The Urge - Guest Entry
by Glaucon55 [glaucon55@aol.com]
Blake
Everyone knew Blake. He had a pretty high spot in high school hierarchy. Not because of his handsome face, dark features and slender, lean muscled body – no, he was just a real bro. In many ways, a typical 17 year-old, Blake was loud, confident and always up for fun. A typical teenage boy, he didn't think too hard on things, because he didn't have to. Nature had blessed with the kind of body and looks that allowed him to be superficial; to take things for granted.
Today, he had big plans. Leaving school with his huge group of fellow top- dogs, the he let everyone know about it. Horsing around he knocked Jim's cap off, and goosed Andy. Both yelled at him, but he just laughed and kept on running till he caught up with the rest of their posse.
Then the Urge found its latest victim. The fucking urge, it was like a spell...and it came on suddenly. Blake's cock began to lengthen from its flaccid 4.5 inches, filling with blood. His nipples began to harden, pushing against his t-shirt, and his asshole tightened. His deep pisswell began to fill with clean pre-fuck, and soon there would be a big wet spot on his boxers. Fuck.
"Uh..." Blake's mind trailed off and he turned to the guys in a casual way, belying the tension that was building. "I'm gonna... I forgot something. I'll...ah, I'll catch up."
He turned around without waiting for a response and ran back to school. There were still people inside when he entered the building. He couldn't just go in there – he had to take his clothes off now. Blake ran upstairs, two and three at a time, flying by anyone on the staircase as he bolted towards the boy's room at the end of the wing.
Like the athlete he was, he rushed at maximum speed toward the restroom, banging through the door, and taking a quick glance to see it was empty before he flew into the disabled stall and dropped his backpack. Without even consciously registering it. Immediately he tore off his shirt and threw it on his backpack on the tile floor.
A moment later he was out of his clothes, kicking off his trainers, yanking his jeans and boxers down and off, and even peeling off his white athletic socks from his size 11 feet. He plopped himself down on the toilet seat, leaning back against the tile wall and spread his legs, flexing his long toes, curling and flicking them from the ache in his balls, and the rigidity of his now 8 inch cock, its bulbous knob wet with his leak.
Meanwhile, the Urge was masturbating him without his hands touching his cock, making his motions uncontrolled. Blake couldn't help but grunt with every exhale. He closed his eyes, beginning to pant, his hands now gripping the side of the toilet seat.
The Urge, of course, wanted more. Sometimes it would come on him while he was just getting into bed, and forced him to fuck the bed like an animal in heat. Sometimes it would hit when he was driving alone, and he would have to pull over, barely able to park before he shoved his jeans and briefs to his ankles and allowed his raging erection to fulfill it's demands.
Blake opened his eyes, and spit on his fingers. The Urge wanted something other than simple dick rubbing or a spontaneous ejaculation, for once.
The Urge had made him do things to himself, things he had never done before, things that made him feel like some bitch slut, but that ramped up his sexual fever and made his cums feel like volcanic eruptions. He lifted his long, muscular legs and planted his feet onto the seat of the toilet, forcing his knees apart and exposing his lightly haired anus, the ragged split clenching and relaxing spasmodically. Two wet fingers went to the edge of his hole and dragged back and forth against the ragged split, tickling and soothing a sudden itch. Then, using his fuck finger he began to worm his digit into his hole, seeking the itch that seemed to retreat further and further into his ass. Finally, first his fuck finger, and then also his index finger, he worked them all the way in. As usual, it hurt and he whimpered pathetically, but the Urge had become all-consuming, forcing him to fuck himself and find his fuck nut to batter it mercilessly.
Each time he fucked the fingers inside himself, and rubbed against his prostate, his fat cock knob was bathed in pre-cum that bubbled up and out of his piss lips, drooling down his rigid thick cock stalk. All the while, without touching his dick he was being milked, his cock flexing and his greedy cock head expanding. Precum dripped onto his slim abs, Blake seemed to unconsciously lift his other hand to his now erect left nipple, and he began to pinch and twist it gently. He never knew how sensitive his nipples could be until the Urge began to take charge of him, and taught him how much of a sexual animal and teenage boy slut he could be.
While his right hand was still driving itself into his greedy, itching hole, he now spit as much as he could onto his left one and closed his lubed fist around his bulging cock knob, twisting his fingers around his aching, pulsing, glass smooth tip. He was getting close to another impossibly strong orgasm demanded by the Urge. Between the finger plunging into his spread ass, and those palming his bloated prick head, Blake was grunting and squealing his way to a monumental ejaculation, a helpless pleasure that the Urge was forcing him to enjoy. Blake's cock head was so sensitive, and with each twist of his palm over it, his ass would bounce making it almost impossible for him to stay on the seat and keep his feet planted so he could continue to fuck his gripping ass. Finally, the sensations on his knob overcame him and he could feel the teenage nut juice in his balls getting ready to eject.
Finally, the Urge let the handsome boy have his price. Blake's deep pisswell expanded, and eleven long, viscous shots of thick teenage spooge spit from his erupting dick, the first two bolting over his head, and the next two hitting him into his gasping face and mouth. He knew he should keep silent for fear that someone outside might hear...but he couldn't help himself. As muffled as possible, he grunted and groaned his exploding cum: "Aaaaaaggggghhhh... fuck, aaaaaaahhhhhhhh...shit, oooooooohhhhhh fuuuuucccccckkkkk!" The remainder of the erupting nut juice coated his chest, from nipples to navel. It was more and further than he ever had cum. His face and hair caught the sticky teen scum. At the same time, his strong ass muscles clamped down on his drilling fingers, trapping them as his cock erupted. Since Kris' load had dripped off him so easily last time, the Urge took care to make Blake's cum as sticky as it could be. He wouldn't get it off with a plain old paper towel or toilet paper, he would have to go to the sink and wash his face and hair.
Finally Blake could take deep breaths, and slowly calm down. Fortunately, he was still alone in the empty, secluded restroom and the Urge, after achieving its goal, had also departed. His cock was still tumescent, but the insistent demanding throbbing that had overtaken him was now gone. He could slowly and carefully withdraw his fingers from his aching asshole, making him grunt with the painful withdrawal. The spit had all dried up, making him arch his spine with shivers as he pulled them out and his hole still pulsed from its recent contractions.
Realizing where he was, Blake looked to see his clothing scattered on the tile floor. He lowered his legs, planting his muscular feet, and then gradually stood up, first wiping his soiled fingers with toilet paper and depositing them in the bowl, then dressing himself. He opened the stall door, walked to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, his face and hair still wet with his sperm. He turned on the spigots, cupped his hands and closed his eyes as he washed the gism from his face and hair. Then he gulped some water down to now satisfy a demand after his exhausting cum.
He picked up his backpack, and walked slowly to the door, turning to see if he had left anything other than the dripping, drying spooge on the back of the stall wall that had shot over his head. He pushed through the door, wondering, worrying, when the Urge would return again and transform him into a wild animal and its helpless sexual slave boy. As these thoughts coursed through his mind, his cock stirred a bit, and filled with some blood, and his still sensitive knob brushed against his boxers. He briefly closed his eyes and realized he was helpless and that his cock would soon take control, and he would need to find a place to hide in order to satisfy its greedy and unyielding demands. But it was the Urge that was really in control, as it was for other teenage boys.