked suddenly, startling me after the long wait.

“Jeremy, I’m here as your friend, and I’ll keep your confidence. But I also won’t not act if I sense you’re on a path that will lead to harm. I meant what I said – you’re a man – but sometimes men . . . “ and I trailed off, thinking of my own current state of mind.

I forced my mind back to Jeremy and whatever he was going through, pushing my own demons back.

“Sometimes men need help,” Jeremy said quietly, as if finishing my sentence. “But what if there’s no help for what they’ve done, Captain Cate?” I turned to him reproachfully, and he immediately corrected himself. “Sorry, I meant Bill.”

“Jeremy,” I started, winging it and feeling like I was in way over my head, “Bad men do bad things, but good men – like you – make mistakes or, more often, don’t make mistakes, but they feel bad about things they’ve done that weren’t mistakes at all but had consequences or even didn’t have consequences but they think if they’d done them differently, a better outcome would have occurred.” Fuck I wasn’t making any sense . . . except in my own head . . . about my own situation. But then as I wondered how to say it differently, I looked over and he’d put his head between his knees and was sobbing, hugging his legs. I either really screwed up or I hit a nerve.

I got next to him and put my arm around his heaving shoulders. “What is it, Jeremy?” I asked softly.

Jeremy sobbed and then, when his sobs had lessened some, he blurted out that he knew his mother would be alive still if he’d stuck to the plan the day she died, and he knew his father blamed him for her death and deserved to have her still alive instead of his worthless fag son. That he just wanted to be dead, that he wished he could trade places with his mom, have been in the car with her when she had the accident, been driving instead of her as he almost certainly would have, then he’d be the dead driver, and his wonderful mother would be with his perfect father and he’d be dead where he belonged.

It came out in a long torrent amid the ebb and flow of sobs, and somewhere in there he’d turned into me and embraced my torso and was crying into my chest, and I was holding him tight . . . speechless . . . because I realized not only how wrong he was but also that I felt the same about my time in combat, about the men who’d died and I hadn’t, that I was less worthy than they and should have been the one who died. And, oddly enough, I even had someone whom I’d distanced myself from who cared about me like Jeremy’s father cared about him, but I’d mistakenly been too ashamed to answer his messages when I returned stateside.

“Jeremy,” I said over his head as he still wept into my chest, “I need to tell you some things, and I want you to hear me.”

He pulled himself together, sat up on his own, and wiped his face with his forearm. He didn’t look at me. He looked off into the distance for a while, then finally he looked up at the sun and seemed to be controlling his breathing. When he at last seemed to be confident, he turned and brought a leg up onto the table, turning and sitting facing me. “You’re going to tell me that men don’t cry, and you’re going to tell me that it wasn’t my fault and I’m punishing myself because I’m not enough of a man to grieve for my mother, aren’t you?”

That surprised me, and I blurted out my rejection of all of it. “No, men DO cry. I’ve cried plenty of times when I lost a fellow Corpsman in battle or when I had to kill a man who was just doing his duty in his country’s service like I was. Men DO cry, Jeremy. And MEN do punish themselves, probably too severely and for too many things that aren’t our fault at all. But . . . your mother’s death in that car accident was a terrible tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault. And likely, if you’d been in the car with her, you’d both be dead.”

He was looking down, but he was listening – his tears rolling down his nose told me he was.

“And here’s the most important thing, Jeremy. And you really need to know that I KNOW this. Okay?”

He nodded . . . and I waited . . . and then he knew he needed to look at me and did look back up at me, not bothering to wipe his tears.

“Your father loves you, Jeremy. He thinks that because he has not been supportive of your choice not to go into the marines and not to go to college at all and, most of all, because he said he disapproved of you begin gay, that he’s not worthy of your love. But he loves you, maybe even a little desperately now that he thinks you’re endangering yourself. That’s why he asked me to see how you are doing.”

“My dad told me that little boys who don’t grow out of being attracted to men are brain-damaged perverts!” he spat out.

I took a deep breath, the sting of the words hurting me as I felt his hurt. Gunny had told me they’d had some terrible rows and that if he’d had any inkling of what his son was going to suffer – losing his mother – that he’d never have said any of them and would give his life if he could take them back. Still, hearing the hurtful words, said in pain for his concern for his son’s future and in anger for his son’s defiance, hurt me, too. “Jeremy, have you never said something you regretted?”

