1. castielssexappeal:

    Injured Levi is hot [x]

    first time drawing him~need more practice 

    (via maidenroseforever)

     
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  4. synapticsymphony:

    "It's why all this time, 
    I've wanted to become a body that won't die even if it loves... 
    A body that won't die if It's loved!"

    (via assphixiate)

     
  5.  
  6. (Source: mookkyul, via me-my-yaoi-blog)

     
  7. (Source: otakubeelze, via utterlyhomo)

     
  8. (Source: gorilla-mann, via butcherboypa)

     
  9. dakine808boi:

    infamouskalel:

    jarmic2002:

    Hot!!!

    Yesss

    Fawkin HAWT!!

    (via hotnativeamericanmen)

     
     
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  13. sublimecock:

    17C: I AM JOE’S DICK…INTO THE WILD

    The pimply faced kid from the bathroom (who had made me break my dick) walked up and stopped about six feet from where I was finishing up my paper in the stacks. I pretended to ignore him but he plainly wasn’t going away. “Get the fuck out of here,” I growled without looking up.

    "I saw you in here last weekend," he said.

    ••••••••

    'Wait a sec,' I thought, that slapdick had looked familiar when I got a glimpse of his face…and he had seen me jacking off in the bathroom. “You're mistaken,” I said, looking him in the eye, “I've never been in this library before in my life.” No doubt about it, it was that same nosy freshman who had caught me with John's cock in my mouth and his cum on my chin the previous weekend.

    "Look, dickweed…" the kid said (‘pretty ballsy for a fuck-faced freshman,’ I thought) "…don’t give me that shit. I work here so I’ve pulled your library history. Every time you swipe your I.D. to get—" "I know how that works, Rupert Giles," I interrupted, sneeringly. "What the fuck do you want anyway? And hurry the fuck up - I’ve got more important shit to do."

    "What…finish beating your meat? Or should I say ‘finish beating UP your meat?’" the kid laughed. This snot-nosed freshman was fucking laughing at me, at my dick injury! There was a darker edge to this little squid, even if he wasn’t old enough to shave and didn’t look old enough to drive. "Sooo…?" I asked.

    "I want the same thing that other kid got…a blow job…Best I can tell, your only business in the library is getting yourself or someone else off…"

    "What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy little fuck??" I started laughing my ass off, rather convincingly, I thought. For starters, I could NOT believe that this little pipsqueak had referred to John, whose big hard cobra dick he had (in fact) seen in my mouth the previous weekend, as ‘that other kid.’ I doubted that this Cub Scout wash-out could’ve even wrapped his grubby little fingers all the way around ‘that other kid’s’ dick. But I was a pre-law student and understood that those were not my best arguments.

    I also believed that his snarky comment about my only library business being getting myself or somebody else off was grossly unfair. I had been busting my balls in the stacks for three solid weeks, and the only two times I had had a hard unzipped cock in my hand or mouth, this fucking little hall monitor had shown up. But I didn’t think pointing that out would help my case, either.

    "No. 1," I began my masterful defense, "I’ve never sucked a cock in my life, and I’m sure as fuck not starting with yours. No. 2, even if I were a flaming fucking cocksucker, which I’m not, I would never ever suck somebody off in public, and I’m not starting that shit today either. And No. 3, even if I were a flaming fucking cocksucking pervert who blows guys in the stacks every fucking day, which I’m not, your scrawny little prepubescent cock would be the very last cock at Wash U that I’d ever think about sucking. Now, are we clear? Get fucking lost, loser."

    The little skidmark reached for his phone and flashed a photograph at me. “What the fuck is that?” I asked. “Your porn collection?” What little bit I had seen looked suspiciously like a guy wearing my favorite shirt…with a dick in his mouth.

    "In a way," he said, "it’s you blowing that dude with the big dick last week..in the exact same place you’re sitting now."

    "Bullshit, that didn’t happen. Let me see that photo-shopped garbage again." At least he had upgraded John from ‘that other kid’ to ‘that dude with the big dick.’

    He gave me another, closer look at the pic, but was still too standoffish. It was clearly me, alright, no room for a ‘mistaken identity’ defense, I was afraid. And that was John’s huge cock with my face crammed down over about half of it. I could even see his spunk quite well on my chin. More troubling yet, it was set up to send in an email…already addressed, I saw, to a ‘Dean Smarmwood’….the academic dean! Holy fucking shit! The only saving grace was that John’s face was completely covered by the inept photographer’s thumbprint.

    "Look, shit-for-brains, that’s some interesting art you keep on your phone, but I still can’t make anything out that I should be concerned about," I said, implementing Plan A, "if you’ve got something to show me, let me fucking see it, or buzz off so I can get back to work."

    When the presumed extortionist had edged as close to me as I figured he was going to get, I launched myself in fury right at the little prick’s phone, and I would have gotten it, too, if my foot hadn’t gotten tangled up in the stretchers between the chair legs. The end result was that I was lunging, fully extended, only to be yanked up short, and I wrenched the ever-loving shit out of my ankle. Worse, when I crashed down on the corner of the table, I landed right on my already-broken dick and then sprawled on the floor in agony. “I bet that hurt your nuts but good,” the smarmy little shit said. “Now if you’re through with all your bullshit, I’m going to tell you exactly how things are going to be.”

    'The standards at this school sure have dropped since I got in,' I thought as I struggled to all fours, trying to get up off the floor. “Help me up,” I said through clenched teeth, “I twisted the crap out of my ankle and hammered my balls.” I didn't want to get into my pre-existing cock injury.

    "No more fucking around?" he asked me. "None," I grunted. The junior terrorist pocketed his phone and extended his hand to pull me up, as he informed me, "I’m not stupid, you know. I have other copies of that pic." I noted his strong grip and the relative ease with which he had pulled me up, registering the little squirt’s deceptive strength, in the unlikely event I got another chance at his phone or had to get physical with him over his stupid little prank.

