Gender: Male Age: 28 Location: Somewhere Over the Rainbow
|Introduction: This is not a first time experience kind of story. I figured there are enough of those. Also, our "first time" is a little foggy to me, as it had been a gradual process. This is just a recounting of one experience we had shared. As usual, if this disgusts you to the point of leaving negative feedback, then don't read it. I notice there is some hypocrisy concerning incest stories between two males versus heterosexual incest stories. You'd think that no kind of incest is "acceptable" to actually indulge in. Such is the nature of homophobia, I suppose.|
I sit on his stomach, looking down into his big hazel eyes that have more flecks of green than gold in them. So handsome, I think. So lucky to have him all to myself. His hands rest on my bare, hairless thighs (I shave) just below my green athletic shorts. He returns my stare with a raised eyebrow and pursed butterfly lips. His eyebrows are dark and arched, but not too thick. Fits his olive-toned skin and almond-shaped eyes nicely. Overall, his face has a classical beauty to it. Very Greco-Roman with his prominent, straight nose. It’s not like mine, which is larger and hooked, though not grotesquely so.
I slowly trace my finger down the center of his chest, which, like my legs, is hairless but not from shaving. My touch is delicate, light. It glides over to his left nipple and circles it. To get his attention, I give it a pinch. “What’re you doing on my bed?” I ask with an assertiveness I don’t normally have. It comes from being in my own territory: my room.
Without answering, he squeezes my thighs and flashes me a wolfish grin. His hold tightens. He digs his nails into my skin. I gasp and he beams even more, like a sadist. My cock hardens, stretching out the front of my briefs, tenting my shorts. “Let go,” I say even though I really like it. I would want nothing more then for him to pull out my dick and wrap his moistened lips around its head while he rakes his nails down my leg. I lower my eyelids over my doe-like eyes and dwell on the fantasy.
“And what if I don’t?” he asks, snapping me back into reality. “You couldn’t make me.” I see him noticing my crotch. “Even if you wanted to, you cock hungry slut.”
I slap him in the face for the affront. The sound is sharp. It resonates through the room. He immediately returns the favor. The sound is dull. The force of the smack—from a palm much broader than mine—knocks me down. I cradle my (undoubtedly) reddened cheek and glance at him through narrowed eyes. From the shift in position, my left leg is sprawled across his belly. I lie on my elbows. If he had been a stranger I would have left the scene immediately to kick him out or threaten with a call to the cops. Instead, I give him some time.
“Bitch,” he calls me as if it were my name. He begins to sit up, scooting out from underneath me.
The game of cat and mouse has begun. I’m the mouse: small, quick, crafty. He, the cat: hungry, fierce, predatory.
“Fuck you,” I spit with feigned hatred.
He chuckles and grabs onto my arm and ankle to pull me towards him. “Come here,” he says as I am dragged closer.
Not being defeated so soon, I wriggle and writhe and kick his chest. With my other foot I push against his side. My plan doesn’t work until I’m able to plant my restrained foot on his neck and push off from there. He chokes and coughs and, most importantly, releases me. Free, I squeak in delight and scurry across the length of the bed. Just as I reach the foot of the bed, however, he pounces on me and bites my shoulder. I wince and am flattened down to the mattress. He’s twice my size, though not overweight. I slide my arms underneath my chest and try to use them to arch up against his force. Though it’s straining, it works for a minute until he puts all of his weight down to keep me in place. “I don’t think so,” he says. I’m crushed and can hardly breathe.
“Get off…get off,” I gasp. The words are breathy and soft to emphasize the compromising and potentially dangerous position I’m in.
“Oh, I’m going to get off,” he purrs in my ear. “All over your pretty, girlish face.” Despite his teasing, he gets the point and lets up off of me. Killing me is not his goal, after all. He just wants a fuck. I take the opportunity to playfully scramble off the bed head and hands first. Just as my body bends at the foot of the bed, however, he grabs me by my skinny legs and pulls me back. This time, he really drags me up even though I’m exceptionally difficult, threatening to kick him in the face. To incapacitate me, he tickles my feet (my weakness) and the back of my thighs. I’m helpless to tickles—I hate them. I double-over and squeal ridiculously loud. “You bastard!” I shout over and over as I curl up in self-defense, my sides shielded by my elbows, my neck by my shoulders. Sadly, none of my defenses work that well.
He grabs the back of my navy blue t-shirt and hoists me further onto the bed. “No, I want to see your face,” he says to himself before flinging me onto my back. My head bounces on the mattress. I look up at him and lick my lips because they’re dry. “Want something in your mouth?” he asks. I roll my eyes, but don’t struggle. I’m ready to get fucked. My sphincter tightens and begins to ache as if it weren’t controlled by me. I want him. Really want him. But, to my disappointment, he seems to have other plans. He sits on my thighs and begins to undo his grungy khaki cargo pants. I watch as he works his way out of them.