“Well, I—“

“We all have. When we become adults we learn that while we all have emotional outbursts and it feels good to let loose on people, that what we say have consequences, and we learn to control ourselves MOST OF THE TIME. And when we don’t, we find ways to make amends and move on. But then sometimes life chucks a huge bomb right into the middle of things, and everything becomes frozen in time and takes on different meaning. And making amends isn’t easy or simple when there’s no catastrophe and mega-times more difficult when there is. Particularly if you feel responsible for the catastrophe.”

Jeremy looked perplexed but still a little defiant over his father’s hurtful words. “But my dad never tried to make amends for practically disowning me at all, Capt—er, Bill.”

“Hey, Jeremy,” I snapped, and he jerked at my sharpness. “Think about it. When did that blow-up happen? And what was it about?”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed, still defensive and angry, but thinking. I could see him put the pieces together. And then he had the epiphany. “It was when we were talking about going to check out GW, and I was . . . “ He trailed off. And then his tears began again. Softly, he said, “That was why I wasn’t with my mom in the car. Because I was being a bitch about my dad’s reaction, him saying I didn’t deserve their support even though my mom was pushing for us all to go and take the appointment there for me to check it out. And that’s why I wasn’t with her – because I wanted to make both of them squirm for pushing me toward college. My mom knew I’d give in and make it there. She knew what I was doing, but she knew I’d go because she’d set it up. She went without my dad and without me.”

And then he broke down because he knew that his dad had felt as bad as he did about not being in the car with her, having had the argument with him over it. And he also knew, as I did, that both Jeremy on his motorcycle and his dad in his jeep had followed her, both intending to be there despite having taken their adverse positions.

“God, I’m really a bigger piece of shit than I thought, aren’t I?” he choked out into my chest.

“How the heck did you get there, Jeremy?” I asked in wonder.

He took some breaths and finally pulled himself up and, surprisingly, faced me directly. “Well, if I’d only realized that my dad was hurting and feeling the same things I was, maybe I could have helped him through his grief all this time since . . . and saved him worrying about me.”

“People get lost in their emotions, Jeremy. You both have. What’s important is what you do now. You’re a good person, Jeremy, and so is he.”

“My dad is the best person I know!” he almost shouted. “Sorry, no offense, Captain,” he added self-consciously.

I let the ‘captain’ slide and just laughed. “I would say the same about him, Jeremy. No offense taken whatsoever!”

“Well, my dad says you’re a true hero, and it’s his honor to serve with you!” he asserted, almost as vehemently.

“Your dad is more a hero than I will ever be, Jeremy. Your dad has trained hundreds or thousands of men like me and prepared us for our work defending our country. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be—“

That time I was the one overcome. I’d be dead, like so many of my friends, if it weren’t for Gunny Hopper’s relentless training. In fact, specifically, a few times his drilling came to me almost subconsciously when my life and lives of men were around me, and I acted under his guidance and saved myself . . . and SOME of my comrades in arms.

Some . . . that was the problem. I’d saved some, but others had died. Men worthier than I, men with families, other men, men under my command, who shouldn’t have died.

Jeremy’s hand was on my shoulder. “Bill, you have the medals and the respect of your brothers in the Corps to prove you’re a hero,” he told me.

I batted his hand away, more harshly than I wish I had. “Medals!” I spat. “Good men’s blood was spilled to get me those fucking medals!” I shouted, and I pounded the table with my fist. “Good men who should have returned to their country, to their families, men who did return maimed . . . “ I trailed off, my own sobs starting.

Jeremy tentatively put his hands – both of them – on my shoulders. “Hey, listen to yourself. You SAVED men and you did your job. Sure, men died . . . because it’s war, and nobody can protect everyone. But my dad said that your platoon was one of the most badass and also one which sustained the least casualties.”

I just shook my head through my tears for my fallen brothers. “But—“

“BUT,” Jeremy stopped me, “My dad KNOWS what he’s talking about, Bill. My dad always knows about the men he’s trained and the men he serves with. And he has always known about you, that you’re a great marine.” When I didn’t say anything he asked me, “What would you have done differently? What COULD you have done differently, at any time, that would have changed things, Bill?”

