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Escalation (mm oral 1st uateen)

angammus · 648

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Offline angammus

  • Not Yet A Pervert
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on: January 27, 2021, 03:50:03 PM
Escalation (mm oral 1st uateen)

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This is a work of fiction. The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under 18 in real life.
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Feedback welcome. Send to sbincfaninal [at] protonmail [dot] c o m.
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   Tenth grade was a weird year. The 9th grade jitters of new friends and fitting in were things of the past. But the next three years lay before us like a desert. Seniors had checked out, using what little energy or care they had left to gently haze the incoming freshmen in mainly harmless way our tiny Catholic school had adopted over the years. Juniors seemed to rule the roost, in control of everything (so they thought). The freshmen were just bewildered. We sophomores tended to fold in on ourselves, then, solidifying the circles of friends we had formed the past year. Our school was too small to have that classic, sharp pattern of jock versus nerds versus goths versus.... Hell, even *I* played two sports (tennis and basketball). Still, the pot-smokers did manage to stand out from us nerds, even if they did occasionally join us for a roll of the D20 at lunch. (We made up our own, very primitive RPing game—a D&D knockoff, but we weren't too particular. I was writer, being the creatively-inclined one of our group.)
   As part of our sophomore indwelling, we began to form romantic connections. I got my first (and only, as it turned out) girlfriend, Katie—-we lasted until the first day of our freshmen year in college. Bryan, the football player-cum-nerd-cum-gamer, longed for a girl who wouldn't give him the time of day because she came from a holyrolling Protestant clan while he came from a devout Catholic family (like: splash the portable holy water, dear, we're turning left devout). Cheyenne (whose parents were, surprisingly, not hippies at all) had an off-premises boyfriend (he went to an equally tiny, but Lutheran school down the road). Craig bounced around crazily, his romantic interludes taking him several hours north to a tiny rural town where he had found someone crazy enough to date him (his parents, divorced, were both rich). That was my core social group—-we were the creatively nerdy ones, the obsessive ones who kept detailed records of the X-Files out of sheer fandom (Katie) and who wrote bad poetry and liked to brood (me). None of us were hideous (although Bryan had a nasty case of acne), none hot. I was 5'7", fit enough since I played sports but not hardcore athletic. It always galled me that my favorite picture with Katie included a very slight pudge as her arm, wrapped around my midsection, tugged at my t-shirt too tightly. It was the way I was built, broad-shouldered and solid. People said Craig and I looked alike, and we did, although I had fairer brown hair and green eyes to his dark brown hair and brown eyes. Same build, though. Bryan was vanishingly thin, yet still managed to play football. Katie's build corresponded to mine—-she wasn't fat by any means but just solid, not waif-thin, with dirty blonde hair that I adored and an always-ready laugh.
   After about a month of first relationship anxiety, Katie and I settled into ourselves. She lived 45 minutes outside of the main town, where our school was and where I lived, so our time together had to be a little bit schedule-managed that 10th grade year. Much time was spent out under the brilliant Southern stars, moonily gazing up in romantic wonder. The anxiety, by the way, was mainly mine, it turned out. She had asked me out (I was the quiet one, remember). Yet she stubbornly refused to kiss me until I kissed her first (once we arrived at that place a few weeks into "dating"). And I couldn't bring myself to kiss her. It was very weird. I desperately wanted to. She knew it. I knew it. We were way into each other. So much so, actually, that I had already spent an hour with my hand between her legs (on the outside of her jeans) one night, making her feel good—all before I kissed her. I did eventually. That broke the spell. and we became experts in our own fashion. Our further sexual exploration was still awkward, of course, halting and often desperate, too, although we never went all the way. The closest we came to that was the summer between our junion and senior years, when heavy petting led to application of mouths to happy parts. She insisted on us both being naked, but she was so freaked out that I might leak precum on her that she wouldn't let my cock anywhere near anything other than her mouth. Years later I realized she wwanted to try 69ing. At the time I fantasized it was the coming doom of our virginities.