“Wait,” he says while glancing over his shoulder, scanning the room. He gets off the bed and strides across the room. “Stay there and don’t move,” he threatens with piercing eyes. “Better yet, close your eyes.” He doesn’t have to tell me what he would do to me if I disobeyed him. I already know. He’d shove his cock into my small, tight ass without any lube, without any prep and without any mercy even though it would mean severe pain and damage. Granted, he’s never done that to me before. He’s just threatened it in the past. Sure, he loves me, but I’m not testing my limits. I wouldn’t put anything past him, no matter how twisted it may seem. Anyway, I really do like being submissive. It’s just that I also like to make my men (really, man) have a little fun before I’m completely obedient.
So, I wait for him with my eyes closed, completely still. I can hear him return by the sound of the door closing and the creaking of the floor. Immediately, from what I can judge, a handkerchief is placed over my eyes. Guessing that it’s a blindfold, I lift my head so that he can tie it. He does just that and tells me that I’m a good boy. The knot is uncomfortable to lie on, so I turn my head. Somewhat nervous—the beating of my heart quickening—I breathe through my mouth. He pulls my shorts and briefs down and off all at once. My little cock springs free, standing at attention. “Aww, you really want it, huh?” he asks. I nod my head. He sucks the very tip of my cock into his mouth and tongues it. At the same time he cups my balls, gently massaging each one in his hand before he pulls himself away. “Maybe later,” he says coldly. I sigh in frustration, though figure he’s probably trying to throw me off. He then slides an article of clothing up both of my legs. It’s soft and has a thin band of elastic in it. Given that there are no holes for my legs, I guess that he’s putting a skirt on me.
“There. Now you’re all pretty, Seth.”
He rolls me over. Making an assumption about what he wants, I climb up on my knees. My ass and balls feel slightly cooler than my hips—they’re exposed. The skirt is pretty short.
I’m immediately spanked. It’s sharp slap and stings very much. I jerk when it happens and inch forward a little after. “Did I tell you to get up?” he says. I whine and lower myself back onto my belly. He grabs both of my wrists and hoists my arms above my head. He holds my wrists in one hand in an incredibly uncomfortable vice-like grip that makes me feel like I’m wearing handcuffs. Then, he ties them together with what I assume is another handkerchief. As soon as he lets go, I’m rolled onto my back. For a minute, there’s silence. I feel like I’m being watched (obviously, I am). The peaceful moment is finally broken when I feel the spongy head of his cock press against my lips. Instinctively, I open my mouth and take his veiny fullness in. Even though he’s not fully erect, his cock slides all the way in to the back of my throat. In order to not choke, I tilt my head awkwardly back and begin to bob up and down on his cock, making sure to slather his cock in as much spit as is possible. I taste his salty pre-come. The whole thing is a little difficult because of my position and my inability to use my hands. I do my best to satisfy him though, as I love to do nothing more—love sucking his dick. When I pull back on his cock, I lap the underside of its head and flatten my tongue all around the head and even some of the thick shaft. I glide my tongue back to the head and tease open the slit with the tip of my tongue before the cock grows a little in my mouth. The length is more than I can handle and I gag. It fills my mouth up too much in my position. I have to arch my neck further to keep him in my mouth without severely gagging. Drool leaks out from the corner of my lips and down my chin. I bob up and down on his cock faster before he finally pulls it out.
“Let me get the lube,” he says. “Where is it?”
“No, don’t,” I interject. “It’s so messy.” I didn’t want the stuff all over my bed. It always seems to get everywhere. “Spoon me and enter me like that: sideways. Just use spit.” I’ve taken his thick, long cock (not being cheesy, it really is thick and long) without lube before. Didn’t hurt as bad as one would think. And for some reason spooning made it hurt the least.
I get into position for him while I hear him spit into his hand and slather up his cock, making it nice and wet for me. The hem of the skirt rests at the top of my thigh, though my dick and half of my ass is covered by the fabric. I’m not sure where he got the skirt from. It’s not like he keeps a secret stash of women’s clothing, at least as far as I knew.
Just then a weird taste manifests itself in my mouth. The best way to describe it is that it resembles the aftertaste of onions, especially onions that had been on a hamburger. As he lies down behind me and wraps an arm around me to pull me closer to him, I can’t help but ask, “Why is there a funny taste in my mouth?”
He chuckles but doesn’t answer my question. That’s when I remember that his girlfriend had been over at the house that morning. “Oh my god!” I blurt out. “Did you fuck your girlfriend this morning? Tell me you washed your cock!”
“I didn’t,” he says calmly. He slides his hand under my t-shirt to rub my chest. “Mmm, so smooth and flat.” I’m supposedly the only boy he’s ever fucked, so my anatomy turns him on. He’s told me in the past that he fucks me because I’m so hairless and young, and look so much like a girl in the face—other than for the fact that he loves me. I assume that’s why he’s decided to dress me in a skirt. I’ve caught him in the past looking at Thai Ladyboy porn, so it makes sense.