One part of my brain was rejecting what he had to say; but another part was racing through horrific memories of skirmishes and battles . . . and I couldn’t think of anything I COULD have done differently at the time. In fact, sometimes it seemed like I was the luckiest man on earth for the choices I had to make and did make in the face of immediate necessity and how well we survived things. And yet my brothers had been injured, had died.

“If you hadn’t done what you did,” he continued when I hadn’t answered him, “How many more men would have come home in boxes or not come home or come home injured? THAT’s what you have to be proud of, Bill. THAT’s what my dad says makes you a hero – the lives you saved.”

“Well,” I muttered, uncomfortable with it.

“I also have a confession.” I looked up at him, surprised at the turn and truly wondering where he was going. “My dad has always talked about you, since you were his student or whatever, since he brought you home for dinners. And I used to dream about being worthy of being with a man like you or a man like my dad. I used to fantasize about you a lot in fact,” he added, that seductive grin back.

I had to laugh. “I think we got a little off-track there, Jeremy,” I sputtered in an attempt to deflect the implications of what he was saying.

“No, not really,” he replied quickly and seriously. “You see, what you saw me doing last night? Well, I started bitching myself out because I knew I WASN’T worthy of men like you. I knew I was just an unworthy little bitchboy. And on some level I must be, because I loved being used like that by MEN, used like a bitch to satisfy their needs. I was punishing myself . . . but I was also loving it. If you saw me, you saw that I DID love it, Bill. I do love it,” he finished, his head lowered in shame.

“Is that how you really feel about yourself, Jeremy?” I asked him, really also asking myself the same thing.

“You SAW me, Bill. They did disgusting things to me, and I blew my wad like a little bitch. A FEW times!”

“Ejaculation is biology, Jeremy. Did you cum because you loved it? Or did you cum because your body felt things that, despite your disgust for what was happening and what you were doing, it responded to physically? What was in your head?” I asked him, wondering what was going on in MY own head, since ALL of that was in my head.

I knew what was going on in my head when I went to the leather bars or took on men who wanted to fight for top . . . and fought them harder than they’d expected and fucked them harder then they’d expected to get fucked. I knew my body – my cock and my nuts – reacted to the control and the stimulation and the dominance; but I also knew it made me feel like the piece of shit I thought I was, unworthy of having any man whom I didn’t conquer and force.

“Which head?” I realized Jeremy had asked with an evil smirk while my mind had been racing.

“Nice try at deflection!” I rebuked him.

Undaunted, he came back. “Deflection wasn’t exactly what I had in mind!” He even waggled his eyebrows at me. And, to my shame, my cock stirred in my shorts, dangerous since I was freeballing.

Getting a grip – on my thoughts! – I brought us back.

“Enough of that. When you were with them last night did you feel good about yourself?” I asked him.

“No, but that’s the point. I felt like that’s what I was worthy of because I’m a disappointment and a loser and I thought I was responsible for my mom—“

That time he stopped abruptly. “Think about it Jeremy. Think it through,” I told him, gently.

He did, albeit briefly. “But doesn’t it mean I’m a fucked-up perv – oh, sorry – that I’m a messed-up perv for liking it on some level?” he asked, searchingly.

I was laughing, trying to cover it but impossible.

“What’s so funny? I’m being serious here!”

“What’s funny,” I choked out, “Is that you think you need to apologize for saying ‘fuck’ in a sentence when you’re talking to a fucking marine! You should hear the way we talk in the field or in the gym or in barracks or in quarters or . . . well, fuck it, just about anywhere!”

His look was transfixed. “Fuck it would be hot to be with all those men like that,” he said.

My laugh returned. “It’s much hotter in the abstract than it is in reality I assure you. It’s not the big military bathhouse I bet you fantasize about.”

He blushed and then grinned.

“So back to your dark side,” I resumed. “Is that the level that’s you? Or is that the level you’ve dived down to so you could punish yourself?”

“Wow, you’re not letting go, are you?” he observed.

“No, because believe it or not, you’re my lifeline here, you just don’t know it,” I admitted, surprising myself with the honesty. He just looked at me. “You already know about my demons. And I know about yours. Now that we’ve outted them, they don’t have any power over us unless we give it to them. And if you overcome yours, then I’ve helped in whatever small way, and that gives me the validation to overcome mine.” I really didn’t know where the courage to admit all that came from, but I was grateful it had.

“And if you overcome yours and I helped, then it’s validation for me, too, isn’t it, Bill?” he asked.

