Blonde Adventures, Part 1 The Friend's Boyfriend
Peter de Ruthyn
Looking back, it might not have been the best idea for his boyfriend to send him to pick me up. He was a pint-sized young blonde boy. So was I. He was notoriously hungry for other boys. So was I, although perhaps less notoriously. But my hunger was still just as great as his. Leaving us together in a car for the time it took to drive from my dorm room to the state capitol involved a certain amount of risk.
He pulled into a mostly empty parking lot two blocks away from the building, but made no move to get out of the car. It was late afternoon, the air was warm, and the sunlight was diffused enough to make us a bit lazy. In spite of the calm of our surroundings, my body felt the tension and responded to it visibly. He noticed. He responded to me in turn, placing his hand on the front of my boardshorts and squeezing me through the soft, durable cloth. I turned and leaned into him, and we began to kiss.
This boy was daring. As I sucked on his tongue, I heard the velcro tabs on the fly of my shorts pop loose, one at a time. The lack of restraint allowed me to swell even more, a stimulating experience by itself that increased my lust. Then his hand shoved my Australian-made briefs aside and exposed me fully. Immediately, he broke our kiss and bent over to lick me clean of my juices before taking me into his mouth.
I arched my back upwards as much as I could, sighing happily. I looked out the window. Not so very far away, there were people strolling the sidewalks, oblivious to what was happening in my lap, or the pleasure I was receiving. I stroked his soft, buzz-cut blonde hair, relishing the sensation of having something visibly interposed between my hand and the attention my shaft was receiving. Better attention than my hand could give it in any case, since the skill of a tongue always surpasses that of fingers. And he was extremely good with his tongue. I felt as if I were being caressed and stroked simultaneously. He wasn't bobbing up and down at all. He was holding me inside him and simply licking as much as he could.
I eased his head off my erection and kissed him again. His lips were hot and wet from the experience they had gone through, and very susceptible to added sensations. He moaned into my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his shorts twitching. His zipper gave way willingly and his boyhood sprang into my hand, already leaking. When I gave it a long stroke from root to tip I could feel him panting into my mouth as well as hear him.
I pushed him back into his seat, wiped my hand on his shorts with a cheeky look, and went in for a taste. Delicious and clean. And copious. He was smaller than I, but beautifully shaped, with a perfect curve and dainty color. The hardness of it was unbelievable. He struggled to suppress his moans and his squirming as I worked on the flange of his head with lips and tongue. I took him in fully, of course, but only from time to time. I preferred to keep him dripping directly onto my tongue so I could taste him better. He was flushed with eagerness. I loved it. The look of absolute surrender on his face when I finally sat up made the lingering taste in my mouth seem that much sweeter.
"We should probably go find them now," I suggested half-heartedly. "Before we get caught."
He nodded without enthusiasm. We adjusted our shorts again, climbed out of the car, and walked up the street towards the capitol building. The protesters were still dancing around in front of it, although they were less thick on the ground than they had been earlier in the day.
Inside, we looked around for his boyfriend, who was nowhere in sight. He shrugged and checked his phone before telling me that they were in the basement. He led me off into one of the hallways and then down a staircase.
Halfway down the stairwell, I stopped him. It is difficult to effectively fondle someone's erection through his cargo shorts while you are walking beside him. When you are facing him, with a concrete wall not far behind his back, or even up against it, it is much easier and he is naturally more susceptible to your ministrations. Standing still, I kissed him quite thoroughly, while my fingers were busy farther down. I squeezed, stroked, and rubbed his hardness until he had leaked enough juice in his excitement to form a noticeable damp spot on the front of his shorts. This boy was very much in lust and in heat. He looked back at me yearningly when I finally broke the kiss and released his shaft, letting it throb vainly against the slightly rough fabric holding it in place. He wanted more. Fortunately, his wants could be satisfied by giving as well as receiving. He reached out and began to touch the bulge beneath my shorts. I could feel myself succumbing to the eroticism of the moment immediately.