“Oh my god! Gross! Oh my god!” I try to spit the taste out of my mouth but it does no good. “I hate you,” I fake sob. As I’m about to wiggle in protest, he takes me by the hips and presses his cock up against my asshole. Without a hand holding his member, however, it just slides up my asscrack. He quickly fixes that by grabbing his cock and aligning it straight against my sphincter. With a single push, the head of his cock breaks through, into my hole, fitting in with a sort of silent pop. I gasp, quickly forgetting about the taste on my tongue, and he moans out. I lower my bound wrists—as awkward as it is—and hold one of his hands. There’s something about being blindfolded that makes the experience seem very different, like I’m being fucked by a stranger. He shoves his cock in further, making me wince. My muscles tighten around his shaft even though I want to remain relaxed to ease the experience, and to not force his cock out. The spit-lube simply isn’t enough, however. A little pain is to be expected, but this hurts more than normal without lube. I can’t help but whine, “Ow, ow, ow,” breathing out a quiet, “It’s burning,” soon after.
“Shhh, you can take it,” is all he offers in response.
Knowing what works to ease the pain and what doesn’t, I begin to raise my ass and lower it back on his dick, working myself up and down on the top of his cock rather than the whole of it. The idea is to stretch my hole out to take him in better, to overall lessen the pain and to make it more pleasurable for the both of us. He likes it when the tightness is focused on the most sensitive area of his cock, anyway. Sure, for me it’s a painful thing to do, but it’s all I could do short of ending the sex.
So, without crying out, I pump myself on his dick for a little while before he begins to thrust up inside me in a matching rhythm. Soon, it’s not hurting much anymore, and he’s going deeper and deeper into me, stretching my hole out, filling me up and making me moan. I feel like a slut because I love his dick inside me so much. I especially love it when he hits my sensitive spot that sends a warmth through my body. It leaves me speechless, cock throbbing. I squeeze my muscles around his cock to increase his pleasure. He’s so deep inside me that I let him do all the work. He fucks me harder, just how I like it. Rough.
“I’m going to come, I’m going to come,” I warn.
He turns me over and fucks me from behind, his cock sliding in even deeper. It feels so fucking good. We’re obscene now—like two dogs. Me panting as I’m jerked from the pounding, he grunting. So animalistic. My balls tense as the head of his cock rubs my prostate again and again, my own dick sandwiched between my clothed body and the bed. Friction. Heat. Sweat. My dark brown hair is soaked, dripping wet. His brown hair is too as I can feel his perspiration drip onto the back of my neck. I want him to reach around and stroke me off, but it’s no longer necessary. I can’t hold out anymore. My moans reach a girlish pitch, an octave I’ve never known I could even arrive at. With a sudden spasm, I climax. Come spurts out all over myself and the mattress. A messy dampness under my stomach that gets worse as my little cock pumps out more and more. I twitch and get weak, tired. My dick no longer able to take the sensations—too sensitive. I heave in exhaustion and try to wiggle my wrists out of the handkerchief restraint. Unsuccessful, I simply remove the blindfold from my eyes. He thrusts into me so hard that I imagine that my asshole is going to be hurting for days, torn up and bleeding. I moan out from the roughness and he groans exceptionally loud, cursing before suddenly going silent. That’s his cue that lets me know that he’s come. He can never talk while he’s coming. A sudden warmness in my ass tells me that I’m right—he’s come. I breathe a sigh of relief until my insides begin to sting. As his cock twitches and shrinks, it suddenly feels good. But the goodness is dwarfed by the hurt that returns. I want him out of me now. I’m done. All used up for the time being.
“That was so fucking amazing,” he says, out of breathe and soaking wet. He sweats far more than me. “You’re so beautiful in a skirt with that nice ass of yours.” He compliments me as if I were a girl. I’m never handsome to him, just “beautiful” and “pretty.” I don’t mind it—kind of like it actually—it’s just something that I’ve noticed.
I stay in place so his come doesn’t leak out everywhere. Though I can already feel it dry up all over my ass cheeks (how it got there I’m not sure). He lies down next to me and undoes the white handkerchief that holds my wrists together. He then pulls me close and once more we spoon, our sweaty bodies together. It’s nasty. “I love you so much,” he says in a low tone. I look down and see that I’m wearing a red skirt that is black around the waist, a skirt I’ve seen on his girlfriend. He brushes his hand down over my face, to close my eyes. He snuggles closer and breathes me in.
“I love you too,” I reply as he begins to nibble on my earlobe. Thinking of the fact that he has a girlfriend while he’s with me, I feel the need to emphasize my point. “Really love you. I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you.”
“That’s because you’re only fourteen,” he smirks. “But I really love you too.” As if he read my mind, he adds, “More than I love my girlfriend. Nothing can replace the love I have for you, little brother. It’s a special love.” I smile. “My little girly boy.” He squeezes me tight. I never want him to let me go.
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