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s what brothers do – we support each other,” I said, choking up a little as I said it because I knew it was true, even of my brothers who’d fallen in battle. They’d fallen for us, and we’d done our best for them.

Jeremy’s wicked grin was back. “I could get into incest with a brother like you.”

“If I was your big brother, I’d probably have to smack some sense into you!” I joked.

“OH MAN, I love it when you get all rough!” he joked right back. “And since you’re not my brother, that would be FUCKING hot!” he added, that smirk at full meaning.

“Okay, okay, let’s not go there. Seriously!” I said.

Jeremy just looked at me, still smirking. For a moment I wasn’t sure if we were going to cross a line, a line I’d made and had every intention of sticking to, but for there being a HOT young man, half naked, there with me in the warm sun, a man I’d shared intimacies with and who, I was pretty sure, would be much safer with me than with the type of men he’d been with lately.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Bill,” Jeremy offered.

“A deal?”

“Yeah. Actually two deals,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Um, what are the deals?” I asked, with trepidation.

“The first deal is this. You and I both work our demons out – both of us make them powerless over us, but of us remember the good and work within it. Don’t get me wrong – I’m still going to fuck my brains out, but I’m not going to degrade myself . . . well, at least not quite THAT much!” he smirked.

I gave him a look, and he laughed. “I’m kidding.”

“You’d better be!” I admonished him.

“I am, Bill, I mean it. I’m not going to degrade myself or make myself feel pain. And I’m going to talk to my dad and make things right between us, even if he doesn’t accept me as a gay man.”

“He does, Jeremy. He isn’t completely comfortable with it, but he loves you and accepts you. He’ll need your support to get to where he needs to and wants to get. He accepts me, but I’m not his son. It’s more personal with you, and most of it is fear for you. And judging from last night . . . “

Jeremy looked resolved. “Last night is history. I can’t change it, but I don’t have to do it again. And I won’t. And you, Captain Cate,” he put his hand up when I started to object, “Bill, you have to work out that you’re a great marine, that Captain Cate IS a hero, that you ARE a hero, and that your demons are all as baseless and therefore powerless as mine. That’s the first deal. OH WAIT. The deal really is that if I or if you need help following this deal to keep our heads straight, we’ll ask for it and take it. I think you know that if you EVER need anything, you can always talk to my dad. And if you let me, I’ll reach out to you if I need help.”

I was overcome. “I’m not worthy of your confidence, Jeremy. And let’s make it reciprocal. If I need help, I’ll reach out to you, too. Hell, you’ve helped me sort out my own head here today; that’s more than the base shrink has done!”

He was blushing. “Well, if I can’t get naked with you, I guess being each other’s support system is what I have to settle for!” I gave him THE LOOK again. “I’m KIDDING!” SURE he was! “So is that a deal?”

“Yeah, it’s a deal,” I agreed. And to seal it, I spit in the palm of my right hand and put it out to him.

“GROSS!” he cried, recoiling. And then he stopped. “Okay, only gross because we’re not naked and your spit is in your palm not on my face. OKAY, OKAY, KIDDING again!” And with that he spit into his palm and slapped it into mine, and we shook on it.

“Good deal,” I said, and I meant it on several levels. “Now what’s the second deal, or should I be afraid to ask?”

Jeremy’s wicked grin emerged. “I’m eighteen, and you’re what – twenty-six?”

“Twenty-FOUR,” I corrected, indignantly.

He laughed, and so did I. “OK, so you’re twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-four when you’re thirty. And when I’m twenty-four, if you’re single, I’m coming for you. And you’re NOT going to think of me as your little brother then!”

His look was pure intent. “That sounds more like a warning than a deal,” I responded tentatively.

“The deal is,” he said, having gotten off the table and standing in front of me, very close, in fact too close, “That you may get out of this because I really am probably too young for you; but no way I’m going through life without finding out if all the times I’ve jacked off thinking about you if I was right or wrong about you! The deal is you KNOW that’s my intent.

I gulped, despite my effort to hide my reaction. He really was a HOT number. And hadn’t I seen one glimpse of just how hot he could be last night? STOP IT I ordered myself, pushing thoughts of his hot naked body out of my mind . . . which wasn’t easy when he was standing in my face with most of his hot body naked right then.

Jeremy spit in his palm and held it out. “Deal?”

