Friday 26 July 2013
Monday 22 July 2013
Mr Wilson's story - part two
I definitely didn't know what to do next.Father, after the unexpected events of last night I wasn't sure what to do. I guess we're not the first men to have have some alcohol change things in a relationship. Some things are bad, some things are good, some things are - well, who knows at the time, but you go with them...
I woke up wishing I hadn't given Mr Wilson a blow job, but at the same time I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt pretty good about it too. I know he'd had too much to drink, we both had - and that I kind of took advantage of an old man, but at the same time he only had to say the word or pushed me away and I would've backed off.
I spent quite a bit of time in the shower last night, the whole seduce-my-neighbour thing playing over and over in my mind. By the time I'd replayed the memory I was drained of cum and the water was starting to run cold. I went to bed and slept soundly, thoroughly satisfied as if it was a job well done.
I got out of bed, showered, dressed, and poured myself a glass of orange juice. It's probably just the advertising talking, but I like to start the day with orange juice.
The sun was beginning to warm the ground, and the early morning dew was burning off quickly. I went out my front door to pick up the Sunday papers - they're the size of the doorstep - so much for the web killing off print.
I glanced over the road and I saw Mr Wilson. When he saw me he waved me an invitation over.
"Two minutes," I shouted as I went inside.
I dropped the papers on the kitchen counter, and, luckily, remembered my keys before I slammed the door shut.
Across the road I found Mr Wilson out on the back deck, still wearing his dressing gown, enjoying the sun. He kept the landscaping at the back of his place simple - lawns running out to merge along the boundary with the golf course. He liked the way it felt - as though he had a gigantic back yard that incorporated the 16th hole.
"How are you this morning?" I was all cheery, while trying to get a clue as to how he was feeling about last night's experience.
"You ran away and left me last night," he accused, sounding aggrieved.
"Um, was that a bad thing?"
"Yes. No. I don't know - I don't know what to think."
I laughed a little, and looked down at a line of ants walking along the deck, and vanishing over the edge. The morning birds were calling.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what to say or do. You threw me last night, you really did."
I felt bad - guilty. I wished the ground would just open up and swallow me.
"I'm sorry Mr Wilson, I had too much to drink, and I didn't wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you. I'll just go."
I felt confused, because he looked calm, like he was meditating.
"I'll go..."
I wasn't sure he'd heard me, and I couldn't just storm off.
He cleared his throat. "Please, wait, don't go. I have something to say before you go." He spoke clearly, and slowly; as if he wanted both of us to clearly understand what he had to say.
"Every day I think about Floss, and I miss her terribly. You'd think the pain would wear off after a while, but it doesn't. It never has. All I know, all I feel is, I'm alone. There's no-one else for me. With me."
I watched a tear trickle down his cheek.
"Last night," he said in a voice barely above a murmur, "Is the first, the only time I've felt someone love me in a very ..." His voice broke. He stood, lips pinched white together, struggling with his demons. He recovered, shakily, "Even if it was too much alcohol, I - I - - thank you."
He lapsed into silence, seeming lost for words.
I waited, also unsure what to say or do. Somewhere in the neighborhood someone started a lawnmower, the day was starting to tick over. There was a question in my mind, nagging me, and I finally plucked up the courage to ask.
"Do you want to do it again?"
He didn't move, and he didn't speak.
I could barely see any sign of him even breathing.
I finally noticed his head give the slightest nod. After a lengthy hesitation, he slowly pulled his dressing gown apart, revealing his cock and balls.
I just stood and stared. Here was Mr Wilson, offering - presenting himself - his world, his most vulnerable, innermost, everything to me. This wasn't some brash, "I'll show you mine" power trip. This was a lonely old man reaching out. I felt honored that he trusted me, loved me, respected me this much.
He seemed so lost.
So very alone.
I cleared my throat. He looked up at the sound.
"It's a Sunday morning. The saints are in church, the sinners are in bed..."
I gestured towards the door.
He nodded, and moved in through the door.
As he passed in front of me I tagged at the collar of his gown.
"Do you need this?"
He shook his head, and as he stepped inside I peeled the gown off him. He stopped, looking straight ahead, the colour of honey in the sunlight. He hesitated and then, almost defiantly, peeled off his skinny black briefs.
I stepped up behind him, put my arms around him, and hugged him tightly. He leaned his head back towards me, and I brushed my cheek against his. I ventured my hand down to stroke his cock. He gasped a little at my touch. I could feel his heart fluttering - it reminded me of one time, years ago, visiting a zoo and being able to pet a fawn. Tame, yet wild and beautiful.
He swallowed.
"We can stop if you want to."
He shook his head.
"Then take me where you want to go."
With my arms still wrapped around him, my rough jeans pushed hard against his naked ass, he lead me off to his bedroom. I stopped him at the door way.
"Is this what you want?"
He nodded his head.
"You know, if we go in ..."
"Yes," he said, turning around to face me. "I know. Actually, no, I don't know. But I'm willing to find out. I don't know how many days I have left, but I do know every hour is precious when you're in love, and long and lonely when you're alone. Please..."
