Shooting Matt Ch. 06

Randy begins to introduce Matt to the joys of backdoor play. Later, he visits the local grocery.

Thanks to LarryInSeattle.

Comments welcome. I hope you enjoy.

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Matt starts to lie on his back.

"Roll over," I tell him, my voice husky with desire. "On your knees." He looks worried. "Trust me, Matt. Rest your head and chest on the pillow. If there's something you don't like, tell me. Okay?"

"Sure," he whispers.

He does as I ask but the look of uncertainly lingers. That, I realize, is a good thing. His uncertainty will help me keep a tight rein on my desires. Desires, that began to surge as my fingers played over his ass in the bathroom and, now with him on his knees, heavy balls visible between his legs, threaten to overwhelm me. The desire to squirt lube on my cock and just fuck him is so strong that I'm trembling. He trusts me. That simple, but huge, fact gives me the strength to keep my lust in check, to channel it for both our pleasures.

I kneel on the bed behind him. I rub both hands over his back, loving the firm muscle I fine there. I lean far enough to massage his shoulders. I'm careful to keep my cock low, pressed against his balls, not his ass. I knead his shoulders, wishing I had massage oil rather than a bottle of lube in the bedside table. I work my hands down the large muscles along his spine.

When I reach his ass, I sit back on my heels. I force myself to go slow. I don't want to re-kindle his apprehensions. I rub his ass cheeks. They're as firm as the rest of his body, and just as smooth, covered by very fine downy fuzz. I'd love to see his ass in the sun. That fine fuzz would capture the light and glow like fire.

I increase the pressure, massaging more than rubbing at this point. I gradually begin to spread his ass cheeks. My hands move in wide circles. Open, close, open. I offer myself only brief glimpses of my goal. I've done this to him before. I reminded him of it earlier. We'll go a little further this morning, if he's willing. That's all. No big deal.

I kiss his right ass cheek and lick with my tongue. I squeeze his ass as I move to the left. I kiss and lick longer here. I make my way toward his crack. I lick along the side, careful to avoid his pucker. I lick down the other side and kiss my way over his cheek.

I focus on his crack. I lick and nip above his crack, working my way all the way up to the little hollow spot at the base of his spine.

I scoot back on the bed and lower my body. I tilt my head so I can work on the area between his asshole and balls without touching his asshole with my nose. I'm doing my best to tease him, to make him want to feel my mouth, my tongue on his asshole.

He's moving under my hands now, moving his hips in small circles. As I lick up from his balls, he pushes his ass back toward me. Good but not good enough. I avoid the center of my desire and kiss along the side of his crack. Matt's soft groan of frustration makes my cock twitch.

I lean back and blow a puff of air at his asshole. It twitches, a most enticing invitation, but I resist. I start to worry I may be moving from gentle teasing to active dickery so I go back to kissing and licking everything but his asshole. I stop at random and blow, making it dance. I nearly give up, deciding he either doesn't understand what I'm waiting for, understands but refuses, or really doesn't want to go any further. If it's the latter, I have to trust him to say so.

I tighten my grip on his ass, preparing to plunge ahead when he speaks.

"Randy, dude, you're killin' me here. Do that thing you did with your tongue the other night," he whispers.

My heart swells in my chest. I rest my head on his right ass cheek.

"I thought you'd never ask, baby," I reply.

I turn my head and nip at his ass. He moans. I nip my way toward his crack, stopping to kiss and suck, wondering (and not caring) if I was leaving a trail of hickies, making my progress toward this morning's Nirvana.

I nip right beside the hard ring of his sphincter. His asshole doesn't twitch so much as it spasms. He moans again.

I kiss his asshole. Dead center. No tongue. If I was kissing his lips it would be almost chaste. But I'm not kissing his lips. I'm kissing his asshole, pucker, bunghole, brown eye, and that, dear friends, is never, ever, chaste.

I kiss and lick, much as I had our first night together. Today, I want more. I promised him more. I remind myself I also promised him I'd stop the second he asked me to.

I spread him a little wider and really push my mouth against him, wedging my cheeks between his own. I drag the flat of my tongue over the roughness beneath it. I draw it back, stiffen it, and push it forward. He smells of soap, tastes faintly of soap and nothing else. I work my tongue in circles, caressing him in the most intimate fashion I can imagine.

