From The Arrangement 3:
Sitting up slowly, I stuck my semi-curled tongue out at him like a
little child mad at the world. But the real reason was to prove to him his
offering had been accepted. I watched him watch me, his eyes going first
at the puddle of come on top of my tongue and then to my throat as its
muscles convulsed when I swallowed.
"Thank you," I told my friend and then asked "When you're ready to go
again, can I have some more?"
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A continuation of a true story:
My hand is shaking as I knock on the Grambs' door. At least twice
during the walk down the hall I start to turn back only to stop as my
friend reminds me of what is at stake. I really don't need reminding, the
shock of being found my knees over in a corner of the basement storeroom
with my mouth full of my friend's cock, a thin string of saliva dribbling
from the corners of my mouth to dampen my is something I didn't think
I'll ever forget. I don't know what I'd do if Mr. Grambs had carried
through on his threat to tell my friend's grandmother what he had found.
Although brief, the walk down the hall from Evan's grandmother's
apartment to the Grambs' at the back of the building still gives me time to
try and answer the question buzzing around my head.
I've come a long way since the first furtive handjob I had given my
friend in his barn. Now I know I am a cocksucker, know that I like the
feel of a male rod brushing back and forth against my lips, its oozing
juices and my salvia combining to lubricate its passage. I've been trained
to crave the salty, coppery taste of a wad of come splattering on the back
of my tongue, to enjoy the pleasure of rolling it around in my mouth before
swallowing, to savor its syrupy passage down my throat, its aftertaste
lingering for long minutes reminding me of my subservience, my acquiescence
to the desires of another.
But that is the question. Do I really want to be a cocksucker? Sure
I've off Evan off plenty of times. But that was just playing around
wasn't it? And yeah, I've the we were now going to see, a visit
aimed at my servicing him again. But I really didn't have a choice did I?
I was blackmailed (or black-maled) into that first blowjob, even if I had
enjoyed it.
That is part of the problem, I do enjoy it. It's fun, it's fulfilling
(in more ways than one) and I look forward to it. But, ever since that
first handjob, there are times, especially after the passion of the moment
has passed, that I have doubts about what I'm doing. And there are times
when I wonder if these events should be more mutual, if my cock should
reside in another's mouth, my sperm coat another's molars. Or is the
pleasure I feel while spit-polishing someone else's knob reward enough?
Like the last person picked for a game of ball, am I always going to be the
catcher and never get a chance to be the pitcher? Abruptly, as we reach
the Grambs' apartment, my self-examination comes to an end.
Moments after my first tentative knock on the door, it swings open to
reveal Mr. Grambs' standing there wrapped only in a yellow cotton towel.
"You're early. Well, don't just stand there and stare Web," he says
opening the door wider. "You and Evan get in here before the flies do, and
shuts the door behind you. No sense in giving any nosey neighbors a free
look. Make sure the lock catches."
Moving into the living room Mr. Grambs drops his towel. "OK Webster,
now you can look to your heart's content. But hurry up, I was going to
shower before you two got here and I still want to clean up before we gets
started."
Hungrily, I run my eyes up and down his body, my momentary qualms from
the hallway overcome, as they always are, by my growing desire.
Down in the basement I had seen very little of Mr. Grambs, only those
portions I had revealed when I lowered his pants: his thighs, his knees,
the front of his calves and, of course, his ebony manhood. Now, standing
before me like a sculpture, nothing was concealed from my view.
Mr. Grambs makes his living in construction, pushing wheelbarrows to
and fro on the jobsites, hauling timbers, wielding a shovel or pick. His
mature body is well-muscled,firm but not overly so. There is still a
little roundness to his stomach, a bit of softness along his ribcage.
His chest is covered with a mat of kinky black hair, enough on his
pecs that his nipples are almost hidden. The hair takes the shape of an
hourglass, broader on his chest, narrowing as it works its way down his
stomach and then widening again when it reaches his groin. His navel is an
outie and large. It looks like a dark chocolate bon-bon nestled in a
wrinkled paper wrapper, just waiting to be nibbled by some naughty boy.
