MAGNUT - AUTO FELLATIO ADVENTURE

[fritz6744]

Magnut,
by
Leonard Challis

My name is Jim Magnut. I’m 32 years old, and I’m a private investigator. I’ve been in this line of work for eight years. I’ve seen all kinds of human garbage in the midst of acts more disgusting than even the sloppiest of pigs could devise. Like most private investigators, the typical sort of job I get is the angry wife or husband who suspects their spouse is cheating on them. So, they give me a call, I follow the spouse for a while to see what they’re doing in their spare time, and ultimately I take evidential photos if possible. I take my profession seriously and always do my best to deliver the goods. I don’t waste time on morals or responding to insults from cops who call me a two-bit hack or a sorter of dirty laundry. I make a good living and it suits me. Once in a while, however, I get a job that makes no damn sense to me at all.
Lily Shepherd came to me one afternoon and sat down on the other side of my desk. She was a lovely woman, about 27 years old, petite, blonde, and carrying a set of hooters that would make any thirsty baby go into a milk frenzy. She had a pair of beautiful doe eyes that were obscured by tears and running mascara that gave her the appearance of a weeping raccoon. While she poured her story all over my desk in a series of stuttering and disjointed sentences, I questioned the validity of her concerns. She believed that her young husband of 24 years old was having a torrid affair with either his secretary or “that bimbo neighbor who shimmies her slutty ass every time she walks by our house”. I’ve heard these sorts of stories on countless occasions, and usually the suspicions are true. But sometimes I get an instinctive feeling that the subject of discontent is not infidelity, but something entirely different. I was getting that feeling with Mrs. Shepherd. She provided a lot of detail about the nature of her marriage, habits and activities, and it seemed to me that she might have been suffocating her husband, demanding too much of his time to the point that he’d lost sight of himself. It was possible that his random disappearances for a few hours at a time were nothing more than brief escapes from the claustrophobic clinging of his wife. But this was merely a hunch. Investigation would have to proceed.
I’d been tracking Jack Shepherd for about three days. During business hours he was at his law firm and seemed to stick to a routine schedule. He went to the same restaurant for lunch each day, accompanied by two other men. He arrived at work at the same time each day, and left at the same time, not so much as one minute in variance. He was clearly a creature of habit and non-spontaneity. At the end of the first and second day, he went straight home after work. But on the third day, he surprised me by taking a right turn instead of a left. I followed him for about eight miles until he pulled his vehicle into the parking lot of a run-down motel on the outskirts of town. I parked across the street and watched him head into cabin 12, the last cabin at the east end of the motel. Interestingly enough, he did not go into the manager’s office to register, pay, get a key, nothing.
I waited for about ten minutes, then hopped out of my vehicle to pay the manager of the Shady Trees motel a visit. I stepped inside to find a short, obese and incredibly repugnant old man standing behind a large countertop. He was brushing flies out of his face while reading a coffee-stained newspaper and scratching his left arm pit which held a stench beyond comprehension. He looked up at me and quietly belched, smacked his lips, and smiled.
“Help ya?”
“The young man in cabin 12.”
The innkeeper frowned at me. “What about him?”
“Is he a regular?”
“Well, you sure as shitola ain’t a regular, so why are we having this conversation, chum?”
I sighed, pulled out my wallet, flashed a badge to make the innkeeper’s eyes bulge, then returned it to my pocket. The badge was plastic, but when displayed quickly, it looked very real and had never failed to get the desired response from those I questioned. “That’s why we’re having this conversation. Now, why don’t you tell me about him.”
“Not much to tell. He’s a good customer, always pays his bill on time, never leaves the place a mess. Wish I had more customers like him.”
“Uh huh. How often does he stay here?”
“Oh he comes and goes. He rents the room monthly, ya see, so it’s always ready for him when he needs it.”
“Did he say why? It’s unusual for a local to keep a motel room reserved 24/7 unless he’s got a mistress.”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I just know that he pays extra and he doesn’t give me no grief. I don’t ask too many questions.”