    "Oh, you are way more stupid than you can possibly know," I said, easing myself back into my chair, "Now tell me how you think things are going to be." I was looking this kid over a little more carefully now, since it was at least theoretically possible that I would have to give him head to save my academic career. He really wasn’t that hard on the eyes - for, like, a twelve-year-old. I couldn’t imagine he had much of a pecker, even if he did have pubic hair. Mostly he was just small and looked so young, even for a wide-eyed freshman. I had thought of him as "pimply faced," but that probably wasn’t fair, either, just a few scattered zits, like any kid entering puberty. Beyond that I couldn’t tell much because his baggy sweatshirt and baggy cargo pants concealed all the contours of his body.

    "Simple," he actually smiled at me, "I’m going to hit send in about a minute and the Dean will do whatever the Dean does when confronted with incontrovertible evidence that a student has been openly sucking cock in the library…OR you’re going to start sucking my cock within the next minute." I didn’t think it would make that much difference to Dean Smarmwood whether his students sucked cock in the library ‘openly’ or surreptitiously, but I let that pass.

    "One thing…" I countered, "you said you wanted exactly what the other guy got, right?" "Right," he said smugly. I swear that fucker didn’t look to be older than 15. Just some snot-nosed brat, who happened to have the upper hand - for the moment. I almost pitied that fucker…because I was already forming Plan B. "Well, I’m willing to consider giving you what that guy got - but I did not give him a blow job, I don’t care what you think your picture shows. I gave him a hand job and when he nearly blew his load on my keyboard…I saved my keyboard."

    "I’ll take a hand job instead but I get to cum in your mouth - and you have to buy me a bottle of whiskey, too. And not the cheap shit - you are 21, aren’t you?" the little shit bargained.

    "And you delete all the photos?" I asked.

    "No. I could lie to you and say ‘yes,’ but you’d know I was lying and I could never prove to you that I had deleted them all anyway. So what’s the point in lying? I keep those to protect against retaliation, but I won’t bother you again," he explained.

    'No you fucking won't,' I thought, and then said, “At least you admit you ARE bothering me…Now listen carefully and you'll find out how things are really going to be.”

    "You’re going to get the fuck out of here - for 15 or 20 minutes - while I think this over so I can make the best decision possible…for both of us. And YOU can think about this while you’re picking your nose somewhere out of my fucking sight - if you send my picture to the dean I’ll be expelled, 12 hours short of graduation, no doubt about that, so my options are limited, and that’s not good for you. If you hit send, you’ve ruined my life. RUINED my life. You need to carefully consider what that would mean. You would be ruining the life of a fellow student, one who’s done you no harm and who wished you no ill…over a fucking hand job? Are you for fucking real? Before you corner a rat, you better know damned well what that cornered rat might do…little boy.

    "But since you’re so young I’m going to spell it out for you, make sure there’s no ambiguity here. If you send your fucking spy game photos to anybody, whether I get expelled or not, I will assume that you’ve constructively ruined my life. My gang banger friends from the hood and I will kill you. Period. Not scare you, not hurt you, not beat your ass or break your fucking legs. We will make you fucking…dead. Whatever the consequences of that are to us, you will be just as fucking dead. Do you understand me?" "Yes sir," he gulped. And I knew he understood at least enough to know that he couldn’t be certain what I would do if he sent the dean, or anyone else, the picture of my face clamped onto John’s cock.

    "Good. Now, I’m not telling you I won’t give you a hand job anyway…or even blow you…" I continued, to the twerp’s utter astonishment. "You seem like a nice enough kid, though somewhat socially awkward. If you had just asked nicely I probably would have given your little peter a friendly tug, what the hell.

    "But I don’t want to back you into a corner, either, since you are obviously insane and I really can’t be sure what you might do with those pics, even though you know that doing anything with them other than beating your baby meat will get you dead. I’d like to consider whether there isn’t some way we can part on happier terms, some accommodation that leaves both of us with a greater sense of…security.

    "I…I’ll…I’ll just delete them all…I swear I will…I’m so sorry…" he stammered and, as if to show his ‘good faith,’ pulled out his phone and deleted the draft email to the Dean.

    "No, that won’t do at all," I said, "You’ve already explained - correctly - why I can never be sure that they’re all gone." The little dumbass gulped again.

    "So you run along now and play and let me think for 15, no, 20 minutes. Wait," I said, as he turned to go, "you have proof of age, that you’re really 18?" I asked. He nodded. "Show me." He pulled out his I.D., covering his name with his thumb and pointing to his D.O.B. I didn’t care what his name was, but I was surprised to see that he was nearly 19.

    "Ok, now show me your cock," I said. "Why…why…would I do that?" he asked incredulously. "To prove that you’ve reached puberty. Plus, there might still be a consolation prize for you in this. So I need to know whether to put your dick in the positive or negative column while I’m thinking about blowing y—"

    "You’d still…" he started to ask. "Not if you keep interrupting me," I interrupted. "Personally, I’m betting the negative column, but I’ve seen stranger things."

    The little geek still hesitated. “Look, you’re the one who ‘suggested’ I blow you right here in the stacks. So show me your dick or forget the whole thing.”

    "I didn’t mean right fucking here…I’ve got the key to a private washroom…" he explained, but he was already fumbling with his belt buckle, snap, zipper…his baggy pants dropped almost to his knees.

    "Boxers," I said, pretending to stifle a yawn. Then it was my turn to be surprised. That little kid hauled out the biggest fucking uncut cock I’d ever seen, I mean, basket for days.