The hair on his legs stops just below his crotch, leaving a smooth, surface
which ran down to his feet where the hair resumes.
It is the body of a who works hard for his keep, not the overly
honed torso of a narcissistic body builder who pumps iron to create an
overly-sculptured piece of beefcake that graced some of the magazines I had
furtively perused in the bookstores.
I knew from the day before how firm and solid his ass was. My fingers
had almost cramped while I was kneading it as I sucked. But what surprises
me now is his dick. The day before, even under my best ministrations, it
had been well, not soft or limp exactly but doughy and somewhat malleable.
It was its flexibility which had allowed me to take its entire length down
my throat and nestle my nose in his public hairs. One glance tells me that
isn't going to happen today.
Mr. Grambs' cock is jutting out like a steel pier reaching for the
ocean at Atlantic City. Yesterday it had pointed toward the floor. Today
it rises toward the heavens, its lighter cafe au lait mushroom head capping
the heavily veined nut brown column like the masthead on the prow of a
boat.
Without thinking I move across the room and grasp his dick, its heat
coursing through my fingers. Even as I sink to the floor, my mouth agape,
my hand tries without success to bend his rod.
Before my knees can hit the floor, strong hands insinuate
themselves under my arms and raise me back to a standing position.
"Don't be in such a hurry Webster," says Mr. Grambs. "We ain't down in
the basement today. We're going to take our time and maybe even teach you
a couple of more good things. Now you just make youself at home while I go
shower. Then we'll get started." I nod my agreement, my eyes still fixed
on his rigid dick.
Noticing where my eyes were focused, Mr. Grambs lets out a little
laugh. "Surprised at my johnson today? How hard it is?" Again I nod, my
mouth too dry to speak without croaking.
"Hell Web, when I went down in the basement and found you blowing Evan.
I'd already jacked off four times. With my out of town at her
sister's and my girlfriend working double shifts at the restaurant this
weekend I figured the only fun I was going to have was what I gave myself
or what I bought on the street. Course, that was before I made your
acquaintance. Things sure did change after that.
"Now I'm going to go shower. You both showered just before you came
over right?" This time both of us nod. "Good, cleanliness is next to
godliness and there ain't much worse than having sex with someone that
stinks. That's another thing you should know Web, never have sex with
someone who's dirty and always be clean your own self."
Looking straight at the my friend Mr. Grambs asks "Now you are
going to behave yourselves while I'm in the shower right? I'm not gonna
come out and find a repeat of the basement am I?"
"No sir, Mr. Grambs," replies my friend talking for the first time that
day.
"Good. Then you relax and I'll get ready. You're both going to
learn some lessons today and we're gonna have some fun doing it."
The door to the bathroom has barely closed and the water is just
starting to run when my friend punches my arm. "Damn, Web you are a slut,"
he tells me his voice crinkling with excitement. "I thought Grambs
was kidding when he told me how you jumped right on his cock. Christ on a
crutch, I guess he wasn't. That towel hadn't even all hit the floor before
you went running over to him and grabbed his stiffie. I thought you were
going to him right then and there."
I don't know what to say so I turn away. My friend is right, I am a
slut and, all my misgivings aside, the minute I had laid eyes on Mr.
Grambs cock all I could think about was coaxing his manjuice up from his
wrinkly balls, across his throbbing cock and down into my waiting mouth.
To distract myself, I start to look around the apartment. Mr. Grambs'
place is at the opposite end of the hallway from my friend's grandmother's.
Her apartment faces the front street and a small city park across the road.
Mr. Grambs' overlooks an alley full of trashcans and a windowless brick
wall on the other side of the alley.