   Aside from Katie, though, I spent more time with Craig outside of school, just because Bryan's family often had him scheduled for afterschool religious activities. I was the stablest of the three guys, and I guess even then I considered it part of my responsibility to tether Craig to something solid just by being there. Although we looked alike, our personalities were hugely different. He zigged and zagged and bounced off the walls. I liked to daydream and was quiet. When we sat around playing computer games at one of our houses, he chattered constantly with running commentary, shit-talking, and boasting, while I soldiered on. He was always better at computer games than me.
   Craig spent most the day over at my house during the weeks of Christmas break we got. My parents both worked, so we had the place to ourselves, as hideously boring as that could get. There's only so many times you could play Knights of the Realm or whatever cheesy mid-90s fantasy game was in vogue for us. That was when Craig's shit-talking escalated. Those were the days when playing computer games with your friends meant actually sitting side by side in front of the same computer and trying to focus on your half of the screen. So there we were. He had been dropped off by his banker father on the way to work early that morning, so I had only rolled out of bed, wearing loose shorts and a t-shirt and frazzled hair. He had appeared in jeans and a polo shirt, belt buckled and all. He was more preppy than I was, anyway. After an hour or so of playing the Knights game, and kicking my ass in yet another head-to-head battle, Craig tossed his joystick on the desk in front of him triumphantly. He then slowly looked over at me with his stupid shit-eating grin, pushed back his chair a foot or so from the desk and planted both feet firmly on the ground, his legs spread exaggeratedly wide. "You know, you really are my bitch at this point. Does Katie know? You want me to break it to her?" I rolled my eyes at his antics, as I usually did, and deflected his shit-talking, saying, "I'm Katie's bitch, she knows that."
   Now, I should say, none of us ever talked about sex, cocks, pussies, or anything like that, not to each other. Katie and I did, of course. But we guys didn't talk about that stuff with each other. We didn't have casual circle jerks and bj sessions to fill out the day. The way Craig had spread his legs and looked at me was the closest he or I had ever come to acknowledging that either one of us had a cock. It wasn't reticence or shyness or shame. It was just not a subject that boys talked about. Not us, anyway. That's what made what he did next so startling to me. He turned the chair so he was half-facing me but planted his legs widely again. "So, since you're my bitch too, now, do I have to get her permission to get you to suck my cock or is it like a joint-custody agreement? Her bitch after break, mine during."
   I snorted at his comeback and stood up, although as I said, I was startled at what he said. He'd never said anything like that to me before nor I to him. But it wasn't completely out of place, either, given our bantering relationship. So I just rolled my eyes again. "Funny, aren't you?" I then waved for him to follow me into the living room where we could watch TV or get something from the kitchen. That was all that was said that morning, but it was a new boundary he tested (he was a boundary tester). I hadn't shrieked at him that he was a faggot, and I hadn't submitted myself to be his cockslave, and I didn't get weirded out about it except to wonder about what he was doing. Truth to tell, about a quarter of the usenet porn I sneakily downloaded onto floppies involved only guys. I didn't have any strong desire for guys sexually, and I certainly didn't swoon over them romantically. But cocks were fascinating to look at, and they made me hard sometimes. I supposed I was bisexual, although that was also something that would never, ever have escaped my lips, not even to Katie. But I wasn't on the prowl. I had a girlfriend, and we satisfied each other with our hands and mouths and it was enough.
   All the same, Craig being who he was, I also expected that his boasting would now include more of a sexualized edge than before. I was prepared just to roll with the punches and dish out as good as he gave, especially once I realized this was the new frontier of our bantering. I realized that the next day, when he showed up around 11 am wearing basketball shorts and a t-shirt and a shit-eating grin. "I wore looser clothes today, so you can get to my meat easier when I make you my bitch again." That was literally the first thing he said to me when I opened the door to let him in. I scoffed at him and headed off to our computer room, ready to take up the challenge. I was going to beat him today, dammit.