“Ever see him bring anybody with him? Visitors?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Alright. Thanks for the info, but be smart and don’t mention a word to anyone that you spoke to me.” I slipped the raunchy old fart a twenty and ventured back into the parking lot. I returned to my car to wait, to give Jack Shepherd some time to settle into whatever he was doing, and to see if any visitors arrived. By the time an hour had passed, I was getting restless, so I shoved my tiny digital camera under my arm and made a move. When I arrived at cabin 12, I walked around the corner to the back side of the motel. Sometimes luck just plays out marvelously. Fortunately for me, there was a window at the rear of Shepherd’s room which gave me a clear view of the entire shoebox. I squatted down and kept my eyes leveled with the lower edge of the window, and I watched.
Approximately ten minutes passed until Shepherd came out of the bathroom and meandered toward the center of the room. He appeared to be about 5’10”, skinny as hell, maybe 145 pounds or so, short dark hair, and a smooth and sharpened body indicating that he clearly worked out on a vigorous basis. He was a pretty boy, and it was no wonder his wife had doubts about his loyalty. He looked like someone all the chicks would want. As he neared the bed, he dropped his towel to the floor and sat on the edge, staring at the television while scratching himself. It appeared to me that he was gussying himself up for a date. I soon discovered that the date was not with a big-titted trollop from the red-light district, nor would it be some secret faggy rendezvous with a local john like so many of the dudes I’d investigated before. Jack Shepherd’s date was to be with himself.
As my knees began to get cranky from my squatted position, I was given a performance of an act I had never before witnessed, an act I didn’t know was possible, and furthermore, an act that I simply could not decipher the point of. It’s pretty damn difficult to shock me considering all the things I have seen in the past eight years, but I gotta tell ya, Mr. Jack Shepherd shocked the hell out of me. He was sitting there playing with his cock, beating himself off pretty hard. I averted my eyes frequently considering that it wasn’t exactly my kind of show. But after a few minutes of enduring it, my eyes froze in their movement and locked on the image of Shepherd grabbing hold of his dick and shoving it down his own throat.
For a moment, I actually questioned myself as to whether I’d had two too many drinks on the night prior, or if perhaps it was time to get my eyes examined. But alas, there was no deception. Shepherd was definitely giving himself a blowjob, and judging by the sounds that were loud enough to penetrate through the sealed window, the guy was clearly enjoying himself. I had to keep looking away because it was actually making me a little nauseous. My stomach was churning the corned beef sandwich I’d scarfed down a couple hours earlier, but even so, beyond my control, I kept returning my eyes to Shepherd, absorbing each movement with detail. It was like observing a circus freak show. It was impossible not to watch.
Shepherd was not a gentle or slow young man. He was working himself over pretty good, sucking himself off with intense vacuum suction. His hands were shoved beneath his legs, pulling himself downward, his skull bouncing up and down in his crotch like a goddamn bobble head. While it had never really crossed my mind to admire another guy’s cock, I had to admit to myself that the dude had one helluva huge schlong. It was probably easy to service himself with little effort, but I really couldn’t understand the desire. Why would a man want to do that to himself? Wouldn’t it be easier to have someone else do it? Ya know…like, oh I dunno…your friggin’ wife? But as I continued watching him and my corned beef kept swishing around in my belly, it appeared to me that he was like a damn animal who can’t stop licking himself because it’s there and he can reach.
I jolted my attention out of the self imposed hypnosis of watching Shepherd facefuck himself, whipped out my camera and started to take a few shots. This was, after all, what I was being paid to do. Mrs. Shepherd wanted evidence of her husband’s extracurricular activities, and that was what I would provide to her. I started chuckling to myself as I envisioned meeting with her and showing her photos of her husband polishing his own knob. It would definitely be a first in my line of work.
As I snapped several photos capturing Shepherd in the act, I was suddenly a bit disturbed as I realized that my groin was stirring and I had blue steel in my pants. I was immediately troubled by the fact that I had a hard-on, and I was certain that I was going to projectile vomit all over the window from the uneasiness my whole body was experiencing. But I didn’t. I took more pictures, I observed, I studied, and it embarrasses me to say this…but I wanted to see how it would end. I didn’t have to wait long.