    Just as he looked up at me, smiling his little blackmailing ass off, so fucking proud of the idea of his giant cock going into my ‘positive column,’ I whipped my phone out of my jacket pocket and snapped his picture . His big-ass smile evaporated and was replaced by a look of absolute horror, as I showed him my favorite new pic - his smiling face above his Wash U sweatshirt and, below that his great big hooded dick hanging out, along with a nice set of big swinging balls, pants around his knees and boxers pulled down…all against the unmistakable background of shelved library books…

    "That’s quite a unit you’ve got there," I said, "and the kind of balls I love to suck, but I told you you’re not as smart as you think you are. You better zip it up now or someone might get the wrong idea."

    I admired the photo again as he pulled up his pants and zipped up. Flashing the photo once more at my would-be extortionist, I said, “Granted, not quite as compromising as your shot of me, but still enough to get you tossed out of here on your scrawny little ass, wouldn’t you agree?” He nodded. “Then I think we have what’s commonly referred to as a ‘stand-off,’ [he nodded again] which is really good for you - that means I won’t have to kill you after all…Now, have you got a car, here?” I asked. He did have a car.

    "Good," I said, "because I can’t walk…not 12 blocks home, anyway." I showed him my ankle, which was already swelling and turning blue. "So you come back in 20 minutes and I’ll be through with my paper. Then you help me out to your car, stop at a liquor store, and I’ll buy you your bottle of hooch…for being a concerned fellow student and taking me home.

    "Are you OK with my minor revisions to your bone-headed plan?" I asked. "Yes sir," the obsequious mule-dicked dipshit said. "Good to hear," I said, sticking out my hand. "My name’s Joe. Friends?" "Andrew," he said, shaking my hand. "I’ll be back for you in 20, sir."

    Andrew was back to collect me in 19 minutes. I had finished my paper and packed up my laptop within 10, so I fired off a text to Jack that would be gasoline on his Cock’s smoldering fire, while still flying (barely) below his Brain’s radar.

    •••••••

    Me: Quik hypo - spose a guy whose never been fuckd in ass b4 & 2-3 days b4 BF plans 2 shag him 1st time, a 3d party slips in & fucks the guy 1st, cd BF tell by feel of guys ass that he wasnt 1st? a friend asked & I told him I knew an expert who’d know

    [maybe 30 seconds elapsed before Jack’s Cock responded]

    Jack: heh heh…u mean will Papa Bear ask who’s been eating his porridge? No fucking way…

    Jack: N/m - was going to caveat, but answer is NFW, period - if interloper doesn’t fuck the dude a lot, like 4-5x, or doesnt fuck the dude 15 min b4 Papa Bear gets home, dude’s hole still tight for PB

    Jack: PB…who has no basis of comparison, right? not his slutty BF OR any other ass?

    Me: exactly

    Jack: then PB stays fat dumb & happy, tell ur frind 2 go for it

    Me: we’ll c - have just run sweetest improv op to avoid library bust on morals charge & explsn frm college - future dividends include unlimited access to 9” (SOFT!) frosh cock - details later, the mark returns, but bro u’d be so proud

    Jack: I demand all details when coast is clear - fuck yeah I’m proud

    ••••••••

    "Mr. Joe? You ready? I can wait, no problem." "Andrew, thanks for giving me a hand, man…but cut that ‘Mr.’ shit out right now, we’re peers dude…almost friends even. Look, Andrew, sit just a minute, will you?"
    Andrew sat, quicker than any cocker spaniel ever would have. “Mr. …Joe, just Joe, I mean, I’m so fucking ashamed—”

    "Oh just hush," I said, "stop that now, we’re done with all of that. I can tell you feel awful and I don’t want you dwelling on it…any more than you have to. We all make a few missteps when we’re trying to find our way…take me, for example, I made a mistake last weekend, and you saw part of that. I’m embarrassed by my lack of control…in public…but not for wanting that big cock in my mouth, not at all. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I get where you were coming from, but let you know that you’ve got a lot," and here I pointedly dropped my eyes to Andrew’s crotch as I repeated, "and I do mean a LOT, going for you. You might be surprised how many friends…your friend there," pointedly dropping my eyes again to his crotch, "can make for you. You really don’t have to come on quite so…aggressively…as you did with me—"

    "I don’t know how to come on to anybody," poor Andrew said dejectedly.

    'Perhaps I can show you a thing or two,' I thought, then made a couple of guesses about Andrew, one right and one wrong. “You don't have any siblings, older or younger, do you?” “No, how could you tell?” he asked.

    "Educated guess - siblings just have a way of sanding down our rougher edges, I guess, and even though they might, will, piss you off, all that peer interaction and competition it, well, it does help socialize us. Now, let me ask one more question," I said, looking at my watch, "then I really have to get moving. You don’t have very much sexual experience, do you? And don’t get me wrong, there’s no judgment in my question." "Not too much, no…but probably more than you think."

    "Really?" I asked. "Same sex?" "Sure," Andrew replied. "Girls too?" I asked. "Not much, but some." "I’m through getting in your business, just had this hunch, I dunno, that we might be kind of alike…in some ways. I admire your…pluck. Look," I said, grimacing as I tried to stand up, "here’s the thing…you ever need somebody to bounce shit off of, you have questions, you know, like the kind you’d ask a big brother, if you had one - don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to be your fucking big brother -but if you have…uh…questions….just for example, ‘how would I come on to some hot guy in a certain situation?’ - feel free to ask.

    "You know how to…um…pick up a guy…or girl?" Andrew asked.

    "No, man, I mean, well…sure…a little, more with guys than chicks…we could talk if you ever need someone…that’s all…Now I’ve got to get out of here…you sure you don’t mind giving me a lift?"

    "Fuck, Joe, it’s the least I can do…I practically broke your leg myself," Andrew said. I laughed, loud for being in a library, deserted though it was.