Walking into my friend's grandmother's apartment means entering a
spotless world where time passes slower than outside. Much of the
furniture is antique, heirlooms at least two and sometimes three
generations old. The walls are adorned with landscapes, still-lifes and,
in one case, a painting of a wide-eyed holding a bouquet of
black-eyed susans. The tables hold the latest local papers and copies of
Life and Look magazines. There are always cut flowers in several vases
scattered throughout the apartment and everything is overlaid with the
scent of the violets she grows in the front room and talcum powder, a sweet
not unfamiliar atmosphere.
It's different in the Grambs' apartment. It's clean, just as clean as
my friend's grandmother's apartment but the similarities end there. The
worn furniture is second and even third-hand, not antique, a mixture of
styles including an overstuffed couch upholstered in a garish and
yellow check. The walls hold a series of what I take to be portraits as well as a of John Kennedy cut out a magazine and stuck
into a ready-made frame. A depiction of Jesus graces the opposing wall
while copies of Jet and Ebony magazine are stacked neatly on one corner of
the coffee table next to a crumpled copy of the local African-American
newspaper. In place of violets and talcum powder, the more earthy scent of
greens and southern-fired chicken tantalize the nose. This is an apartment
that is lived in, not just occupied.
Preoccupied by my inspection of the apartment, I jump like a gigged frog
when Mr. Grambs' damp palm caresses the side of my face. "Hey Web, settle
down there boy. No need to be so jumpy," he says as he walks around to the
front of the couch.
Once again I find myself falling under a spell, his moist skin still
coated in places by a glistening combination of oil and water, reflecting
the apartment's light as though a handful of diamonds had been crushed and
sprinkled over his skin. I want to fall off the couch and kneel before
him, worship his manhood, take as my communion his very essence. It's only
by the strictest self-discipline that I remain on the couch quivering, a
sporting at heel poised to spring at the master's command.
Mr. Grambs looks at me and smiles at what he sees, my eagerness
matching his intentions like adjoining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Out of
the corner of my eyes I look at my friend. He too is sitting straight up
on the couch his breathing deep and faster than normal.
Suddenly Mr. Grambs' face grows serious. He orders me to disrobe. I
comply. When I am naked he asks my friend to get up from the couch and
move toward the center of the room.
"Web, I want you to undress Evan, nothing else understand? Just undress
him," he commands. Again I comply. My friend is tense as I remove his
clothes in front of Mr. Grambs. I understand. Until now our sex play has
been a private affair carried out in secret away from prying eyes. No
more. All that would happen today would be seen and shared and a secret
shared is no longer a secret.
Kneeling I untie his tennis shoes. He offers no help, standing stock
still as though he were frozen, forcing me to lift each rigid leg like a
blacksmith shoeing a horse. I rise to unbutton his shirt, my fingers
rubbing lightly against his ribs as I extract his arms from the sleeves.
"Hey, that tickles," he says a half-smile on his face, his reserve
beginning to fade.
His blue jeans are the next to go, his rising erection pressing against
the denim fabric, making it harder for me to unbuckle the snap. As it
appears I rub the side of my face against the white fabric marking the
final barrier to my friend's full nudity. I can feel wetness dampening my
cheek as it glides over the covered cockhead, wetness filling my mouth as I
anticipate what (and who) is to come.
Evan steps out his jeans, leaving them bunched on the floor. I push
them aside to take my position at his feet, my hands reaching upwards as if
in supplication. I grasp the elastic around his hips and, with a helpful
wriggle from my friend, I pull his briefs down to rest around his heels, a
drop or two of precome splashing on my face as his prick bounces to a stop.
Obeying instructions I stand and move back.
Now Mr. Grambs moves to stand at an angle next to my friend, hips
touching. My friend gives a slight flinch at the contact but holds his
place. The man's hand motions me over, indicating I should again
assume the acquiescent posture of a cocksucker, this time between the two
of them.