   It was a close-run thing, but after two and a half solid hours of near deadlock, I did manage to sneak out a small tactical win on the southwestern part of the game map. That led over the next hour and a half to my slowly building power and rolling up his forces until I completely conquered him. His shit-talking had moderated into concentration (he took beating me at computer games seriously), then muttered disgust under his breath, then finally exasperation at the final defeat. I stood up and stretched, arms over my head as high as they would go in a luxurious release of hours of tension, and finally lost the fight to keep my own shit-eating grin from appearing too quickly. I dropped my arms and looked at him sitting in the chair next to me. I think it was the combination of his greeting to me at the door and the feel of cool air on my stomach as my shirt had lifted up a little bit as I stretched. "Well, who's the bitch now?" He turned in the chair and looked up at my face, smirking. "Yeah, yeah. I'm the bitch."
   "I'm sorry, I didn't understand you there. You're *whose* bitch?"
   "Oh, fuck off," he guffawed, almost, I thought, a little taken aback by my turnabout.
   I turned just fractionally so that I was more squarely facing him, still sitting as I stood there. I adopted my I'm-making-a-perfectly-reasonable-point voice and pointed to the carpet between us. "I do believe you're my bitch, actually, now that I think about it. So there's your place, on your knees, mouth open."
   I knew things were about to take a left-turn as soon as the words left my mouth because Craig got that look in his eye, the glint of challenge, the crazed bravado that would lead him to throw himself totally overboard just to provoke a response from people. It was that fast, that glint in his eye, then he slid forward on the chair and onto his knees in front of me and looked up at me defiantly. "Here I am. You going to whip it out, master?"
   "Ha!" I chuckled, amused that he had so readily conceded defeat. He really hated to lose at computer games, after all. "I'll grant you a pardon today, just because I'm feeling so magnanimous." I purposefully deflected again despite wondering in that moment explicitly for the first time how far he would go with it if I pushed him. I knew not to push him, not because he was dangerous or would get out of control but because he wasn't always fully in control. The possibilities that spread out in front of our friendship as he slid to his knees were too serious and scary to just let him go overboard.
   Still, that was the next escalation that, in retrospect, made what happened a week later almost inevitable. I wasn't one to buy into tit-for-tat taunting, so the next week wasn't a step-by-step progression.
   I don't even know now what precisely led to the back-and-forth in my room. We were sitting on my bed watching an episode of Star Trek: DS9. It was my favorite show. I know I was annoyed with him for not shutting up while I watched, even though it was definitely a rerun. Either way, our side conversation had somehow gotten sidetracked into who was more chicken, him or me, to get naked in front of the other. Looking back, it's absurd that I can't remember how we landed there, although I think it had something to do with half-hearted cocksucking and bitch taunts we had lobbed at each other earlier in the day over our game. As the commercial came on, I stood up off the bed and opened my closet door, which was next to the shelf where my TV was and across from my bed. It wasn't a walk-in closet, but there was standing room in there. I pulled my t-shirt off over my head and threw it on the bed, not bothering to look back at him. "*I'm* not afraid of anything," I said, irritation taking the driver's seat——but not completely. I was in control enough to have considered as I stood up the possibility that he was just fucking with me to have a story to embarrass me with after break. That, of course, would've been totally out of character for him, and I didn't really believe it. But that's why I opened the door. "You have two minutes to decide, pussy, before I put my clothes back on." I then stepped into the closet and closed the door.
   I was gratified to hear nothing but the commercials on the TV. I congratulated myself on stunning him into silence, finally. Then silence as the TV clicked off and Craig's challenging voice through the door. "So you're just standing in there naked waiting for me to come in." He didn't believe me, the shithead. Of course, he shouldn't have. I still stood there with my gym shorts and underwear on. He didn't know that, though, so I barked back at him through the door, "That's what I said, isn't it?" I knew I hadn't said any such thing, so I just bowled right on, now suddenly the one rushing overboard into unknown territory. "You can't come in with clothes on, though, or you're the pussy." That word again. I was taunting him! Before I knew what I was doing, I was baiting him with his own bravado.