I feel him relax, both in my hands and against my tongue. I increase the pressure. The texture changes. The taste of soap is replaced by a faint bitterness, nothing more. He clenches and banishes my questing tongue. I circle, press, penetrate, over and over, until he no longer tightens up as my tongue penetrates him.

He begins to thrust against my face. That strikes me as a positive development. I pull my face out of his ass crack. I spread his cheeks as wide as I dare without fear of hurting him and spit on his asshole. It's a perfect shot, dumb luck not skill.

Before he can react, perhaps before he even realizes I just spit on him, I press my finger against his pucker. I mimic the earlier actions of my tongue, circling, caressing, slowly increasing the pressure. When I think he's ready, I wet my finger.

"It's important to relax, Matt," I whisper as I nuzzle his cheeks and crack. "It's just my finger, a single finger. There will be no pain, I promise, as long as you don't tense up. Just breath. Okay?"

"Uh-huh," he sighs. "Du..,Randy, what you're doing is awesome. It's cool."

"Right on," I whisper, wondering how the phrase jumped from my parent's generation to Matt's without touching my own. If he finds my use of the phrase amusing or problematic, he doesn't react.

I rest my face on his ass cheek, kissing and nipping in an awkward sidling fashion, as I insert my finger into his ass.

He doesn't tense up. He arches his back and pushes. My finger enters him smoothly. I do nothing more, allowing him to grow accustomed to the sensation. Then I begin to move my finger, slowly. Spit isn't the best lube; I don't want to hurt him. I swept my finger in a circle, opening him, or so I hope, to more exploration in the future. The future, not today. Today is not to open his ass but his mind, open it to a new realm of pleasure.

I pull my finger out of his ass. I do my best to keep it out of his sight. He'd felt clean enough but I don't want to risk killing the mood. I kiss the back of his neck.

"Sit up a second," I whisper.

My mouth waters when he does. His cock is tense. Every heartbeat forces a bit more precum from his slit. A strand dangles for the head of his cock to the mattress. I use one hand to fold a pillow in half and push it against the head of the bed. I lie down on my back, head propped up on the pillow.

"Straddle my chest. Feed me your cock, Matt."

He throws one leg over my chest. His balls drag through my chest hair. It becomes clear he's out to avenge my earlier teasing. He squeezes his cock and wipes the precum from the head. He licks his fingers, smiling at me, while swiveling his hips so that his heavy balls tickle my chest. I raise my head; he moves his hips back, his smile widening.

"Raise up," I request. He does. Keeping my fingers curled out of sight, I work my hand between his legs.

"Bud, can you reach the table? There's lube in the drawer."

He stretches and I enjoy watching his cock sway. He pulls the drawer open and rummages around for a moment, making more noise than I care for. I have no idea if Liam is still asleep or if he is even in the house, but I behaved as if he is.

"Squirt some in my hand." I hold out my left hand. The right is still between his legs. He does as I ask. I work my left hand between his legs.

I rub the lube into his ass crack and over his asshole. I urge him forward as I do. He doesn't resist or tease. His cock stands tall, proud and angry above my lips. I remove my left hand from between his legs and pull his cock down. He leans forward, one hand on the wall, the other helping to guide his cock to my mouth. The fingers of my right hand spread the lube over his asshole.

As his cock head slides past my lips, I push my lubed finger back into his ass. I don't finger fuck him like before. I press down on the rubbery hump of his prostate; he moans. I taste, more than feel, the dollop of nectar my finger has brought forth.

He feels relaxed around my finger. I fuck him with my finger, pushing deep until my knuckles press into the flesh around his asshole. With every stroke, my finger tip massages his prostate, the male G-spot.

My attention is on my hand but I don't neglect the delectable cock in my mouth; to do so would be unthinkable. I move my head up and down on the pillow, working mostly the head of his cock. My neck is not flexible enough to deep throat him. For that, I'd need to be lower in the bed and he'd need to lean forward more. No matter.

I keep my lips tight on his crank, milking dew drop after dew drop onto my waiting tongue. God he tastes wonderful. I pop my lips over the ridge of his crown with each stroke.

Soon, he's helping, rhythmically pushing into my hungry mouth before pushing back on my probing finger. I can think of only one other thing to add.

The fingers of my left hand are slick with lube but they're clean. They've not been in his ass. I rub my fingers over his nipple. I pinch it. The lube causes it to imitate a watermelon seed and spit from between my fingers but it elicits a moan of pleasure. I do it again and again.

I don't want him to cum deep in my throat. I want to taste him, every drop. I rest my head back and his cock springs free.

