From The Arrangement 4:
Seeing approval on their faces, I swallow. It takes two attempts to
move all his sperm into my stomach. My tongue quests outward and upwards,
gathering as much of the sperm gracing my face as it can. It is aided by
the index finger of my right hand which scrapes the remainder toward my
mouth. Again I and finish up by the final remnants off my
finger. Despite my best efforts I know my face is shiny with smeared come
as is only proper for a cocksucker. This come hasn't been wasted, it is a
visual representation of my status. It cries out "Look at me. I am a
cocksucker. I can be your cocksucker. Let me pleasure you."
Quietly with my head semi-bowed but my eyes on his face I thank my
friend for sharing his essence with me. Having observed the proper
dicklicker etiquette I turn to Mr. Grambs. His ebony tower is reaching
toward the sky as he says "OK Webster let's see what tricks you can do with
a man's rod."
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The Arrangement 5, a continuation of a true story:
I hurt. There's no other way to put it. My jaw hurts from the effort
of taking in two cocks at once. My thighs from squatting in front of
my friend. My lips where they were mashed against my teeth as my
friend's dick sawed in and out of my mouth and I have carpet burns on my
knees from sliding on the rug. But these are good hurts, aches which come
from fulfilling my function of drinking sperm. What is it they say, "No
pain, no gain?"
As always happens once I've been fed a mouthful of cock, my worries have
gone away. That's not to say they won't come back, they will. But a dick
scraping across my tongue is a better tranquilizer than any drug out there.
All I worry about now is nursing the from down deep in those balls to
down deep in my stomach.
Evan and I had an arrangement. I'd suck his cock and he wouldn't tell
anyone. And he didn't. But yesterday, Mr. Grambs had caught me with my
friend's dick in my mouth. Now I have the same arrangement with Mr.
Grambs. I'll suck his cock and he won't tell anyone.
Mr. Grambs has asked what tricks I can do with a man's rod. I'm ready
to show him one my friend and I came up with about a month ago.
I ask Mr. Grambs to close his eyes. He does, a small smile playing
across his face. Reaching into the front pocket of my crumpled pants, I
pull out a tiny brown bottle. After unscrewing the cap, I pour a small
amount into my right hand (I'm left-handed). Careful not to spill any of
the liquid not puddled in my palm, I replace the cap and set the bottle on
the floor.
Above me Mr. Grambs nostrils open a little wider as the scent from the
liquid reaches his nose, Acting with some haste I cup his cock in my palm,
smearing the liquid the length of his rod. Then I slather the remainder of
the thin fluid over his wrinkled ball sack, blowing on his nuts as I do.
Now it's Mr. Grambs turn to jump. "Damn Webster, what the hell are you
doing? That burns like a son of a bitch." Evan, who knows what is going
on, just laughs and tells Mr. Grambs to wait a minute; that it will feel
much better in just a little while. Content to let my friend sooth Mr.
Grambs' verbal complaints, I begin to lingually appease his stinging balls.
As my tongue strokes back and forth on his scrotum, I continue to blow
gently against his testicles until the initial blaze has ebbed to a gentler
warmth. By now the unmistakable aroma of vanilla extract has perfumed his
crotch and wafted upwards to tickle Mr. Grambs olfactory sense.
My friend and I had discovered the effects of vanilla extract by
accident. It was back in the days after he stopped using rubbers but
before I was willing to swallow. I had been putting the vanilla on his
dick to mask the taste of his cum. (We couldn't always get into the liquor
cabinet to steal rum.) Some of it ran down to his balls and he started
bellowing like a poorly played trombone.
After my breath had calmed the worst of the pain, his dick grew even
harder. It felt good, warm and tingly my friend told me. His balls were
more sensitive and my tongue felt even better than it usually did. He said
he could almost feel his nuts filling up with extra sperm. When he came,
it did seem like there was more than usual, I filled up two Kleenexes
spitting it out. (We experimented with some other extracts; peppermint
tasted good but the burn went on too long; lemon was too sour and so we
stayed with vanilla.)
Now Mr. Grambs was getting the vanilla treatment and, from the moans he
was making as I took the head of his dick into my mouth, he was enjoying
this particular trick. I moved my head as close to his stomach as I could
get, the sweet taste of vanilla mingling with the blander gooiness of his
pre-cum. As I thought, his dick was just too hard to get it to bend down
my throat as I did in the basement. I concentrated on moving up and down
as quickly as I could, my hands massaging what was left of the extract
deeper into his balls.
