I appreciated every single one of the comments on yesterday's post. The encouragement sure helps.
That said, here's the end of Chapter Three of my smut novella, Murder at The Woods. Some Faithful Readers have sent in suggestions for edits. Those have not been applied...yet. They will be before I submit to the new publisher. (Blue is to get you oriented to where we left off. But you can read from the beginning, if you care to, by clicking the "novella" label.)
[This will be the first full night at Deven's cabin.]
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Parts,” I said taking a moment to glance
down at his hard-on. If more fun with those parts was on the horizon, then absolutely.
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Reaching
over to gather a bead of clear semen from the tip of my cock onto a finger, he stuck
it into his mouth and sucked. Then abruptly turned his attention to the bobbing
and weaving and waving arms of the dance floor.
I sat there with my cock as stiff as the
beams of the pergola. He had this selfish, devious smirk on his face; so
pleased with himself. What the fuck. Did he just like seeing how aroused he could
get me? Deven had never given any indication he would go any further than enjoying
the effect of his labor, other than expecting favors in return.
My head pounded from the noise of the
music and my upbeat attitude slipped to sullen weariness. I yawned, tapped him on
the arm, and stabbed a thumb over my shoulder to indicate my imminent exit. He nodded,
set his beer down, and we walked back to the cabin.
We no sooner closed the door on the chirping
crickets and nightbirds than he grabbed my t-shirt by the hem, pulled me to him
and lifted it over my head. Exhausted from the very long day, I wanted to flop down
and sleep.
“Okay,” he said in a whisper and led me
to the bed.
I rolled to my side, the position I always
slept in. He curled himself up against me, his package nestled into the small of
my back. He nuzzled my neck with soft, wet kisses. A moan escaped without permission
as my cock grew hard. A hand found it and started a slow, gentle stroking up and
down the shaft. His boner thrust against me to the same rhythm. I rolled to my back
to grasp it and he pushed my hand away.
“No. Just enjoy this. You’ll sleep better,”
he said, even though he stroked himself.
Well, why not? I’d read that lots of
men liked jacking off with other guys and would even lend a hand. I let myself relax
into it. He stroked me, massaged my balls, and fingers slid and pressed along the
very root. I sensed the storm gathering, my hips undulated. My nuts pulled up, signaling
the explosion.
I barely registered his change in position,
but I sure noticed the mouth lower over my cock. His tongue tickled the underside
of the head. I uttered “Oh, fuck.” as the eruption began. And he sucked until it
subsided. He licked me clean. Tired as I was, I wrestled with returning the favor.
He gently pushed my hand from his shaft, whispered, “Go to sleep.” and I drifted
off.
I woke with filtered dawn light through
gauze curtains and morning wood doing its best to hold the full bladder at bay.
At least one foot had to be in open air or sleep escaped me. The sheet covering
my torso tented at my crotch. I pushed it aside, and rushed to the tiny bathroom.
My brain registered the urinal and let the stream loose despite the usual trouble
pissing with a stiff dick.
The subsiding erection pointed the way
back out to the room proper and an empty bed. I dug the sleep grit from my eyes,
and wandered about looking for the shirt that Deven had pulled off me.
The door opened and his body cast a shadow
over me. “What do you need?”
“Coffee and a shower. In that order.”
He held a cup aloft. “Black, I hope.”
“Thanks.” At that moment it didn’t matter,
really. The stronger the better to help make sense of what was happening. He spends
every weekend night with a different woman, but brings me here for sword play and
sucks me off to boot? Okay, so maybe he was one of those mythical bisexual dudes
one heard about. Maybe he was more fluid than I gave him credit for; able to masturbate
together and, maybe, share a blow job.
The coffee had cooled during the time
it took him to walk it from the Lodge, and I gulped it down. Weak-ish. I held the
empty out to him and wanted more.
“Leave it on the table next to the couch.
Come on, walk to the showers. They’re right next to the Lodge, you can grab another
cup.”
“Towels?”
“You’re not very talkative first thing
in the morning, are you?” He chuckled. “Tracy puts a whole stack of them on a shelf.”
I followed him, this time drinking in
every luscious flex of his ass. My cock noticed. He noticed my cock.
The showers were under a tin roof. No
walls, just a roof. Pipes grew out from the ground along the edge of the cement
pad, running up to rain-style heads. Dim bulbs in protective metal fences shone
from the peak. Shoulder to shoulder we stood under the spray. I tipped my head back
to let warm water cascade over me. Almost heaven. A soapy hand wrapped around my
erection and stroked.
Reaching over to reciprocate felt so good.
Stroking a cock that wasn’t mine made for a delightful change of pace from the past
several months. Okay, now it was heaven. Deven put his hands on my shoulders and
pressed. An easy signal to follow, but he still added, “My turn.”
As mush as temptation bit at my brain
to ask if he’d cum last night, I put my mouth to better use. And realized his “normal
cut cock” got hard but not a lot larger, much to my preference. Having some monster,
like the twins sported, rammed down my throat never did appeal to me. Being able
to suck and lap at all four inches or so without straining, without worrying about
a gag reflex? Yeah. I also appreciated the hairless shaft and ball sac. A hetero,
well, sort-of hetero, man who believed in proper hygiene and grooming surprised
me. Maybe he’d watched the original Queer Eye.
He stood on his toes, trying not to go
over the edge when he pulled me off. “Not yet.”