His eyes are closed. I'm not sure if he knows what I want him to do.

"Jerk off into my mouth, Matt." My finger glides over his prostate. I stop thrusting. I press and relax as fast as I can, turning my finger into a low frequency vibrator.

His right hand wraps around the base of his cock. He jerks it, bouncing the head off my lower lip.

"You like that?" He pants. It's the first words he's spoken since we climbed back into bed. "You like that?"

"Fuck, yeah. I like it. I love it. Love watching you stroke your cock, love the way it gets so red, almost purple, love waiting for you to fill my mouth with your jizz. You know I love it. Don't you?"

"Yeah," he pants.

"You love it too, don't you?" I don't give him time to answer. "Love jerking your hard cock into my mouth. It's not just jizz, bud. It's you, your seed, your very essence. My mouth will be filled with hundreds of millions of your sperm. I'm going to eat you, literally."

He strokes faster. I press harder with my finger.

"You like that?" I ask. "You like the way that feels?"

"Uh-huh," he pants, eyes still closed.

"Good. Tonight it's just one finger, soon two or three. Then a dildo and then, hopefully in the not too distant future, my dick. I'm going to roll you up in a ball and fuck you in the ass, while you stroke that big cock of yours. Except when you cum it'll be on your own face, not mine."

"Uh, uh, fuck, dude..."

The rest is lost in incoherent gasps.

Most of his first shot laces over the top of my tongue but after that, his control goes to shit. I don't mind, not in the least. I enjoy it. He covers my right cheek and forehead in cum. I ease my finger out of his ass as his body begins to relax. He missed my eye. Thank God. I don't have a clean finger to wipe it out and I find cum irritates my eyes.

At the end, he's sitting on my chest, shaking his cock over my open mouth like he's just taken a piss.

I wrap the sheet, discretely I hope, around my finger. I need to do laundry anyway.

He moves back, so that our cocks touch. His hands go around my face. He begins to kiss me. It's like his orgasm has failed to bring him back to earth. Mind, I'm not complaining. I wipe my cheek and put it in his mouth. He accepts it but then offers it back to me in the form of a kiss. I accept. I'm more than happy to accept.

***

I leave Matt, panting on his back, and stagger over to the half bath. I wash my hand. I don't see much, not that I look very hard. I dry my hands and then step over to the toilet to pee. I'm about to burst. I push my hard-on down, even so it's difficult to go.

Matt strides in, dick hanging and shiny.

I'm amazed when he starts to piss in the sink.

"Sorry, man but I was about to wet the bed."

His stream is a power wash of gold. I stop trying to pee and content myself with watching him. I've never considered water sports. Even if I had, I've never had the opportunity. I'm not saying I'm considering it now but I will admit there was something fundamentally virile about the vigor of his pissing.

He pisses forever, forever and a day, it seems like. His whole body shudders when he's done. He turns the water on and splashes it around the sink before tilting his head and sticking his mouth under the faucet and drinking.

The entire time, I'm standing there, pointing my boner, as best I can, toward the toilet bowl and try to get my bladder to relax and let fly.

Matt pulls his head from under the faucet and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns the water off.

"Oh man, it's a bitch tryin' to whiz with a boner." He drops to his knees before I can respond. "Let me suck you off, bro. It'll be easier."

Holy fuck. This kid will be the death of me.

"No, Matt. Just give me a sec, bud. Okay?"

"Sure. Right on," he replies but doesn't stand. "Dude, can I watch?"

I start to protest, then wonder why. WTF?

I will myself to relax, and as earlier, I feel my cock swell as my bladder lets go. Matt kneels, head resting against my hip and watches me piss. When I'm done, he wipes his fingers over the head of my cock and plops them in his mouth.

"Weird," he mutters. "Pretty strong. Kinda bitter."

I have no idea what to say, so I stoop, put a hand under his arm and lift.

"Upsy daisy, bud."

We pad back into the bedroom. I'm at a loss. Should I shower? It's Saturday; I don't have to work. Do I go back to bed? What do I do with Matt? Are we supposed to hang out together? And do what? My fears and doubts threaten to overwhelm me at that simple question. And do what? What does a middle-age man do with a young man, other than fuck?

Should I attempt to maintain the façade that I know what the fuck I'm doing? I decide to punt.

"So, what now?"

"I'm taking a shower. My ass feels sticky."

With that Matt pushes the bedroom door open and heads down the short hallway to the bathroom. He looks over his shoulder at me.