Jack Shepherd had been gobbling himself for several minutes until I noticed his entire body beginning to writhe around on the bed, twitching and shuddering. He withdrew his massive wet schlong from his mouth and pounded it, angrily, monstrously, like he was trying to beat himself off to death. He opened his mouth wide into an expression of furious anticipation, his teeth bared, his tongue waggling around in desperate search for something. And then it happened. His cock unloaded blasts of white creamy fireworks and splattered his face and mouth with his own cum. My stomach grew more uneasy and I actually had to grip the wall to keep myself grounded. I found the whole event to be staggering. I didn’t know how to feel, how to react, and I certainly didn’t know what to think about the raging boner in my pants.
Shepherd seemed to cum forever, soaking himself and the bed with gallons of thick and creamy sauce that ran off his chin. He was lapping it up like a puppy, moaning and squealing, tonguing the head of his dick, licking the cream from his fingers. At one point he even grabbed one of his nipples, leaned down and sucked a blob of cum from it. The guy had to have been a gymnast or a yoga expert or something. His flexibility was something comic book heroes were made of. I got some good shots of it for his wife’s family album. It was unlikely that she was going to appreciate it, but it seemed that she would be happy to know that her husband wasn’t banging another broad. He appeared to be in love with himself. With that thought, I burst into laughter, idiotically forgetting where I even was. I’m damn sharp at my job, but this particular gig had blown my mind and I was beginning to act unlike myself. Unfortunately, young Mr. Shepherd heard my explosion of hardy-hars and yuk-yuks and his attention shifted, rocketing through the room and right through the window to my eyes and the top of my head which he could see. He jumped to his feet, reaching for something to cover his nudity, but, of course, finding nothing. He attempted to shield his cum-soaked body, but I had already bolted from the window and was booking it to my vehicle.
As I fired up the engine and began maneuvering my car out of the lot, I didn’t look back. It was bad enough to be nailed spying on someone, which had only happened to me once previously, but to be caught watching someone doing what Shepherd had been doing…well it added a helluva lot more shame and chagrin to the event. I sped all the way home, flew out of the car, rushed into my den and closed the door behind me. I felt completely ridiculous. I should not have been behaving this erratically. I was acting like an amateur. But before long, my mind had shifted its focus from embarrassment at being nailed while performing a routine task of my profession. What I couldn’t stop thinking about was the digital camera in my pocket and the two dozen photos I had of Jack Shepherd sucking himself off.
Not more than five minutes later, I was scanning through the photos on my computer, slowly and carefully, absorbing the details of each image. What the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t a damn fag! Why was I obsessed with some guy giving himself head? Was it simply because it was so bizarre and unseen? Was I fascinated with something that seemed impossible? Was I envious of his skill, jealous that he could do something like that so easily? But why would I be jealous? I certainly didn’t want to suck my own dick! The thought of it made me dizzy and ill, the same feeling I get when I see a dead dog on the side of the road with its brains gushing out of its crushed skull. And while all these distressing thoughts were flying and crashing through my head, still…I had a hard-on that wouldn’t die, a hard-on that I realized had not deflated since it rose earlier at the motel. I was hooked, and it was terrifying the shit out of me, especially as I looked at those damn photos. I could feel saliva working itself up in my mouth, could feel my cock bouncing around in my drawers, could feel my heart racing and sweat forming on my face. At that moment, I felt like a fucking freak who needed to be seriously evaluated for mental issues. I didn’t know what to do. Was I going to sit here and stare at this guy blowing himself all night until my dick exploded, or was I going to throw up all over my computer? The answer arrived, but it didn’t come from me. It came from an unexpected knock upon my front door.
I quickly grabbed a raincoat from a nearby rack and draped it over myself to hide my friggin’ dick that simply would not go down. My mind and soul were too disturbed to contemplate anything other than getting rid of who was at my door. When I opened it seconds later, I felt like the world’s biggest fool on many levels. For the first time in my life, I felt like one of the people whom I was paid to spy upon. I felt like a chump. Why? Because standing on my porch was someone I did not expect to see ever again.
“Listen,” said Jack Shepherd as he nervously paced on my porch, puffing on a cigarette and darting his eyes from left to right. “You can’t…you just can’t tell my wife about this.”
To Be Continued . . .