I almost go cross-eyes looking at the two dicks before me. One white,
uncut, and more square than round, a carpenter's pencil of a prick; the
other brown, cut and round with heavy veins running along its length like
the stripes on a barber's pole. I wonder which dick will be the first to
fit into my mouth, spill its pearly seed across my tongue? Who will watch
my throat convulse as I their sperm, be the first to receive my
thanks?
Mr. Grambs takes my head in one hand, tilting my face upwards, our eyes
locking together. "OK Web, I wants you to open wide because you're gonna
take both these cocks into your mouth at the same time."
Darting down to look at the two hard-ons and then back up to Mr.
Grambs, my eyes show my disbelief. A small frown like an approaching
summer squall passes over Mr. Grambs face. "Didn't you hear me boy," he
asks gruffly. "We both want to be and we're not waiting. Now get
to it."
I maneuver closer to the two bodies, my mouth yawning open as though I'm
awakening from a sleep of a thousand years. My hand reaches out and
gathers the two dicks pressing them together like straphangers in a rush
hour subway, their angle bringing both heads to the same starting point.
As I move my head forward my mouth stretches to allow entry. I struggle
but manage to get about two maybe two and a half inches of both cocks in my
mouth, my tongue trapped underneath a twin popsicle of warm human flesh The
awkward angle prevents me from getting more in my mouth. I start to move
back and forth my bottom teeth scraping with each stroke, wondering what it
must feel like for the two I am servicing; the foreskin of the uncut cock
rubbing against its mate.
My mouth fills, partly with precum but mostly with saliva. I can't
swallow and I am forbidden to spit so I begin to choke. After my first
spasm, the cocks exit my mouth.
"All right Web, that wasn't bad for the first time," Mr. Grambs tells
me. Hearing his words I feel like a puppy that has been told "Good Boy" by
his master. "You'll get better with practice."
"Yeah, and I'll be sure to give him plenty of chances to improve," my
friend chimes in, becoming more comfortable with the situation as time
passes, his fingers ruffling through my hair.
We move over to the couch, Mr. Grambs sitting on one end, my friend on
the other. I start to move downwards when Mr. Grambs again stops me. "
Come on around to the side of the couch Web, I want to teach you another
trick." He turns so his chest is parallel to the arm of the couch. "I want
you to suck my nipples." I stop, surprised at his command. Aside from
hanging on to an ass for balance, all my efforts have been spent licking
and cocks with the occasional foray to massage a low-hanging ball
sack. The idea of playing with someone's nipples is new to me.
"That's it Webster. Cup your hands and put them just underneath my
nipples. Now lift up. That's right boy. Now bring yo lips over to it."
My hands cradling his chest I place my puckered lips over the nipple
closest to my mouth. His kinky hair brushes against my lips and nose as I
begin to suck like a baby at his mother's breast. His nipple has a salty
taste to it.
"That's good Web. Now use your tongue. Wipe it back and forth. ...
Yeah be nice. Faster now, get a quick rhythm going. Now can you feel it
hardening? " I nod not wanting to remove my mouth to speak. "OK now start
to nibble on it. Gently boy, you ain't chewing gum here."
I ease up on the pressure, softening the impact of my incisors on his
nipple. Mr. Grambs lets out a quiet moan. As I switch to his other
nipple I see my friend slowly jacking off as he watches us. After a couple
more minutes of my switching between his nipples, Mr. Grambs draws away
from me to lean against the back of the couch.
"Evan's been real patient over there," Mr. Grambs tells me. "He's
played with himself long enough. I wanna watch you suck that cock of his.
Go to it Web."
I move quickly around to the front of the couch. My friend scoots
forward until his ass is barely on the edge of the couch, his balls hanging
freely in the air. This time I don't kneel. Instead I squat until my
calves and thighs are pressed tightly together, like a catcher waiting for
the first pitch. My hands rest on his upper thighs, forcing them farther
apart the better to maintain my balance.