    "No, not hardly, that was all on me," I replied, started to get up again. Andrew jumped up and extended me a hand. He did have a good strong grip, and when I was on my feet, he looked a little taller, more solid, than I had first thought. Shorter than me, for sure, but no midget. "Here, drape your arm around my shoulder," Andrew offered, as he put an arm around my waist and patiently helped me hobble through the stacks. "Dude, don’t take this the wrong way," I said, "but you smell good…just an observation." But he did smell good, clean and earthy and fresh. It felt good to lean on his sturdy, compact frame.

    While I had not really set out to seduce the kid - my modest aim had been simply to cement future access to his johnson - an image of the Walrus and the Carpenter strolling down the beach, hand in hand with those scrumptious little oysters, flashed across my brain as Andrew and I hobbled through the stacks. My broken cock stirred.

    "And I wasn’t just being polite earlier when I said that you’ve got the kind of nuts I love to suck," I added. I figured two compliments was about the right number.

    "Uh…thanks, I guess," he mumbled.

    "Oh fuck I’m sorry…I’ve embarrassed you."

    "No, it’s just…well, I don’t know how guys who like other guys talk to each other, I mean, I have no fucking idea."

    "Oh that," I said as we were about to leave the stacks. "Let me sit just a sec," plopping down on a desk and dropping a pen. Andrew bent over to get it for me, taking the slack out of his baggy pants. I noted his firm ass.

    "You didn’t ask, exactly," I said, letting my fingers linger ever-so-slightly on his as I took the pen from his hand, "but here’s how I talk to another guy I’m into…I talk about how the Cards are doing, how many games back the fucking Cubs are, how the Pirates suck ass, how Alabama clubbed Florida like a baby seal in the SEC championship game yesterday…the best public water for catching bass near StL and what the fish are hitting…the last good book I read or movie I saw…regular guy shit…you follow me?" I asked.

    "Think so…just normal stuff you’d talk about anyway?" "Exactly. And if the guy smells good I don’t mind telling him so…or if his low hangers rock my boat, I let him know…and
    …no, never mind, I shouldn’t say…that…I’m sorry…”

    I looked at Andrew, whose face appeared to be clearing up, and said a little more quietly, “I really need to take a leak…do you know where the nearest—” My hands brushed across my cock.

    "You’re in luck, Joe, there’s a staff restroom just around that corner. I’ve got a key…"

    "Andrew, you continue to save my ass…d’you mind?" I said, nodding toward the corner.

    "Course not…Joe what were you about say …that you said you shouldn’t say…I mean maybe it’s something I need to hear, you know."

    "Maybe you do," I said and gestured for him to lower his head so I could whisper. "Give me your ear…I was about to say," I whispered breathily into Andrew’s ear, "that if a guy…like YOU…turns me on, and if I don’t think I’m way off base in believing he’s interested…I suggest we hook up…" I was all but kissing Andrew’s ear then, my mouth was so close.

    "What would you say to him if, um, you know, you just met him… and…and you didn’t know exactly how to let let him know he could do anything he wanted to with you…and…"

    "Andrew," I said softly, "in that case I’d say to him, ‘I didn’t expect this, either, but I’m fucking brimming,’ and I’d put my hand firmly on his package,’" as I put my hand firmly on Andrew’s bulging package and squeezed his junk, "and then I’d say, ‘show me where that fucking bathroom is before I fuck you right here…’"

    Andrew took my comment in the way in which I meant it - which was pretty fucking seriously - and he hustled me around the corner and into a decent sized restroom with a deadbolt lock on the door. Before closing the door, Andrew slipped an ‘Out of Order’ door hanger off the inner knob and hung it on the outside knob. When the door closed, I flipped the lock in place, just like I was at Macy’s or wherever. And then we were all but ripping each other’s clothes off as fast as we could.

    "Andrew," I said, probably panting, "you do know that guys who like other guys kiss each other, right?" and I started kissing his neck as I unfastened his belt and started on the rest of that hardware. "I have heard tha—" he said and as soon as he confirmed that the idea of my tongue in his mouth wasn’t a completely foreign concept, I had my lips on his and my tongue was demanding his tongue. His shirt was off - shit, almost every article of our combined clothing except for my boxers was strewn all over the bathroom floorand we were rolling around on top of it. My boxers were halfway down my ass and Andrew had at least one hand down their front. I was sucking one of his nipples when he asked me if I was going to fuck him.

    I still can’t really explain what happened between Andrew and me leading up to and after we were locked in that stacks restroom. The heat I felt was inexplicable at the time and it still is to me, but that hook up remains one of the - not THE, but so close to THE that I marvel at it - most intensely visceral and passionate sexual experiences I’ve ever had. I tried to explain it to and understand it with Jack a couple of weeks later (I had told him the basic facts almost immediately, and all the facts within a very few days), and Jack had said, “Bro, I love you, like a brother, you know, but sometimes you just try to analyze shit too much. Some shit you have to just accept. You had, still have, some seriously sick fucking mojo going on, dude you’re on the biggest fucking roll I know of…fucking 10 days that shook the world kind of mojo, I’m talking about…that fucking kid was an angel, dude, an angel who got your roll started rolling. Just accept, don’t analyze. If anybody ever deserved to fuck an angel more than you did, I sure don’t know who it’d be.”

    I discovered PDQ that that little fucking freshman library assistant had a nice, tight, lithe body under his baggy clothes - slim and hard and hairy. I had my hand around his thick hard bent cock - boomerang bent cock, which did not suck - and I was alternately sucking Andrew’s left and right nipples as his hand found the tender, bruised flesh of my throbbing (not all in a bad way) cock, when he asked me, “Are you going to fuck me, Joe?”

    Serious wake-up call. I sat up and tried to reassure him, “No, man, don’t worry, I was just talking smack…trying to sound hot or whatever.” Which was all true. It was also true that I had never wanted to fuck anyone more in my life - but I know you know that’s not saying much, because I’ve already told you that at the time the idea of fucking a guy in the ass didn’t really move my needle. Well, that’s the day the thought of topping another guy started moving my needle.