“Magnut, P.I.”
Part II
by
Leonard Challis
My name is Jim Magnut. I’m 32 years old, and I’m a private investigator. Lily Shepherd had hired me to follow her 24-year old husband, lawyer Jack Shepherd. His wife believed he was fooling around. I came to discover that Mr. Shepherd was, in fact, not having an affair in the traditional sense. He was cheating, alright, but it was an altogether different game. After taking evidential snapshots of Shepherd in his hotel room, I raced home to check them out only to be interrupted by a knock on my front door. When I opened it, there was Shepherd, nervously pacing and puffing on a cigarette, carrying a heavy and guilty weight on his shoulders that he was determined to alleviate.
“You can’t tell my wife,” he pleaded, staring at me with deeply frightened and teary blue eyes. “She won’t understand. Fuck, nobody would understand. They’d think I’m a freak.”
“Well, pally, I’d have to agree with ‘em,” I said with mild force. “But what I’m more interested in at the moment is how the fuck you tracked me down here.”
“Shit,” said Shepherd with a chuckle. “I was on to you from day one. I saw you lurking around my office building and I knew exactly what you were up to. My wife is a very untrusting woman. I was actually surprised she didn’t hire you a lot sooner. And you’re not as swift at getting away from the scene as you probably think you are. You were easy to follow.”
“Hmmmph,” I muttered. “Listen, I was just doing my job and you’re going to have to—”
“Please,” Shepherd cried. “Can we talk about this? I can’t allow this to get to my wife. Absolutely goddamn not.”
I eyeballed the lad for a moment, searching for his motivation, and I saw only fear and guilt in his eyes. He was absolutely terrified of being exposed, which was a common affliction amongst those I spied upon. Normally, I didn’t give a fuck about their concerns because they were generally lying cheating bastards who deserved every bit of punishment that their wives were going to serve up to ‘em on a shiny platter with garnish. But with Shepherd…it was different. There were several possibilities as to why I was having an unorthodox reaction to him. Coulda been because I was getting rusty on the job, but considering that I wasn’t even 35 years old yet, that didn’t seem likely. The logical conclusion, though I was trying to hide it from myself, was that I was strangely “attracted” to Shepherd. I use that word in a way that I can’t quite define. It’s not like I wanted to fuck him. I’m not a butt pirate and the thought of digging for brown gold up someone’s old dirt road just doesn’t sound like a picnic to me. But I was intrigued by him. It was undoubtedly due to his selfsucking skill. It wasn’t just that I admired his ability and his schlong that would make any man envious. It was more than that. I wanted to be him. He was young, tall and skinny, boyish…he was what everyone wanted. Yet, he didn’t need them. All he needed was himself, and that was the key to my confusion.
“Alright, come in, but don’t assume you’re going to change anything about your future.” Shepherd nodded and stepped inside. I closed the door and ushered him into my dimly lit living room. He lit another cigarette and plopped onto my sofa while I took a chair just a few feet across from him. “Mr. Shepherd, I can appreciate your concerns, but you have to realize that I made an agreement with your missus and I’m not one who breaks agreements, especially after I’ve been paid.”
“I understand,” Shepherd said with a nod. “But I haven’t really done anything wrong. I mean, I’m not cheating on my wife. I just need time to myself.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I said with a chuckle. This seemed to offend Shepherd. “As you said, you’re not cheating on her, so I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Are you kidding me? She’ll flip out. She’ll say I’m a disgusting pervert. You’ve got to understand that my wife is very prim and proper. She wouldn’t understand at all. Hell, nobody does.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’ve got a skill that most men would probably kill for. I’d sure as shit consider a bit of killin’ if I could satisfy myself the way you can.”
“Really?” said Shepherd with genuine surprise.
“Hell yeah,” I said as I leaned back in the chair and relaxed a little more, shocking myself by the statement of my own words. It sounded like somebody else. “Truthfully, I hadn’t ever thought of it before. But when I saw you doing it in the motel room…well, it was fucking mesmerizing. I couldn’t stop watching. Makes me sick and excited at the same time. What the hell does that mean?”