The sound of a door opening drifted down from somewhere above us, followed by the chatter of voices. Someone else had obviously decided to use the staircase, too, and for the purpose for which it had been designed rather than the one for which we were employing it.
We turned and went down again, into the lowest basement of the building. The corridors were bare, sterile, well-lit, and empty. Everyone was upstairs, distracted by the day's events. Possibly we could have stripped and enjoyed ourselves right there without any fear of discovery. But after the stairwell, neither of us felt much like taking that risk.
High up on the wall, a sign pointed to a narrower hallway that branched off at right angles to the one we were standing in, a sign with two stick figures on it. We followed its directions around the corner and through a door that fortunately closed tight behind us. I had never liked the idea of using a restroom as the location for a sexual encounter. But it was clean, it was in the state capitol--and there was a boy with me who badly needed release. As did I after feeling his tongue in my mouth and on my swollen boyhood.
I closed the door of the stall behind us and then took him in my arms. "I am going to make you cum," I whispered in his ear. I kissed him again.
Then I stepped away from him and slid my shirt over my head. Turning around, I let my boardshorts drop off. I hung them on the back of the door. Slowly, so as to give him more of a show, I eased the little gray briefs I was wearing down over my hips, past my ankles, and finally all the way off my legs, one foot at a time. I placed them with the rest of my clothes. When I spun once more to face him, I was already fully aroused again, and entirely naked except for my sandals.
He reached out and grasped my hardness with both hands as I jerked the zipper on his cargo shorts open and let them drop to the floor. An instant later, he was forced to relinquish his grip so I could lift his blue shirt up and expose his torso.
This boy was preturnaturally smooth. I had noticed the unbroken skin on his arms during our short drive and complimented him on it. He had told me that his boyfriend regularly used a depilatory cream on him to keep him that way. The results were amazing. His creamy skin was completely bare, completely exposed to my touching. It was soft and moist, already anticipating the attention it was going to receive. Our bodies rubbed together. Our shafts spilled onto one another and slid on smooth skin with no resistance. He was shorter than I, and I devoured his mouth with mine, bending just a little to feed our mutual desire.
He knelt in front of me. He sucked me in again. That fine, delicate, feathery tongue of his went back to work. There was something almost obscene in how he seemed to delight in making me lust for him so strongly with such a delicate touch, with so little in the way of overt actions. I drew in deep breaths, rocking my hips a little. There was little I could do to either delay or hasten the event; he had me in his control and moving inevitably forward. He kept a remorseless, steady pace. I bit my lip, felt my body tense, and fed him.
My juices tasted delightful on his lips, but I didn't stop to do more than sample them. I wanted to make him moan again. I wanted to make him whimper and cry out. We were alone, and no one could hear him but if they could, they would know he was absolutely bound to his carnal desires. As I, beneath him and busy manipulating him, would know it. His shaft slid into my mouth, already twitching and jerking from how hot he was. I let it fall out again and smiled as he winced at the touch of cool air on its soaking length. I licked him up and down, a task made so easy and enjoyable by the stiffness of his erection. It writhed under my teasing. His eyes were closed and he was no longer trying very hard to control the sounds he was making.
Enough was enough, I decided. I would keep my promise to him. I swallowed him again and gave him a few full strokes. His boyhood strained against the roof of my mouth, putting pressure on itself. Then I sucked in on it as I would on a straw when drinking a milkshake.
He gasped. He filled my mouth with fresh, vital cream, pumping it out of his body eagerly, in the process driving endorphins through his brain that told him to keep shooting, to ride the orgasm. I played with the head of his shaft with my tongue even while he was still pumping away. His fingers contracted tightly in my curls from the sensory overload of that little technique. He needed something stable in a world that had suddenly become pure sexuality.
A few minutes later, clothed again and in another part of the building, I stopped him.
"Thank you," I said softly. And I kissed him once more, gentle and lingering.
"I want to you go back to him with the feel of my lips on yours."
Comments and feedback welcomed at peterderuthyn@gmail.com! Also look out for my upcoming collection "Toyboys and Other Stories".