    "Joe, you can fuck me…" Andrew said. I’d been telling myself (and John), and meaning it, for 3 weeks that fucking someone (including me) in the ass should never be spontaneous, etc., and all I wanted to do then was nail that kid’s sweet firm ass. "It’s not right, not the right time…not fair to you…" but it was way too late and there was way too much testosterone in that locked room to have a conversation about "intentionality" and "psychological preparation" and all that other happy bullshit I’d been spouting.

    "Joe, don’t you WANT to fuck me?" I didn’t want anything else under the sun at that moment. Jack up my ass - no thanks. John in my ass - nope. Jack in my mouth - forget it. "Oh fuck Andrew all I want is to fuck you right this minute but I fucking can’t…" So I started sucking his big hard boomerang bent cock, tonguing the rim of his foreskin, pulling it down and sucking the head of his cock, running my tongue around its rim, working my way down his bent shaft…

    Andrew had my boxers down by then and he deep-throated my cock, as I started sucking his balls. I felt a finger probe then slip into my asshole (a fairly common event for my ass over the past 3 weeks, as John and I tried to accustom it to more…and more).

    Andrew popped his head up and said, “Joe, you’re rock hard (true), sure you can fuck me.” He swallowed my dick and regurgitated it a couple more times and I was thinking, ‘not if you do that again, I won’t be doing anything except licking my cum off your face.’ I gently pushed Andrew’s head away. “Ok, let’s check my dick..that sounded weird…I mean, um…I broke my dick today…you saw me smash my cock into the urinal right?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question, so I waited for Andrew to stop laughing and answer me.

    "Did that hurt?" I knew he was talking about his mouth on my broken shaft and not the accident itself. "No, man, that’s so fucking good…but…well let me have a look at it…" I had not checked on my equipment since I had broken my dick and then nearly removed my left nut with my zipper and had to pull out the nutsack hair jamming the zipper in order to free my testicle and stow it out of public view.

    "Let’s check it out, Joe," Andrew agreed, and helped me examine the equipment in question. Surprisingly, my cock was only a little tender and it didn’t even hurt when Andrew wagged it back and forth. My dick was swollen, for sure, but it didn’t seem to be abnormally so - just swollen like you’d expect your cock to be while it’s being expertly sucked.

    "So maybe you can fuck me, Joe?" While he was waiting for an answer, Andrew sucked in and half-swallowed one of my balls. "Oh shit man I’m going to fuck the…" I groaned, stopping when it suddenly occurred to me that of course I didn’t have any condoms. Why would I have a rubber with me? Why would I take condoms to the fucking library?? "Aarrrfgg," I grunted.

    No way could I bareback a stranger when John was going to hide his knob in my hole about 24 hours later…and the main “revision” to the game I planned to propose to him, as soon as Andrew was through with me and took me home, was that I hide my knob in John’s hole as well, not so I could fuck him, too, but so that he understood what it felt like to have even part of a cock in his ass before he slammed his big dick all the way up my ass. No fucking way was I barebacking this guy, not then. All other objections already tossed aside, if I had had a condom I would have stood young Andrew up against the lavatory and fucked him blind. I vaguely thought, ‘For want of a nail…”

    "Fuck me Joe!" he yelped. Or tipped. "Andrew…I’m dying to drive my…cock into your sweet…peach of an ass…oh fuck man…what are you…doing to me?? …But…but…no condoms…if—"

    "God damn for a senior you are such a fucking baby," sweet little Andrew growled at me, apparently approaching his limit on hearing the reasons - not excuses - that I couldn’t fuck him. "Why the fuck didn’t you just say so? I’ve got plenty of rubbers," he said, and before I could say ‘boo’ he was rolling the latex down my throbbing (in a good way) cock.

    "Now fuck me goddammit!" he all but shouted at me. I pulled him up and leaned him against the bathroom counter, just as I had envisioned doing a few moments before. Then Andrew basically took over and I let him. He leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand as he shifted his legs more widely apart and reached around behind him with his other hand to find my cock. I was already having some concern about my chosen position due to my sprained ankle, but I wasn’t about to stop before we got started. I spit on two right fingers and penetrated his hole with one, then both. I shifted as much weight as I could to my good leg just as Andrew’s hand guided my cock straight to his bullseye.

    I imagined I was playing knob-in-the-hole with Jack…or…John…maybe both, I’m not really sure, and I spread Andrew’s cheeks with my left hand as I displaced his guiding hand with my own, quickly lubing my cock with more saliva and gently pushing the head of my cock into his hole. Andrew was enthusiastically encouraging me to ‘fuck me, fuck me, oh yes, yes, fuck me…’ as I penetrated him, but I stopped, just for a moment, savoring that superb sensation. Andrew started to grind back against my cock when he realized my forward progress had halted.

    "Shhh…shhh…little man," I whispered as I leaned forward, kissing his arched neck. I recalled Jack’s words of the day before, describing his mental image of fucking me in the ass as gently and as tenderly and as passionately as he would want to be fucked himself, and I pushed my cock into Andrew slowly and smoothly until I ran out of dick to push in. My cock throbbed only in the good way.

    To say that this ‘kid’ was experienced would have been an understatement, but his ass fit my cock like a glove. Our tempo picked up, of course, but we built up oh so slowly as I reached around Andrew and took his cock into my hand, stroking him as I thrust deeply into his snug ass. I remember thinking somewhere along there, before we changed positions, ‘No big deal, I know how to fuck, after all.’ I do think I fucked Andrew like I knew what I was doing, and how I would have wanted - did want - to be fucked.

    My ankle was killing me and I told Andrew we needed to find another position. At first we basically just swapped places, with me leaning back against the lavatory and Andrew backing up onto my cock. That felt good (duh), but didn’t help my ankle very much, so Andrew next had me down on my back, on top of the clothes littering the floor.