“Ha!” Shepherd smiled and nodded as he, too, began to relax just a little. “I know what you mean. When I first started doing it a few years ago, I always felt terrible, like I was a sick and twisted little fuck, a scummy little dog who can’t keep his face out of his own crotch. And man oh man, the first several times I came on my face or in my mouth, I was actually disgusted with myself. But then, after a little time passed, I couldn’t wait to get back to that motel room and do it again. I guess it’s become a sort of addiction, an addiction that I really don’t know how to stop.”
“Do you want to stop?” I asked curiously.
“Hmmm,” said Shepherd as he studied the ceiling and contemplated the question. “I don’t think I do, really. That’s the problem. I constantly flip-flop my feelings on the matter. At one minute, it’s the most important and powerful thing in my life, like I can’t be complete unless I suck myself off at least once a day. At other times, I try to purge myself of the desire so I can be “normal” and not have to carry a secret around. You’re the first person I’ve ever spoken to about it. It actually makes me feel a little bit better, like maybe someone else understands.”
During this conversation, I found myself hanging on Shepherd’s every damn word. Though I was feeling ashamed, I couldn’t help myself, nor could I help the blue steel that was returning to my pants, the stiffy that kept coming and going since I had first watched Shepherd do the self tonsil-tickling
routine in his motel room ninety minutes prior. I wondered if he had a hard-on, too, and I ultimately wondered what the hell it all meant. Was I becoming a world class homo? With each second that passed in Shepherd’s company, I began to care less and less about what I was or what he was. All I could think about was his cock between his lips and all the intense sights and sounds that went with it. I wanted him to do it again, right now, right in front of me, up close. Fuck the job and fuck Mrs. Shepherd. My priorities had changed.
“How did you learn you could do it? Seems like it would be tough.”
“It was totally an accident,” said Shepherd with fond reflection. “I was sitting on the toilet one day jacking off because, as usual, the wife hadn’t been putting out for a while. While I was beating off, I spotted something odd on my knee, a red spot that turned out to be nothing. So I leaned down to check it out, and while I was looking at it, my dick kind of slapped me in the face. It shocked the hell out of me. And then, I became sort of…hypnotized. It was the smell of my dick, this amazing smell of cock and sweat and me. It made me feel drunk. It was right there in my face, so easy to reach. I just sort of went crazy. I kissed the head a little bit, then I tongued it, and before I knew it, curiosity won and I dove down on it. I could take it all in without any discomfort. I guess I was just born to do it.”
Listening to Shepherd’s description of smelling his own dick, kissing it, licking it, all with the innocence of a child who doesn’t know any better…it was driving me mental. “That’s amazing,” I whispered, feeling like I was going to pass out.
“Yeah,” said Shepherd as he extinguished his cigarette and moved his left hand into his crotch. There was silence for a while as we sat there and stared at each other. I could see the growing boner in his pants as he rubbed it, and neither of us seemed to be disturbed by it. “So you took pictures of it?”
“Yup. That’s my job.”
“Uh huh. How did they come out?”
“Ummm…good,” I said with dizziness. “Sharp resolution. Crystal clear.”
“Cool,” said Shepherd with a nod as he unzipped his fly and reached into his pants. My heart jumped
a few beats and I’m certain my dick stiffened to the tenth power. “Ya know,” said Shepherd coyly. “I’ve never done it in front of anybody before. But the idea turns me on, somebody watching me and getting just as turned on by it. Weird, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Weird.”
The conversation ceased at that point. It seemed we were both on the same plane, casting aside convention and just living in the moment. Shepherd smiled at me, then whipped it out as he pulled up his shirt. His mountain of a cock slapped down against his belly and rested there, winking at me. As Shepherd began slowly massaging his beef from top to bottom, I so badly wanted to pull mine out, but I didn’t. I just watched…and lived. Shepherd seemed to revert in age, becoming an excitable kid as he quickly kicked his shoes off, yanked down his pants, then leaned back on the sofa, his legs spread, the flag of his pole waving in the air and demanding a salute. He kept staring into my eyes while he played with himself, as if we were sharing some sort of mind link because both of us were too embarrassed or confused to know what to say. But alas, I couldn’t quite keep my mouth shut.
“Suck it,” I said quietly with a quake in my voice.
“You want me to suck it?” Shepherd said in a deep and, dare I fucking say, sexy voice. Oh god. I was sooooooo losing it.
“Yeah,” I said as my stomach took flight into butterfly-land.
“You want me to suck on my own hard cock, huh?”
“You know I do.”
