This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
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KEY TO MY CROTCH
By anonymous.a
This story starts with a key, as the title suggests. Duh.
For some reason the previous owners of the house I’m currently living in had a shed built in the back yard – not one of those flimsy aluminum things you see at every Lowe’s or Home Depot but an honest to God stick-built structure with a lockable door, shingled roof and even a window. If this were New York City I could rent the thing out for a thousand a month.
It occurred to me one day that if I lost the key, which I was currently searching for in a drawer cluttered with batteries, sewing kits and matchbooks, I would be up the proverbial creek without a paddle. It was the only copy. I could call a locksmith, which would set me back a hundred or so dollars. But wouldn’t it be smarter to have a backup key made?
I finally found it and decided yes, I needed to have that key made right now.
I headed out to the Lowe’s across town, where a girl eyed the key, then looked over the jillions of blanks on her revolving key stand until she settled on one and inserted it into the cutting machine. After a brief period of fingernail-on-chalkboard screeching, the machine finished and the girl handed me my new spare key. It cost less than $3.
Aaaaand, it didn’t work.
I swore at myself. The big boxes were great for selling mass-produced shit for cheap, but when it came to something like cutting a key they sucked to high heaven. How many times had I gone to Lowe’s or Home Depot for a key, only to have the damn thing not fit the lock when I got home?
I took it back to Lowe’s and got a refund – hey, $3 is $3. I decided I would try a locksmith, but before that I’d risk having one made at Home Depot. Who knows? Maybe I’d get lucky.
Little did I know.
Home Depot was on the other side of town, as luck would have it, but it was near another store I wanted to visit, so I didn’t mind the drive. The lot was mostly empty so I had no trouble finding a parking spot.
The key kiosk was about halfway down the row of aisles, right up front. Problem was, nobody was there. I wandered around wearing my “I’m lost and need help” face, when suddenly this kid appeared. He was an odd-looking boy of, I’d say, 16 or 17, about 5-11, maybe 150 pounds, and thin blonde hair on an oversized skull. When I say “odd” I don’t mean to imply “unattractive” because he was fairly cute, just in a different way. I think maybe it was the size of his skull, which was disproportionately larger than his body. It gave him a strange, child-like aspect.
“Watcha need?” he asked. His voice was deep and masculine, which further contributed to the weirdness. It was as if somebody had grafted a boy’s head onto a man’s body and somehow retained the man’s voice. I gave a quick glance down below. He had a fine, muscular ass hiding beneath those blue jeans, and the hint of something in his crotch. I wondered if that too would be disproportionately large.
I told him my tale of woe and he said, “Gotcha” and beckoned me to follow him. We went around the corner and held up at a strange machine I’d never seen before. Apparently you insert the key to be copied into a slot, and a computer exams it and picks out the perfect blank. Then, you insert the blank into an adjoining slot and the machine cuts it.
I gave him my key. When I pressed it into his hand I made a point of extending the contact. His skin was amazingly soft, almost silky, and perfectly dry. A lot of men’s hands are sweaty and sticky, as if they’d just been shafting their cocks. But not Bighead Boy. Another bit of weirdness.
The machine immediately picked out a blank and the kid fetched it from a rack and stuck it into the slot. As the machine cut it, I made a joke about the sound reminding me of a cavity being filled. That struck a chord with the kid, who went on about how he hates having cavities filled, and the sound of the drill on his teeth, the vibration traveling from the bone into his skull, and if it weren’t for the Novocain, how bad would that hurt?
The machine finished cutting. He now had to insert it into a different slot where it would be smoothed and any filings removed by a revolving wire brush. While he was doing that, I asked him which of the three local high schools he was attending. He told me, and as we chitchatted he mentioned he was 18, and a senior, and already applying to colleges for admissions.
He removed the key from the slot and searched for one of those small, white paper bags to put it in. As he did that, I told him to have fun at college. And, looking back on it, I’m slightly amazed that I said the following, although I don’t know why I should be. I have a habit of making outrageous statements.
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time at college. Heck, if I were 15 years younger and you were gay, I’d be asking for your phone number.”
He looked at me intently for a moment, then said, “It’s 872-8421. And I get off at 6.”
Holy shit! Holy fucking shit! I couldn’t believe my luck. I scrambled for my phone, screwed up the entry code because I was hitting the keyboard in a panic, finally got logged in and told him to give me that number again. He did. And he told me his name – Jess.
I got him added to my contacts. My ears were ringing and my brain felt as if it were about to leak out of my skull. It’s not unusual to go the store and come back with a lot of stuff you weren’t expecting to pick up, but how many times does that include a hot 18-year-old?
I promised I would call him. As I walked away, he said, “See ya,” and added slyly, “Daddy.”