    Before he lowered himself down onto my cock, he replaced my condom, saying, “just to be safe.” I had been wondering, and took that as my opening to ask, what to do at the critical moment, which I sensed wasn’t very far away. “When I’m about to cum do you want me to pull out or…?”

    "No, it’s OK," he said as we jointly guided my cock back into his hole, "with a rubber…unf…and you’ll like it better…if you’re thrusting until…umf…you can’t anymore…" Andrew’s ass was lowered all the way down onto my dick, and as he began to find his rhythm, he added, "…after you cum…unh…and before you start to get soft…unf…pinch off the base of the condom…unh…and then pull out…"

    Andrew was pounding his own cock while fucked my brains out, sliding up and down my pole. He leaned forward and kissed me, “Thanks for asking, Joe…I think that’s a first.” Pretty quickly after that he told me that he was about to cum and asked me if I minded. I just made an O with my mouth and then hammered my cock up into his ass as he slammed down onto me - my juice exploded into an ass-wrapped condom, and then Andrew was hosing me down with his own cum.

    We lay spent on the floor a couple of minutes, enjoying that splendid well-fucked feeling, then cleaned up a little, flushed the condoms, got dressed and cleared out as quickly as we could. Andrew deftly returned the ‘Out of Order’ door hanger to the inside knob as we closed the door behind us and resumed our limping trek out of the library.

    Somewhere along the way to his car Andrew told me that no one had ever fucked him before like they had cared who they were fucking. I found that unbearably sad, leaned down and
    kissed the crown of his head. “Andrew,” I said, “don’t fuck anybody who doesn’t care who he’s fucking. Just don’t.”

    Once in the car, I took stock of what a mess I was. “This could be a problem,” I said, “I look and probably smell like I’ve been rutting on a bathroom floor.”

    "Yes, you do," Andrew said as he started the car, laughing at my predicament, "and I’m guessing your…um…friend…is waiting for you at home?"

    "Friend and roommate," I said, "look, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you that I have a…special friend…but I didn’t see that coming…"

    "Joe, I knew that you have a boyfr…I mean…I even took a picture of you guys—"

    "True," I interrupted, "so you’re clear that as glad as I am that we’ve become…friends, and as willing as I still am to stand in for your missing big brother when you need that…and as fucking incredible as what we just did together was…we’re not going to be more than buds, right Andrew?"

    "Crystal, Joe," he replied, "we just need to get you cleaned up before your friend sees you…is he at your place, now, I mean do you know that?"

    "Probably," I said, glancing at my watch…4:50 pm…where had the fucking afternoon gone?…"but I don’t know for sure —"

    "Because if he’s not home…you can dash in and get in the shower, throw your clothes in the wash, right?" Andrew plotted. "But if he’s there now…just my opinion…you better come shower at my place before I take you home. That’s gonna delay you some, because I’m not that close..so it’s worth you checking in to see where he is."

    "Huh?" I asked.

    "Call your friend. Say you’ll be leaving the library soon, just seeing what’s up. Maybe he tells you where he is, maybe not. Worth a try, but don’t press - that might look suspicious. Then we’ll decide where I take you."

    "Jesus, but you’re a sneaky shit…" I laughed as I called John. "Hey, man, just checking in…Not quite, but should be soon…no dude I killed it…what’ve I been missing?….uh huh…oh fuck you didn’t have…no…ok…no, no I’ve got a ride but thanks…I should be home before you…OK, see you then…Bye."

    "Andrew, brilliant. I’ve got an hour. He’s out in the burbs, will be bringing dinner home for me. Liquor store, then home, please." I gave him directions and we were on our way.

    Andrew pulled up outside my darkened apartment. I declined his offer to help me inside and we said our goodbyes. I didn’t feel bad about what had happened, maybe I should have - but if I had one more hour I’m pretty sure I would’ve invited Andrew in and fucked him again. And my guess is he would have jumped at such an invitation. To the extent I had any regrets at this parting, then, the regret was that we didn’t have one more hour. Even so, I was still kinda worried about him.

    Just as I was opening the car door, I had a crazy idea. I turned back to him and asked, “Andrew, how would you feel about a three-way?”

     
  14. cumdumpguys:

    Prostate pumping cum load

    (Source: onlydildostuff)

     
  15. sublimecock:

    17A: I AM JOE’S BROKEN DICK

    "You coming to bed?" I asked John, "I think you mentioned something about me holding your cock soon enough…"

    "Hold that thought," John said, "I’m right behind you." "That’s what worries me," I teased.

    •••••••

    I had fallen asleep the night before almost as soon as my head had hit the pillow. The next morning I had a vague but pleasant recollection of John cutting off the light and snuggling into bed behind me, his arms holding me tight and his hard cock pressed up against the crack of ass. And then it wasSunday morning and I had to get my ass into gear and over to the library to write my seminar paper, which was due Monday afternoon. I had been working my ass off for the past three weeks, trying to climb out of the huge hole I had dug for myself - mostly with John’s cock - that semester. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel by that point, but I still had to take three exams Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday mornings - and write that fucking paper that day.

    I had finished my research and written the lead paragraph for each section of a long essay advancing the argument that modern religious fundamentalists had hijacked the Founding Fathers, trashed the Founders’ actual religious and political beliefs, which had been firmly rooted in the Enlightenment, and created from whole cloth a new and demonstrably false founding myth of ‘America the Christian Nation.’ Basically what I had to do was stitch it all together, flesh out each section and write a killer conclusion. I groaned again. I might have to spend the day cloistered in the stacks writing about the Moral Majority and similar ass-clowns, I thought, but there was no reason I couldn’t do that with the taste of semen lingering in my mouth.