“Yes. I know you do. You’ve thought about nothing else since you saw me in the motel room, right?”
I gulped hard. God, my mouth was dry. “Right,” I said.
“I understand. When I get it in my head that I need to suck myself off, I can’t think about anything else either. It makes me feel high. You wanna feel high?”
“I think I’m already there, pal.”
“Oh no,” said Shepherd with a wink. “You’re not there yet.” With that, he took hold of his cock at the base, leaned down with ease and wrapped his lips around it, just the head. While he sucked and
licked and tickled his massive cock head, I thought I might collapse on the floor in front of him. But I realized that what I really wanted to do was get down on my knees and lick his balls while he sucked himself. This was a disturbing thought for me. It didn’t seem to come from myself.
“You like watching me?” said Shepherd as he looked at me with smeared saliva all over his chin and his sharp cheekbones. I nodded quietly as my armpits became ponds of sweat. Shepherd waggled his tongue at me, then dove down on his meat again, this time all the way. The sounds of suction were deafening, but not as deafening as Shepherd’s groans of pleasure. He loved what he was doing, and God I loved watching him as his lips slid up and down his pole and wads of spit dribbled out from his cheeks and rolled down his balls. Much to my own surprise, I leaned forward and extended my hand the distance of three feet that was between us…and I scooped up some of his spit that was collecting near his ass. I took a glob of it and tasted it. It tasted salty, slightly bitter, and the smell of it…the aroma of wet spit-covered dick…whoah.
“How’s it taste?” Shepherd said from within a mouthful of cock. I didn’t answer him. I was too deep into my cock-trance, wondering when he was going to cum, wondering whether it would shoot into the air or whether he would keep his lips vacuum sealed and swallow it all. I wanted to see that thick vein in his cock bust out of the flesh and shoot some of that white boy putty at the moon. Good God. I was thinking things that didn’t sound like me at all…or was I simply becoming who I had always been and not known? Amongst this trance, reason settled in just for a moment and told me that I was definitely going to need a shrink in the near future, but the thought was quickly erased when I saw Shepherd’s balls tighten and he let out one helluva animal mating call that signified a volcanic eruption on the rise.
“Oh shit,” said Shepherd as he withdrew his cock from his mouth and pounded it hard. “I’m gonna fucking cum soon.” I swooned. Then, Shepherd asked a weird question. “What’s your name?”
“Err…Jim.”
“Yeah,” said Shepherd with an expression like that of someone who had just taken fourteen hits of acid with a mescaline chaser. “Yeah, I’m gonna cum, Jim. I’m gonna suck myself off all the way.” I nearly blew in my pants when he said my name and “gonna suck myself off” in the same sentence. Again I say…whoah. Shepherd plunged his lips over his cock and seemed to be going for a speed record. His head was bobbing incredibly fast, and I kept wondering how it must have felt, feeling your own cockhead between your lips, feeling it get bigger and tighter, feeling the cum rising up, then unleashing, filling your mouth with fluid and what commercials advertised as that “burst of flavor”.
“Yeah, Jim!” Shepherd screamed as he put his hands under his legs and pulled himself down further. “I’m gonna eat my own cum, Jim!” He was now deep throating himself, and I knew the mother lode was about to arrive. He grunted each time his chin hit his balls. His legs were shaking. His toes were curling. It was when he cried a muffled scream from within his mouth that sounded like a dog being beaten that I knew he was cumming in his own mouth. I could practically feel the cum hitting the back of my own throat just like it was hitting his, could taste the thick salty boy jizz coating my tongue and tonsils. His speed did not falter as he sucked himself off, blobs of cum rolling out and collecting with the puddles of spit near his balls. Again I scooped up some of his manhood and tasted it. I had never tasted cum but had always heard that it was nasty. Boy, were they dead wrong.
“UHHHHH!” Shepherd screamed as he pulled his cock out of his mouth and beat off, the waves of orgasm seemingly not subsiding at all. “Oh fuck, Jim!” he bellowed. “I’m gonna cum again, man!” I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. Even with what appeared to be a gallon of gum dribbling out of his mouth and running down his legs, he was going to cum some more, and this time I was going to see it fly. And it did. He fired off at least ten ropes of thick cum that flew in all directions, splattering a lamp, the coffee table, the floor, the cover of TV Guide with Gina Gershon’s now jizz-covered face. It was an amazing blast off that would have made NASA proud. And then whatever was possessing me took full control, and I couldn’t stop myself.