I spent the next three hours showering, shaving, changing clothes, getting my house cleaned up, flossing my teeth, trimming my eyebrows – hell, just anything I thought needed doing to make myself presentable. I even changed the sheets on the bed, in the faint hope things would progress that far. I remembered reading a classified ad on Craigslist from a guy who was complaining about a potential sex partner who left before the fun began because the bed smelled like “a sack of farts.” Didn’t want any chance of that happening with Jess.
At quarter to 6 I called him and demanded that he come over, straight from the store. I told him where I lived. He said he’d be right there.
And at a quarter after 6 a Honda Civic pulled into the driveway. He shut off the headlights and got out. He walked to the front door and knocked. I opened it, ushered him, then closed the door and locked it. When I turned around, he pressed himself into me and kissed me.
This was not a quick peck on the cheek or one of those tongues-and-spit exchanges you see in porn videos. He raised his right hand to the back of my head, ran his fingers into my salt-and-pepper hair and pulled me into his lips, pressing them against me, his tongue darting in and out flirtatiously. He pressed his body against mine. It was warm and soft, like butter left out of the fridge since yesterday, and it molded to fit the shape of my body. I could feel the stiffness of his cock and it compelled mine to grow hard and rise inside my jeans, yanking out pubes as it lengthened.
He held the kiss about 30 seconds and then, without saying a word, took my hand and led me to the back of the house. He didn’t have trouble deciding which bedroom was mine – only one had a bed in it. He lay down and pulled me down on top of him, his face beaming with innocent pleasure, and he said, “Now kiss the living shit out of me.”
I fell into him, devouring him with my mouth, my lips tasting the flesh behind his ear, his ear lobes, his throat, then landing on his lips to greedily suck at his mouth. He moaned suggestively and I could feel the vibration of his vocal chords against my own throat, almost like a cat purring loudly, and it was such a turn-on I groaned myself. My hands were exploring his body, slipping under his Polo shirt to roam his hairless chest, up over his shoulders, his pits and then down, down, until I was massaging his thighs. He pushed his crotch against mine as his hands ran through my hair and across my back, pulling me into him, as if every square inch of my body had to be crushed against his.
This was so unlike many of my sexual encounters, especially with guys his age. Usually they want to focus on the mechanics of sucking and fucking. But not this kid. He seemed to recognize and enjoy the pleasure of simple physicality, the compression of flesh against flesh. As we lay there on the bed wiggling against each other, our efforts generating a delicious, sensual heat and the odor of our ramped up pheromones lending a thick, musky scent to the air in the dark bedroom, I began to wonder why I had seldom explored this aspect of lovemaking. To think, I could learn something about sex from an 18-year-old kid. It turned my cock into a steel I-beam.
I had to have him.
I paused in my efforts to pull his shirt off. His chest was pink and, as I said, hairless. He had enormous areoles that I immediately planted my lips on, eliciting a mischievous giggle from him. As I sucked I began working on his belt buckle. He had kicked off his track shoes so getting those blue jeans off was simply a matter of undoing the belt and snap, then ripping them off those slim, blonde hips.
I could see beneath his boxer briefs he was as hard as I was. His dick was about 5½, maybe 6 inches long, and it looked like he had enormous balls, based on the way those briefs sagged in the crotch. I couldn’t wait to get my mouth down there.
Before I even knew what was happening he had my shirt off. I have some hair on my chest, not a lot, but he ran his hands through it as if it were a thick, furry nap, all the while kissing me voraciously, dropping from my lips to my jaw to my throat. Again, his body was pressed into mine and I could feel the iron hardness of his dick as it rubbed against my crotch. When he pulled back a moment I could see a wet spot in his briefs. My jaws ached and my mouth watered in anticipation of tasting whatever was leaking there.
Without thinking I had gotten completely naked. As Jess continued kissing me I slipped my hands under those boxer briefs and palmed his ass cheeks, forcing his underwear down simultaneously. I could feel the muscle rippling beneath my hands as he pushed down and then stepped out of the briefs. Then, he followed his underwear and got down on his knees on the floor beside the bed. He took my hard cock into his wet mouth and began to suck.
His skin may have been silky cool but his mouth was a furnace of heat and suction. He molded his tongue around my cock and bobbed on it, letting the tip do unnamable things to my pee hole and head. His hands gripped my buttocks and squeezed as he sucked on me, and if I had let him continue it would have been only a minute or two before I emptied my balls into his mouth. I had other plans for that sperm.