    I turned over and pulled back the covers to check on John’s fat sleeping cock. It was cold out from under the comforter - and it was bitter fucking cold outside. Why I had ever had the crazy idea of venturing any further north than Memphis in search of a college education, I had no idea. Yep, I noted, John’s cock was still fat and still asleep. I pulled the comforter over my head and filled my mouth with fat sleeping dick and was soon feeling the pleasure I always feel as a soft cock swells to hard in my mouth. John had become accustomed to awakening with his cock in my mouth and a blow job in progress - in truth that is a pretty easy thing to get used to, I’m told. While that certainly didn’t happen every morning after we began sharing a bedroom, it did occur frequently and it usually ended in John getting me off after he came in my mouth. That day, though, I was still swallowing spooge as I climbed out of bed and went to wash my face. I was already an hour behind the schedule I had set for myself, so I skipped a shower and took my toothbrush with me so I could tackle the Moral Majority with the taste of cum still on my tongue.

    I found my usual out-of-the-way nook at the back of the stacks and dove right into my work, making such good progress that by noon I began to think I might be finished in time to catch most of the mid-afternoon NFL game on the tube. That happy thought reminded me in turn of a list I had once made of the many advantages for a guy in having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. It was a reverse-order semi-tongue-in-cheek top-10 countdown -completely uninformed, however, by any experience of my own. I had not had either a boyfriend or girlfriend at the time, and whatever was on my list probably represented nothing more than my adolescent (gay) male fantasy. Except for the first item, the only thing I can remember being on it was: “7. You don’t have to bring your boyfriend flowers…ever.” Now I know that some guys do appreciate the gift of flowers, but I’ve never had one of those guys for a boyfriend, and I don’t think they’d like me very much.

    Anyway, the first item on the list, obviously uninformed by any actual experience, was the one brought to mind by the thought of getting out of the library in time to watch the second NFL game with John: “1. You can watch the game on TV while you fuck your boyfriend.” The image of plowing some guy on his hands and knees on the floor right in front of the television, while we both paid rapt
    attention to the Giants as they methodically drove down the field, had remained firmly fixed in my mind, and it still is today. As I sat in the stacks that Sunday the reality of actually paying attention to a football game on TV while John fucked me in the ass didn’t seem quite as keen as had my fantasy, but the fact that that very thing COULD be happening in one short week, if that was what John and I chose to do, felt incredibly empowering to me.

    My first and greatest objection to playing bottom to John’s top had been the notion of losing any sense of ‘dominance,’ control or even equality in our relationship. Though I had not even had John’s knob in my hole yet, he had already shown me in the past three weeks or so how wrong my idea had been. Instead, I felt like I was the one in total control. No doubt, that was due in large measure to how much control John had yielded to me on questions like the time, place and manner of my fucking. He understood we were talking about what was going to happen to MY body, and while we were together he never let me forget that he knew whose ass was on the line. I never have forgotten the patience, respect and consideration with which John treated me, and that lesson served me well during my topping period.

    It was a good thing that I had accomplished so much that morning because my afternoon writing was punctuated with distractions. I had checked my phone when I got out of bed (with a glob of cum on my chin) for any new overnight texts from Jack, but there weren’t any. In re-reading his last texts of the night before, though, I realized that he had to have been three sheets to the wind, shit-faced squared, to have dropped his guard as much as he had in his last series of texts, where he all but admitted that he had intended for John to share the texts with me, “knew” that I had read them, and that his goal had been to get me fucked in the ass last night. Even considering that he’d been drunk as a lord, it was a major fucking - and unprecedented - slip up, on a par with my handing my phone to John for him to read UNREAD messages from Jack. Fuck, I might’ve had to move into the stacks for the rest of the semester.

    I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t heard again from Jack - yet. He’s not one to care about who’s “turn” it is to text, he’ll just keep pinging away until he makes contact. But mostly I didn’t figure he’d be out of bed before about noon. I knew I’d hear from him soon enough after he woke up and found no response from me. I didn’t have a game plan - no game was underway - other than to be noncommittal about what, if anything, had transpired last night. I was leaning toward playing dumb about everything - John hadn’t shown me any texts from Jack, etc. - but had not made up my mind.

    While I did not intend to answer any of the existing t/ms, I certainly wasn’t going to give Jack the silent treatment after he checked in today - that would signal that I was mad at him, and thus that I had read the texts and had probably gotten fucked in the ass. No, I figured I could keep Jack in the dark just as well, even better, by talking/lying to him than by ignoring him. My ‘plan’ such as it was, was to play it by ear, keep my options open, and let Jack’s cock do his thinking.

    My gut instinct was that my best shot at getting Jack’s cock into either of my orifices lay in Jack being kept off balance for a couple of days, but (eventually) knowing (1) My ass was still virgin, not because I thought being first in would matter to Jack at all, but because his sentient cock would understand (without me pleading with Jack to fuck me in the ass, which could get Jack’s brain involved) that the conditions that had first caused me to plead with him to fuck me in the ass were still applicable; (2) I was eagerly awaiting Tex’s arrival on (date certain) to put an end to #1, implying that any window of opportunity that might exist was about to slam shut, thereby creating a sense of urgency in Jack’s cock (which had no real sense of time and couldn’t possibly grasp the concept that if I’d blow Jack on Thursday I’d just as readily blow him two weeks from Thursday); and (3) My attitude toward Jack had very subtly shifted in a not quite articulable way, but just enough to cause Jack’s brain to suggest to Jack’s cock that Joe’s ass/mouth was no longer such a sure thing…

    Jack’s Brain: All I’m saying is there’s something about Joe I can’t quite put my finger on…but it’s almost like he doesn’t need us…you…anymore…not like he used to, anyway…

    Jack’s Cock: That’s fucking ridiculous, you supercilious twit. Joe loves me more than oxygen. Just shut the fuck up!