“Uh,” I hesitated, but Jeremy stood his ground there, his eyes boring deep into mine. Finally I put my hand out, and he looked down and then back at me. Oh, right. I spit in my hand again and clamped it into his, loud and manly and not a bit gay!

And then the shit pulled his hand back and lasciviously licked his palm. “Mmmmmmmmm. Definitely worth waiting for!” he said.

FUCK . . . six years from then I’d be toast for this one!

I got off the picnic table myself and moved farther from him, stretching as if the reason for it.

“How about some ball?” he asked.

“Uh,” I stuttered.

“BALL, Cate. Get your fucking mind out of the gutter. Let’s play some horse – er, shoot some hoops if we can find a ball.”

We’d both seen an equipment shack when we entered the park – I had, so I knew he had – near the basketball and tennis courts.

“Let’s go, little brother, so I can kick your ass.”

His laugh was loud and deep, and his movements were so totally different than last night at dinner – easy, far fewer weights on him – that it made a smile come from deep within me as we headed toward the courts.

* * * * * * * * * *

After we’d played ball for about two hours – on our own playing horse and then with some guys who showed up – we’d both had enough and went our separate ways. I had a particular way in mind.

I buzzed three short buzzes on the apartment entrance security panel, and shortly thereafter the door buzzed. When I showed up at the door of the apartment, a HOT, built man in just boxers stood in the open doorway and stepped back to let me in.

“I’m sorry, Ron,” I said, after he’d closed the door.

“The only thing you’d better be sorry for is not having been here since that first time when you got back stateside,” he said, moving into my personal space, leaning in and inhaling me deeply, my still-sweaty neck within tongue’s reach and aching to feel his tongue.

I grabbed him – roughly – by his asscheeks and pulled him against me so our crotches were ground together. He could feel my arousal, and I his. He’d gotten boned instantly – I’d left the car boned thinking about him.

Then he did lick my sweaty neck . . . from the middle of my shoulder all the way up and behind my ear, which drives me crazy . . . and he knew it. I was shoving my hard cock into his hard, groping at his ass, kneading his bubble butt cheeks through his boxers.

“FUCK I’ve missed you, Bill,” he growled into my ear and then bit it and bit my neck to make sure I knew he meant it.

In a burst of need I RIPPED his boxers off him in one forceful move, from the legs up and apart, and threw them down.

“OH FUCK YEAH!” he exclaimed, and he began ripping at my shorts waistband and belt and got them open in highly admirable time. When he reached in and grabbed my thick wet hardon with one big hand and my heavy balls with the other I roared.

“FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!”

“Oh, you’d better believe you’re going to fuck me, marine!” he growled, tightening his grip on my cock and pulling at my balls.

“YOU FUCKING KNOW IT!” I responded, my two middle fingers pressing into his tight hole.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!” he growled and pushed back into my fingers, yanking my sac harder and clenching his grip on my nuts. “You’d better be prepared to fuck me over and over and over again until you make up for all this lost time we could have been having! OH FUCK!” he cried suddenly, pulling back from my neck and facing me. “How long are you off duty for?”

I smirked and pressed the tips of my two big middle fingers inside him. His hissing intake of breath as sudden and long, and he was panting with his forehead against my collar bone as I pulled his hole open with my fingers and pressed in deeper.

Ron was wet – one of the things I always thought was so hot about him was the way his hole juiced to be fucked. Well, that was one of the many things – his body was amazing, he was model handsome, and he could play tennis like a pro and played baseball almost as well. He was one knockout of a hot fucker.

And as I thought about that, about how I’d felt unworthy of him, even though he’d tried to reach out to me and be there for me when I’d come back damaged and very sad, I knew he was right. We’d wasted far too much time we could have spent fucking.

I shoved my fingers into him deeper, and he moaned. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” long and deep and bit my collar bone hard enough I should have cared about a mark . . . but I didn’t. “Just fucking FUCK ME!” he moaned, pushing back and forth on my fingers, fucking himself. And at the same time he CLENCHED his hand on my nuts, which he knew from experience got me too hot to do anything but shove my cock in his ass.

With my fingers still in him I gripped his ass-cheeks tight with my hands and lifted him off his feet and pulled him up over my shoulder. “WHAT THE” he cried, but I hefted him up in the gay-about-to-be-fucked fireman’s carry and headed toward his kitchen table. I threw him down on his back and took my fingers out of him to yank his ankles up and apart, shoving his knees back. And then I dove into his hot hairy ass face-first.