I pulled him up and then pushed him down on the bed. I knelt and grabbed his ankles, spreading his legs and raising them at the same time. I pushed my face into his crotch, my nose against his dick and my mouth just above his balls. They were enormous, just as I’d guessed, and I couldn’t help but fondle them as I sniffed and licked at his essence. This blond-haired man-boy had a wonderful, clean aroma that had to be sampled both by nose and mouth. I gave his cock a few laps, then allowed my mouth to travel south to his balls, pushing my face into them as I licked the scrotum. His flesh was slightly salty with an intensifying taste of musk as his body prepared to do what it had been designed to do.
Then I moved farther south, licking at his taint. A few hairs sprouted there and it was barely sticky.
Just below was the real prize.
I buried my mouth in his ass crack and stuck my tongue against his hole. The heat between his cheeks was like the oven when you open it to take out a pizza you’ve been cooking. I pressed my face into it as far as it would go and simultaneously pulled his cheeks apart to get better exposure. He began groaning in pleasure (I hope!) as I slurped noisily at his ass. He was as clean and fresh there as the rest of his body, but the musk was much stronger, and it was having an effect on me.
I stood up. My cock was standing straight out from my body. I looked down at him. He still had that goofy smile on his face, and his cheeks were flushed a British schoolboy red. He said in that weirdly masculine voice, now husky with desire, “C’mon Daddy. Put it in me.”
I had lube on the nightstand. I coated my dick with squirt. I knelt a little, to position the head against his hole.
“Push it in,” he said dreamily. “Push that motherfucker inside me.”
I followed his orders.
I didn’t just slam it in, like all the pornos say you should do. I pressed against his hole. There was some resistance, not the impossible muscular rigidity of an anal virgin but enough resistance to make me work for it. I took it slowly, despite my desperate need to fuck him, and slowly entered the increasing heat and friction of his rectum. He let out a long moan of sexual desire as the head of my dick popped past his anal ring. That’s when I gasped. The heat was cauterizing. It was as if this little slice of boy heaven had the fires of hell contained within his ass. I pushed and pushed, and the muscles of his ass squeezed my cock with such vigor I thought I would unload right then and there.
Finally I bottomed out. My crotch was balls deep in his fun hole. I left it there a moment, like a bewildered explorer taking in the spectacle of his latest discovery, then slowly, gently began to pull out, then push back. Pull out, push back. His muscles slacked a little, which made the effort easier, and I quickened my pace.
As I fucked him, he flung his head right and left, that thin blond hair flying, and he whispered little nothings, “Oh God yes! God, yes! Oh Jesus, that feels so good. Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck my tight hole. Fuck your boy.” His dirty talk alone could have sent me over the edge. I had to stop several times and just hold my dick in place to keep from cumming. I used those occasions to lean down and kiss him. He greedily consumed mouth with a gasping enthusiasm that encouraged me to resume fucking.
For the next 15 minutes that’s what I did – fuck him and then pause, leaning in for a kiss and some dirty talk. Sometimes I alternated between long powerstrokes and quick rabbitpunches – he seemed to like anything and everything I offered.
Finally, I felt the muscles of his asshole clench my dick, and I looked down to see his cock erupting with huge floes of cum that shot up his chest, coating that hairless expanse of flesh with slick trails of man juice. I could feel his muscles thrumming as he cried out in ecstasy and continued pumping seed onto his chest and stomach. Young guys have gallons of sperm and this kid, with his huge balls, was no exception. He could have repopulated the world with all that jizz.
Seeing him bust his nut was too much for me. I started to pull out, but he held me in – “You’re disease-free, right?” he asked, to which I replied, “I wouldn’t be fucking you without a condom if I weren’t.”
His smile broadened. “Then pump it into me, Daddy. Make me your bitch. Make me pregnant.”
Oh fuck. What he said hit some kind of trigger and my orgasm snuck up on me. Next thing you know I was slamming into him, blasting spasm after spasm of sperm into his colon. I think my eyes must have rolled back in the sockets because for a moment I couldn’t see, such was the intensity of my climax. I just kept pushing and emptying until the tidal wave of pleasure began to ebb, leaving me shaking and just a little bit delirious. I took huge, whistling breaths as I hung over him, then leaned down to kiss him, my cock still firmly lodged in his 18-year-old ass.
We snuggled and kissed as I regained my sensibilities. I could feel his sperm, cool to the touch now, against my chest as my cock softened and plopped from his hole. He made little “Mmmm” sounds as we both drifted down from our orgasmic plateaus.
I finally stepped away from him and he stood up. Cum was running down his leg. It looked sexy as hell.
“That was fucking awesome,” he said, his voice back to its previous baritone. “I’m gonna want more of that from now on. Are you up to it?”
I took a deep breath, still slightly winded. “I’ve got lots and lots of keys I need made into copies,” I said.
“Gotcha” he answered. And then he winked.
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Anonymous.a is on twitter at @anonymous_sexie .
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Email clover2209@yahoo.com
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originally published at:http://ift.tt/2gAgFdA