    Jack’s Brain: I know, I know…but Joe IS…different, somehow…almost like the most important thing to him all of a sudden is getting together again with that big Texas dick that Jack just remote-controlled straight up his a•hole…Just saying.

    Jack’s Cock: STFU!! I can’t think straight with you yammering all the time! I’ll just fuck Joe in the ass and
    prove you don’t know shit from Shinola. Fuck YOU!

    Jack’s Brain: Spoken like a true penis, you fucking idiot. No, fuck YOU!

    Jack’s Cock: No, fuck YOU!

    •••••••

    I was killing it on the paper-writing front, mowing down those fucking fundamentalists paragraph by staccato paragraph, starting to think I might even see the 4th quarter of the first game, and most likely be personally thanked between games by The Ghosts of Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, Madison, et al for straightening out ‘all that bullshit’ - ‘Would they be offended,’ I mused, ‘or think it was cool if I offered them a Sam Adams?’

    [DING]. 12:43 p.m.

    'No big deal, ' I thought, checking my watch, '12:45, about what I expected.' I straightened my note cards and recited my new mantra to myself: 'Play it by ear, Go with the flow, Keep your options open.'

    I checked my phone. It was John, telling me how fucking hot I am, asking if I’d be home for dinner. “I’m fucking killing it, will be home before cocktail hour,” I texted back, then spread out my note cards again and got back to killing it some more.

    [Ding] 12:50 p.m.

    Note cards straightened, mantra repeated, phone checked. ‘For crying out loud, Mom, I’m in the library…I can’t text here’ ‘I know Mom I love you too’ ‘No I’m fine Mom, I’m killing it, really, it’s just that I’m risking my whole college career by texting now’
    ‘I do know that white chocolate brittle that Crown Candy Kitchen makes, sure I can pick some up [[Not a problem, right next to my dildo store]] ‘Mom, really, the librarian is coming…I could be expelled…bye 4 now’

    [Ding] 1:07 p.m.

    'Fuck the note cards, fuck the mantra,' I thought, 'what the fuck is it now…' I checked my phone. I had a message from my brother. I knew I needed to let this one sit a couple of minutes, and I didn't trust myself not to snatch my phone up and answer immediately. I pushed back from my desk and decided this would be a good time to go take that leak I'd been thinking about for the last 45 minutes, conspicuously leaving my phone behind.

    I unzipped at the urinal and pulled my dick out. It felt good, looked good, a little heavier than normal, you know? Like, good blood flow, but not yet even a semi…exactly the kind of cock you want to have in the gym showers…my dick was killing it today, too…what a great fucking day, everything going so well…

    I whizzed…and whizzed. Dick still looking good, feeling good, nice and full..shook it a couple of times…a couple more. Yep, my dick really has grown. Slip my hand into my fly and pull on my sweet fucking low hanging balls. Killer nuts, I think…fuck it, masturbation really is underrated. I flop my cock around a couple times, proud now that I see I can be hard as a nail in like…15 more seconds…Boom! WTF, I think, take aim and spit a big gooey blob of saliva straight down onto the head of my cock, perfect shot, of course, I’m killing everything today…fuck it, I think, as I unsnap my jeans, smearing that shit all around the head of my cock…I’ve never been this hard, this…big…in a library restroom before. Another perfect spit shot right on the shaft, pull all my junk free and lube my cock all the way up and down…and I know I’ll be blasting a load of cum against the back of the urinal in about 45 seconds, when…

    …a stall door behind me bangs open! and my peripheral vision suddenly observes the outline of a humanoid form standing just behind me and to the left…but, I think, NO FAIR! THERE WAS NO FLUSH! I nearly jump out of my skin and, before I can intercept my cat-like reflexes, my reflexive response turns my body half around to face this non-flushing intruder, my big low hangers hanging low outside my jeans and my hardest library cock ever sticking straight out, held tightly in my hand. But in that split-second my reflexes saw the problem in showing wood to an intruder, so before I could think, I was spinning just as quickly back toward the urinal in order to hide my stiffy. I slammed my cock hard into the porcelain and fell against it, bending my poor fucking appendage back almost double, and for a second or two my now-bent johnson is sticking out there all on its own, pressed and highlighted, against the white porcelain of the urinal.

    My brain registered through the haze of pain and embarrassment the image of a vaguely familiar…kid…a fucking pimply teenager…with big wide eyes…gaping at my half-masturbated and surely bruised and bent, if not broken, cock, this teenager with no fucking business on a college campus, let alone lurking in my men’s room, sneaking out of a stall without flushing, turns and makes for the door…out he goes and just before the door slams shut, I hear him say, “Badass boner, dude.”

    I broke my dick, I think, and I just want to sit down and cry. I mash my painful broken cock back into my jeans and zip my junk up as fast as I can, catching one of my nuts (left) in the zipper and nearly amputating it in the process. I try to pack all my wounded shit away only to find my zipper jammed with pubic, no, nutsack hair. All I want in the world is to quit exposing myself in a library restroom, but first I have to lean back against the urinal and individually pluck 14 hairs out of my left nut so I can fucking zip my pants to keep my broken dick from poking out.

    Finally my throbbing (and not in a good way) junk is packed up and I am washing my face in the sink (just in case I had cried). Just as I resolve to go write my conclusion and get the fuck out of the library as quickly as I possibly can, I remember Jack. ‘OMG,’ I think, ‘I just left Jack hanging there for like,’ and looking at my watch and calculating, ‘for like 7 minutes!’ Fuck, but it felt like The Day Time Stood Still.

    I slowly limped back to my nook in the stacks, my broken dick and lacerated balls chafing and protesting every step of the way. ‘Jack texted!’ I remembered and reached exultantly for my phone like it was a tube of cock salve.

    There was just the one new message from Jack.

    •••••••

    Jack: ‘sup Joe?