   I realized it as I heard him shuffling on the other side of the door, then I heard him mutter clearly (so he had taken a step to the door). "*I'm* not the...." Then there was a pause again. "You're in there with all your clothes on, aren't you?" I took it as him trying to escalate the challenge without committing to anything, and I wasn't having any of that. "You've got about 20 seconds left to find out, pussy." Again, a split-second pause, some shuffling, and then his hand went to the doorknob and jiggled it without opening it. "You're the fully-clothed pussy." He was giving me, us, an out here, but it was the sudden realization then that he wasn't just shit-talking his way through this——he was *uncertain*. He was hesitating. It made me feel like no matter what happened afterwards, it was going to be work out, because we had both given each other outs here and we had both hesitated. "I guess you'll never know, since time's about up." I had no idea how long I had been standing there. Surely no more than a minute or two, though it felt like forever, and I was certainly not keeping track of some time-limit I had set. But it was the final out. I thought, I genuinely thought, he would take it. Then the door-handle turned fully.
   Oh fuck, he's coming in, flashed through my head, and what concerned me more than anything just then was that I would never, ever, ever hear the end of it from him if it turned out that I was still wearing clothes when that door opened. I knew instinctively this would stay between us no matter what, but in private, I would go to my grave hearing it from him. So when it flashed through my head that he was opening the door, I tore down my shorts and underwear in one quick handful and kicked them out of the way deeper in the closet.
   When the door fully opened, I instinctively shrunk a little further back into the closet, amid the hangers and clothes, just around the small corner created by the angle of the door and the wall. I couldn't see Craig, and I doubt he could see much of me. I was operating entirely on autopilot now, not thinking about what I was saying or doing. I said, "In or out," and I said it, unpurposefully, with an edge of challenge that was the red flag to his bullheadedness.
   I heard him expel a breath and mutter, "I swear to God...." Then he was suddenly right in the closet with me. we were practically on top of each other, but he had closed the door as he stepped in, and it was dark. His sudden bodily presence was uncanny, like a real weight I could feel on my skin. We managed not to touch each other, despite being inches from each other. I could smell his breath and feel its heat on my face when he spoke, although I also noticed his voice had dropped almost to a whisper. "It's dark. How do I know you're not wearing a parka in here?"
   Again, I just responded without thinking. "Oh, like I can see in here. How do I know *you're* not in a parka?"
   "You don't have a light in here?" he asked, exasperated.
   "Obviously not."
   "Well...." I felt him move, though we still weren't touching, then heard the doorknob turn again. I had a sudden sense of sheer disappointment, thinking he was leaving and that this was the end of whatever this was. I had no idea what this was. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't banter. It had become something else, undefined, protean, and I thought it was suddenly and swiftly over, and I didn't want that right in that moment, I didn't want it to be over. But before I could say anything, the door swung open about half a foot and light came in. Then Craig's hand dropped to his side, which I followed with my eyes. I heard him say, "Light," satisfied. I was fixated on his hand, though, as it dropped to his side. He was standing inches from me, wearing only his socks.
   I didn't look at him directly at first. But we were so close I could take all of him in all the same. That same, stocky build as me. The same, very slight pudge around the waist. He had the lightest sprinkling of dark stubble (was it shaved? was it just growing in?) in the center of his chest. We were close enough that my eyes took in my own chest as I looked down at his hands and midsection. I was hairier than he was on my chest, but we had practically the same tufts of pubic hair, slightly curled in, not yet growing enough to require shaving, nor a tangled bush. A satisfying fullness that nature gave us to frame and to center into consciousness both of our cocks, both of us still fully soft. We looked to be about the same size soft, both of us also circumsized. I had no idea what he was looking at or doing, but I was transfixed on his naked body, on his soft cock.