My tongue sweeps lightly over his balls, causing the skin of his scrotum
to tighten and wrinkle. One after the other I take the small-egg sized
balls deep in my mouth, my tongue continue to lave each testicle.
Finishing with his balls, I extend my tongue as far as it will go and
slowly slide upwards along the vein on the underside of his dick.
When I reach the head my tongue insinuates its way underneath his
foreskin, slowly circumnavigating his cock. When the circle is completed I
press my lips tightly against the tip of his dick and, leaning forward,
peel his foreskin back until the entire head is uncovered. My right hand
reaches out to hold the foreskin back while the point of my tongue begins
an exploration of the slit, burrowing its way into the interior of his
cock.
After a few more seconds of teasing, I begin to suck his cock in
earnest, my mouth and hand moving in a synchronized harmony designed to
provide maximum pleasure for my friend. My cheeks go from concave to
convex and back again as I vacuum his prick into my oral cavity, sliding it
deeper into my mouth with every thrust.
Knowing Mr. Grambs is watching excites me. I remove my left hand from
my friend's thigh and begin to massage his balls, urging them to spill
their cache of come. My balance is precarious now, a wrong move could send
me plunging down on his rod with disastrous consequences for both of us.
When my lips reach the tip of his dick I throw myself forward, pushing my
legs out from under me at the same time. With only a small jolt I am on my
knees ready to finish of my friend.
My right hand leaves his cock and rests against the coach. My lips take
its place, traveling south toward his public hair. I open my mouth wider,
forcing air down my throat and enlarging it in the process. The head of
his pecker is now on the back of my tongue. It uses my uvula as a punching
bag.
Slowly I move forward adjusting the angle of my head to allow his dick
free passage into my throat. When my nose rests in his hair I stop. I
have fully engulfed my friend his balls now bounce against my chin.
Breathing through my nose, I begin to swallow, the contraction of the
muscles of my throat milking his cock. My left hand rubs his balls harder,
my tongue brushes across the bottom of his cock.
Evan's breathing quickens, his legs begin to tremble. I redouble my
efforts. His balls begin to pulse in my hand. Then I feel it, his sperm
climbing upward to my waiting gullet. The first stream of come shoots
while his cock is lodged in my throat. I can feel it slide down my
esophagus. I pull back to gain a taste of his cream, the next jet
splashing against the roof of my mouth. Satisfied, I pull quickly off his
dick, my hand regaining its grip on his cock, targeting his next emission
at my outstuck tongue.
At first my aim is off, his splashes against my nose and upper lips.
A small movement of my hand corrects this flaw and his final, slowing
spurts land directly on my elongated tongue. When I am sure his orgasm is
finished I milk his cock and then stand slowly up, exhibiting my
slime-coated tongue first to my friend and then to Mr. Grambs.
Seeing approval on their faces, I swallow. It takes two attempts to
move all his sperm into my stomach. My tongue quests outward and upwards,
gathering as much of the sperm gracing my face as it can. It is aided by
the index finger of my right hand which scrapes the remainder toward my
mouth. Again I and finish up by the final remnants off my
finger. Despite my best efforts I know my face is shiny with smeared come
then this is only proper for a cocksucker. This come hasn't been wasted,
it is a visual representation of my status. It cries out "Look at me. I
am a cocksucker. I can be your cocksucker. Let me pleasure you."
Quietly with my head semi-bowed but my eyes on his face I thank my
friend for sharing his essence with me. Having observed the proper
dicklicker etiquette I turn to Mr. Grambs. His ebony tower is reaching
toward the sky as he says "Ok Webster let's see what tricks you can do with
a man's rod."
If you've liked this fourth installment of a true please let me
know at webdazell@yahoo.com
Note to all readers. The actual events portrayed in these took
place in the mid-sixties. Most of the practices outlined here are now too
dangerous to indulge in in this the era of AIDS. Please practice safe sex
only.
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