While Shepherd continued cumming for what seemed an eternity, I reached out my hand and took hold of his shooting rod. He was as surprised as I was, but he didn’t stop me. I jerked him off the rest of the way, feeling the cum pumping all over my hand like dribbling candle wax. He leaned over and caught every flying drop that he could with his tongue. Even after the jizz had stopped flying, I kept beating him off, and he didn’t get any softer. If my hand hadn’t started to get sore, he probably would have let me jack him off for days, and I don’t think I would have minded.
When the five-minute orgasm had reduced Shepherd to a quivering blob of sticky flesh on my sofa, he expelled a long and deep breath and giggled. I was unable to let go of his cock. I just kept stroking it, slow, tender, tight. He seemed to enjoy letting me do it. He was getting off on the attention, the adoration I couldn’t help but give him.
“Wow,” said Shepherd with a sigh. “That was incredible. I’ve never came twice before. I guess I owe ya.”
“Ha,” I said, attempting to lean back into my chair but still unable to let go of his King Kong Dong. “No, I think I owe you, pal. Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick. I don’t even know what to say other than…whoah…and whoah.”
“Yeah, I know what ya mean.” We drifted into silence again, and then that possession reared its sticky head and I found my face drifting toward his, unable to stop, and there I was, gently licking the cum off his face like a puppy. I licked it from his cheeks, his eyes, his ears, his neck, and with each drop I lapped up, he moaned with pleasure and satisfaction. Then I found his lips and we shared a glob of his boy jizz, our tongues mixing it together into a big cumball that we both happily swallowed down. I had never experienced anything hotter in my life. I suddenly became horrified…not by the complete rotation of my character, not by behaving in ways I didn’t know were in me…but I was horrified that it was all over, that this had likely been some fleeting thing that I would later become obsessed over until I couldn’t think of anything else. My future was looking very sketchy.
“Do you, uh…well…” Shepherd desperately tried to find words to express whatever he was thinking. I’m not sure if we were reading each other’s minds or not, but it seemed like we were. I think…I think we just had fallen in love…some sort of totally unusual man-on-man auto fellatio frenzy love. It didn’t feel like mere physical gratification. There was an emotional aspect to it more intense than anything I had achieved with a woman. It was pure, sensual, solid. It meant something. This was another planet, uncharted, undeveloped, vast. I looked into Shepherd’s eyes and searched for meaning, for understanding, for something that would ground me before I flipped out from confused emotions.
“Jim,” said Shepherd with supreme apprehension and fear. “I…I’m not sure what this all means…but I…can I…stay here with you tonight?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m uh…err…yeah…yeah, I guess so.”
Shepherd sighed. “Good, because I don’t want to leave.”
“Why not? You got your rocks off.”
“No,” said Shepherd. “I’ve just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the light at the end of the tunnel, the cherry on the cake. This is it…and you’re it.”
“Oh God,” I whispered. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Mr. Magnut,” said Shepherd as he softly touched my face. “You haven’t lost your mind. You’ve just found it.”
History had taken an unexpected turn, and though later I would be plagued with fear and doubt, ultimately there was something greater that won the war. Mrs. Shepherd would soon receive a report that her husband was cheating on her with a variety of slutty local women, and this would prompt a quick and clean divorce from which Jack Shepherd would emerge a newly vindicated man. And me, I was to emerge anew as well, with Jack’s hand in mine as we headed down a long road together into unexplored lands. Amazingly enough, there were no clouds overhead, no darkness or wind in the air. There was only brightness and an air that carried a sensual fragrance that would never leave my senses, the same intoxicating smell that overpowered Jack on the day he just happened to discover his own magical gift. Do you smell it? Take a whiff.

[SFsucker]

Hey there... got any more of these hot tales to share? This one's kept me hard and going for days now... and I want more!!!

[Happy Boy]

not sure how i missed this story before (i know i've checked for new stories a couple times since christmas), but it was really good! just the sort of thing i have been hoping to see other folks post...

[SFsucker]

Hey Fritz? Got any more of these really hot stories? Hope you do!!

[Risaca]

Sick.

[steveo-160]

woww it was really really good. please write another one please do!