“OH FUCK OH FUCK OHFUCK OHFUCKINGFUCK!” he cried, as my tongue entered him and tasted the stud-ass I’d enjoyed so many times and had been denying myself. I ate him DEEP and good, swirling my tongue, licking up and down his crack, spearing him again, nipping at his pucker, licking all the way up his crack, balls and to the end of his long, drooling cock and back down and into him again.

Ron’s body was writhing along with his cries of pleasure, and his cock was drooling amazing amounts of precum onto his rippling abs. My own cock was running like a faucet, splatting on his floor. I bent up and around his massive hardon and licked a big swipe of his pre into my mouth and then spit it into his hole. “OH FUCK YEAH – USE THAT!” he encouraged me. I had every intention of doing just that.

I lined up my big, engorged, drooling cockhead and rubbed it against and around his pucker, smearing my precum with his and pushing against his hole just enough to tease him.

“OH FUCK you know I fucking WANT IT!” he shouted, pushing back by pulling himself with his hands on the edge of the sturdy wood table I knew he’d made himself . . . and on which I’d fucked his ass MANY times before. “FUCK ME goddamn you, Bill!” he cried, when I’d pulled back from the push of his ass onto my cock, so I was still teasing him.

And then without warning I SHOVED myself into him, feeling the stretch and impossible tightness of him as his loud cry mirrored the insertive assault. “AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” he cried, his face contorted in an extreme grimace, one I well knew reflected his pain and his intense pleasure.

“God your fucking ass is tight!” I exclaimed.

“Fuck it. FUCK ME!” Ron growled.

I did. I pounded his ass hard and long-dicked him the way he loved it, pulling out until my fat head had his assring stretched almost to where I’d pop out, then SLAMMING my way back until my pubes slammed his balls into his groin and I ground the last bit of me into him. Over and over I pounded him, and then I changed my angle enough to slam his prostate head-on as I went DEEP into him.

“OH FUCK YES! JUST LIKE THAT!” he growled and bucked his ass into my thrusts. His cock was bouncing with every impact into his pleasure point, precum splattering out of it on his abs and puddling there. His balls were getting tight, too, which I knew meant he’d blast a porn star’s load soon.

I worked that ass HARDER, my thrusts increasing in force and speed, and Ron started throwing his head back and forth. “FUCK YEAH fuck me just like that and fuck my load out of me, stud!” he ordered . . . and I was good at following orders.

I pulled his ass tighter with every thrust, continuing my assault on his prostate, and I watched as Ron’s body tensed as his cries when to pants and hisses and, finally, a long moan. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaafffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!” it came out, as his ass clenched TIGHT around me and his cock began blasting long, thick ropes of cum.

Even if his assmuscles hadn’t been milking me, the sight of that hot stud’s cum blasting over his head and face and all over his ripped, furry torso would have pulled me over the edge. My guts clenched, my balls feeling like they were in a vise, and I felt my seed pumping – blasting – deep inside him. “GGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

“Ah FUCK yeah, stud – FILL ME!” he shouted, clenching harder around me, causing my body to buck and shoot harder inside him.

I actually bit Ron’s foot as I came, it was so fucking intense when his musclecunt pulled my spoogeload out of my big bull nuts. They ached, by the way, from the intense fucking I’d given him, slamming my own balls HARD against his ass with every one of my many thrusts.

I came back to myself slowly, realizing Ron was laughing softly. I looked down at him, sweaty, covered in long, thick cumropes he’d shot, my cock still balls-deep in him, warm and tight. “You don’t usually laugh at me when I fuck you,” I smiled down at him.

“You don’t usually chew my foot,” he smirked, glancing up at his foot, still in my mouth.

I took a long swipe of my tongue on it, making him squirm as it tickled him. My turn to laugh.

I pulled him up to me, my softening long cock still inside him, and I wrapped my arms around him, and held me back tight against him. I felt his warm breath on my neck, and it warmed me. I tightened my hold around him.

“You need to be held,” he said softly into my neck.

I couldn’t respond . . . because he was right . . . and it was he whom I wanted to be holding me . . . and he was.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “For however long you’ve got. You didn’t tell me before.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I report Monday morning,” I whispered back. And I hoped I’d be back.