"You want to join me?"

I do but not here and not because of the fact Liam's bedroom door is closed. I assume he's still in bed but I have no real idea of what time it is.

"Too small, cold clingy shower curtains are not a turn on." He nods, seemingly unperturbed. "There are clean towels in the closet." I call, admiring the way his shoulders and back taper down to what could possibly be the perfect male ass.

"Thanks."

I'm heading back into my bedroom when Liam's door opens. I decide the best way to not be embarrassed about being caught naked in the hallway is to act as if, in fact, I am not embarrassed. The fact that my hands are half way to covering my crotch gives lie to whatever my face is trying to portray.

Liam nods 'good morning' at me and walks to the bathroom door.

He knocks. "Dude, I need to take a leak."

I hear a muffled, "I didn't lock it, bro."

Liam opens the door. He doesn't bother to close it. I hear the sound of him pissing over the sound of Matt rinsing and spitting in the sink. I can see the right half of my son's body in the mirror above the sink. The view is blocked as Matt crosses behind him and leans into the shower. My eyes go from the mirror to the bit of Matt's ass I can see through the open door. I'm still staring when Liam exits.

He looks at me and I'm more embarrassed to be found still standing there, like a poor geriatric dementia patient lost in front of his own room, than I am at being naked. Liam's boxers don't hide much but at least he's wearing something.

"Coffee, pop? Or are you going back to bed?"

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost nine," Liam replies with a yawn that ends in a whole body shudder.

"I'm awake. You look like you could use some more sack time. I'll make the coffee."

"Naw, I'm up. I'll get the coffee going," Liam says turning toward the kitchen. "You should get some pants or are we turning 2315 Elm Street, SE into an official nudist resort?"

I can't tell if he's attempting to make a joke or if he's digging at me. I skip a reply and turn toward my bedroom. I pull on the gym shorts that are lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. I have them on before I realize they aren't mine. They're Matt's. I let them fall to the floor and grab a pair of my own from the dresser.

The shower turns off as I pass the bathroom door. It's still slightly ajar. Steam billows into the hallway. I see Matt's hand pull the curtain back. He smiles at me and I regret not getting into the shower with him, though in my mind I know that was the correct call.

"I feel about a zillion times better," he tells me. I nod.

"Coffee should be ready soon," I inform him and walk on toward the kitchen.

Liam is hitting the 'brew' button as I enter. I pour myself a glass of milk, after sniffing to make sure it hasn't gone sour. I drink it standing by the sink.

"So?"

I look at Liam. "So, what?" I ask in return.

"I don't know, pop. I truly don't. I'm kinda at a loss as what to say."

"How 'bout them Bears?"

It's a line form a movie. Either Liam can't place the line or doesn't find it amusing. He just stares at me. I finish the milk, rinse the glass and grab a mug. There should be enough coffee for one mug by now. I'm pulling rank; the first cup is mine. I fucking need it.

"Training camp doesn't start for, oh, six, seven weeks."

"I know, Liam. I know. It's from..."

"I know what it's from. Geez, how many times have we watched that movie?"

"A lot."

"Remember when Steve Martin is washing his face and realizes John Candy's socks are soaking in the sink?"

I smile. "And then dries his face on Candy's underwear. Perfect."

"Who does what to whose underwear?" Matt asks. He's standing in the archway, toweling his hair dry, nude. He combs out his hair with his fingers. "Coffee. Baller."

He pours a cup and leans against the edge of the counter. I look at Liam. My son looks at me, one eyebrow twitches slightly. Matt doesn't notice, or pretends not to, or notices but doesn't care.

"Hey, let's hit the pool. I've been slacking off."

I feel my face morph into a look of skepticism. I'm a worse swimmer than I am a boxer.

"You guys go. I have a shit ton of stuff to get done around here."

"Like what?" my son asks.

"The grinding minutiae of adulthood. Laundry. Groceries. A shower. Shaving. Trimming my toenails."

"Right on to the trim; you nailed me a good one in your sleep," Matt chuckles.

"Could we not start that shit again," Liam snaps.

"Brah, you need to get in the pool, work out some of that aggression and shit. Come on," he looks at me with a wide grin. "Come on, dadster, join us."

Liam smiles. I stare.

"Dadster?"

"Sure, why not?" Matt asks with what appears to be honest confusion.

"Because it makes me sound like both a pedo and incestuous. That's why not."