   "So, not wearing a parka, then," he said softly, lamely, but he needed to say something. I didn't. I looked at his face, his eyes, for a fraction of a second. He was looking down at my body. When he glanced up, I had already looked back down at his, and my right hand had lifted up and touched the left side of his stomach with just my fingertips. I felt his stomach jump, twitch, but not from pulling back or away. I pressed my palm flat on his stomach, so my fingers were pointed down towards his feet. I felt him shift his weight so that almost imperceptibly towards me, except that we were *so close*. My hand then slide down his stomach, over his hip, and as I angled it very slowly towards his center and felt the first softly wiry brush of pubic hair, he spoke again, lamely again.
   "You're touching me."
   It was a challenge, his petulant bravado surfacing to test the boundaries just as I begun to feel his pubic hair on my fingertips. Suddenly a crashing and discordant end loomed over what until then had been one of the most magical and transfixing moments of my life. It was topped only by those moments with a new lover, with Katie for instance, when her panties start down jerkily and uncertainly over her hips and the first hints of treasure appear in wisps and curls. the first sight of so much promise in so little a space of promised land. Just the sheer, naked presence of two bodies suddenly laid open for each other's sight alone.
   It was his tone that made me unspeakably angry. No, not his tone—-just the fact that he had just *had* to drive a knife through the moment. I snatched my hand back as though burned, pushed the door open fully with the other one, and shouldered him out of the way so I could get out of the closet. I was so suddenly angry that it didn't even register to me that we had come fully into contact with each other then, our cocks mashed against each other, pubic hair tangled. I didn't say anything as I took the first step out. I didn't have to. What surprised me, and softened me again almost as quickly as I had flared into anger, was the feel of his hand jerking out and grabbing me by the forearm and tugging me back that one step into the closet with him. When I turned to face him fully again, closing again with inches of him, he didn't say anything this time, just reached out and laid both hands, palms flat, on either side of my stomach. He ran them straight up through my chest hair, watching his hands as he did so. I let my fingertips brush his hips, lightly, and now I had to clear the air.
   "You were complaining?"
   "Shut up," he said through a grin as he glanced at my eyes, then back down to his hands that began moving back to my stomach. I let my right hand run fully and significantly through his bush and over his cock, touching it for the first time, but I continued down and cupped his balls in my palm, not squeezing or prodding, just feeling. Another difference. I had fuller balls than him. My nice *package* as Katie said.
   It was his hand following mine's lead, running back and forth through my pubes and his palm centering on my still soft cock that prompted me forward again, I think. He had shifted his weight again so that his legs were slightly more spread, so I had better access to his balls and cock. His palm pressed down, then his index finger. middle finder, and thumb grasped my softness and pulled back slightly, inviting my cock to begin expanding, and it began responding to the invitation immediately. I felt that tingle deep in my balls that signaled the certainty of my arousal and my whole body convulsed in a single shiver as my sexuality took over for my fascination. I took his soft shaft in my fingers and massaged purposefully and felt the beginnings of plumpness. That was enough for me. I slid down to my knees, the whole length of my nakedness feeling his as I knelt before him. But I was transfixed by his now rapidly hardening cock. I wrapped my right hand around the shaft and urged it further with a pull and a squeeze, then reached with my left hand under him and cupped his balls again, rubbing my palm very gently back and forth. I never liked when people manhandled my balls. They were very sensitive, and I treated his the same. As he lengthened into full hardness, I realized his cock was longer than mine--by at least an inch or two, actually, but whereas his was slender and thin, now a perfectly stiff ramrod 45 degrees to his thighs, mine had weight and heft in my left hand, which I dropped my to my own, and I felt substantial in thickness and the gravity of my own bulbous cockhead. I squeezed my cock and gave it one pull, then slid my right hand down to the base of his shaft, clearing the head and a bit of his shaft in the process. I didn't hesitate. I opened my mouth and closed it over the three or so inches not in my hand and savored the feeling of his cock on my tongue and my lips pulled around it.



Offline Jbird4

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Reply #1 on: January 29, 2021, 02:50:46 PM
Please sir...more ?