"Jezzus Web, that's nice. Keep going kid, I'm gonna give you a real
mouthful today." Looking out of the corner of my left eye, I can see Evan
is hard again, his fist moving up and down on his rod as he watches me
service Mr. Grambs. Letting go of the black man's balls, I reach both
hands forward to cup his ass cheeks and pull him towards me until he was
barely perched on the edge of the couch. It was time for alternate plan B.
I uncurled my lips from around my teeth and began allowing the edges of
my incisors to scrape against his wood, increasing the pressure with every
other stroke. While my right hand returns to caressing his balls, my left
hand bypasses his hanging sack to squeeze his buttocks. In rhythm with my
mouth's alternating decent and ascent of his cock, my left middle finger
begins to insinuate itself into the crack of his ass, rubbing back and
forth like the pendulum bar of a metronome.
My friend is now standing close to me, his cock at face level, his hand
keeping rough time to my slurping beat. Mr. Grambs breathing deepens and
his body starts to stiffen up. It's time to make my move.
Halfway through my next downstroke I curl my finger upward and, without
any warning, thrust it past Mr. Grambs anal rosebud and into his ass.
This maneuver was a triumph and a disaster.
Evan had tried to cornhole me several times during our sex play. Each
time I stopped him because it too much. But I found I liked the feel
of something small in my ass as I masturbated, the nozzle of an enema kit
was a particular favorite. I thought Mr. Grambs might like it as well.
With a roar Mr. Grambs sprang forward from the couch, driving his dick
deep into my unprepared throat in the process. His sphincter tightened
around my finger, my struggles to remove it simply changing its position
and depth. Grabbing a hold of my shoulders with his hands Mr. Grambs
began to come, and come, and come. At the same time I felt sperm splashing
against the side of my face as my masturbating friend shot his wad all over
me.
Even as Mr. Grambs tries to back his dick out of my mouth, I begin to
choke. In a series of dual pops, first his dick and then my finger exit
their fleshy tunnels. But it is too late. With sperm beginning to stream
out of my nose, I cover my mouth with my hand and run to the bathroom where
I am sick to my stomach, laughter from the other room coming as a
counterpunctual to my noisy distress.
Still kneeling in front of the toilet, I manage to kick the bathroom
door shut, offering some privacy as the tears mingle with the streaks of
come decorating my face. After a few minutes, I stand and flush the
toilet. The sound of laughter in the living room has been replaced by the
echo of foot steps down the wooden hall.
"Hey Webster, you OK in there son," asks Mr. Grambs, his usually gruff
voice softened with a note of concern. I mumble something noncommittal.
"Why don't you clean yourself off, get dressed and come on back out. Your
clothes are outside the door. Playtime's over for now, we need to talk."
I wash my face and fill a paper cup with Listerine from a heavy round
glass bottle. As I gargle the mouthwash tastes as sour as I feel. I wish
I could spit out the humiliation with the mouthwash, watch my embarrassment
go down the drain. I dress slowly wishing I could just vanish, that I
could make myself invisible and leave without Mr. Grambs or my friend
seeing me. Yeah and if wishes were horses we'd all ride to work.
My face burning, I go back to the living room. It's stubbornness, not
pride, that keeps me from averting my eyes to the floor. Both my conquests
have dressed. My friend is a chair leaving a space next to Mr. Grambs on
the and yellow couch. His meaty black hand pats a cushion next to him,
inviting me to sit down.
"Webster, I want to apologize to you. I didn't have no account to laugh
at you like that and neither did Evan. Sometimes when people are all
worked up and excited things seem funny but they ain't. I'm sorry.
"There ain't nothin wrong with what you did, cept you surprised me. You
surprised me a lot. That vanilla thing threw me one curve ball, I sure
enough wasn't expecting you to stick that finger up my butt, that's why I
jumped up the way I did. I have to admit it felt good though, that's why I
shot as big a load as I did." He paused for a second and smiled. "Well,
that and the fact I ain't come since you blew me in the basement. I was
saving up a big one for you." I smile a little too, starting to feel
better.
"Web, Evan tells me you're going be back to visit his grandmother again
next month. My will be back but maybe the three of us can go to the
movies or something. Would you like that."
"Yes sir Mr. Grambs, I would."
"Good, it's settled then. I'm looking forward to it. You all best be
going now. I'll see you in a couple of weeks."
I was just a step or two down the hall when Mr. Grambs got my attention
again.
"Hey Web."
I turned to see him wink as he said "I'm gonna hafta teach my girlfriend
your trick with the finger."
If you've liked this fifth installment of a true please let me
know at webdazell@yahoo.com
Note to all readers. The actual events portrayed in these took
place in the mid-sixties. Most of the practices outlined here are now too
dangerous to indulge in in this the era of AIDS. Please practice safe sex
only.
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