He looked at me with forget-me-not blue eyes, pleading.
"Please, be with me. Even just for an hour this morning. You left me last night and I spent a lot of time thinking about what you did for me. I thought I'd become some sort of animal - it was hateful - horrible to think I'd lost - lost something of myself, a hollow man. And I thought about you, and well, I don't believe that's true for you. It was like my mind was on fire - in my head I was all over the place. I don't know what time it was when I finally went to sleep. When I woke up I found I'd been playing with myself. I fancied I might be able to reach out in kind with you. I thought the whole idea was too much - but I've come around, and I'd like to - you know - with you..."
He looked away, wringing his hands nervously.
"If you'll give me a chance," he added quietly.
I reached to his sides and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head.
It's funny. In that moment, he stopped being a pudgy old man, and began to glow as lust worthy, loveable man. I walked him over to the bed, and sat him on the edge. I stroked his cheek. He turned his head into the cup of my hand, and he looked back up at me - his eyes twinkling - and smiled.
"It's ok, ok?" I raised my eyebrow.
He nodded.
"Hold on a moment..." I ducked back to the kitchen and found the tiny bottle of expensive, extra virgin olive oil. Back in the bedroom Mr Wilson watched me take off my shirt and jeans. I pulled back the covers and motioned him to get in. He climbed in and moved over to the other side, leaving room for me.
"How come you're not taking yours off?" he asked.
"Because you own the house, but I own the bed."
He gasped as I grabbed his nipple and squeezed it hard. I leaned over him and laughed in his face. He smiled and then laughed back. I brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. I climbed on top of him, bent over, and, holding his hands over his head, I gave him a love bite on his shoulder.
He groaned a protest, and squirmed, but he didn't tell me to stop or try to push me off.
I let go his hands, and massaged his chest, tweaking and teasing his nipples, giving him soft, tickling strokes down his sides. He shut his eyes, and sighed. I could feel his cock pushing at my butt cheeks.
"So, Mr Wilson, what's on your mind? What are you thinking?"
"I want to feel you, feel your skin, touching me, but you're wearing your clothes. I want... please..."
He reached out to me, imploring.
"Take it," I said, holding out the hem of my t-shirt to him, "Slowly."
He lifted my t-shirt off me so gently I shivered as the fabric brushed over the hair on my chest. He dropped the t-shirt on the bed. I grinned, retrieved it, and wrapped it over his eyes as a blindfold. I stretched along his body, his bare skin against mine, whirling in the sensuous splendor of his body's warm softness. I held his face and kissed him on the lips.
"Is this what you had in mind?"
I rubbed against him slowly, pressing my flesh against him, stroking his body with mine.
"Yes, but..."
I felt him tug at my briefs.
"Oh, you can't have those so easily, my friend, you own the house, but I own the bed. You have to offer me something in exchange."
He laughed - shy - like a naughty little boy. "How can I suck you with these on?
"Is that your best and final offer, my little butterball?" I teased his lips with my tongue, and then kissed him gently.
His voice was raspy. "If you let me take off your ... if you let me have your cock ... " Then suddenly, urgently, whispered, "I want to suck you!"
With that, with a determined ferocity and a strength that surprised me, he grabbed me by my briefs, arched, twisted, and threw me off to one side. And then he was on top of me, laughing and puffing. He leaned over me and bit down on my nipple - not real hard, but enough to attract my attention. I yelped in pain. He laughed and dragged my briefs down my legs and off me.
"I own the house ... and, I own the bed!" he crowed.
My cock - the traitor - was standing at full attention, begging to be used and abused. And use me he did.
He proceeded to give me the tenderest, most thorough blow job I have ever had. I felt powerless as he worked my cock and balls over and over and over again. Every time I got anywhere the rise to orgasm he backed away and luxuriously worked over my asshole with his fingers. I wanted him to fuck me, to let me cum, to end my delicious, sweat drenched agony...
And he'd somehow sense my feelings swirling like the tide ready to rush ... and he'd change the pace or change the place, and I'd be left twitching and moaning, throbbing with unrequited sexual tensions. As much as I wanted to cum there and then, the prolonged pleasure was something I wanted to gorge on.
I pushed him away from me.
"No, no, wait a moment."
He looked up, all concerned. "What? Have I done something wrong?"
"No, not at all. I just want to have you in my mouth - I want to give something too."
I looked at him, resting up, with his cock in his hands.
"Am I doing ok for a beginner?"
I cleared my throat and swallowed. Strands of pre-cum were seeping freely from my cock... "Yeah, not bad, not bad at all. For a beginner. But I'm not sure if you truly own the bed. I'm going to give you a chance - let's play a game. I'll suck you, you me, first to cum will know REALLY owns the bed. Yes?"
I just wanted to jump him, roll him, and fuck him. Dear God, how I wanted to fuck him.
He paused, stroking his cock with a practised hand. "Ok," he said, "How's this going to work?"
"You lay on your side, and it'll work out just fine."
I didn't care who won the game, I just wanted my cock back in his mouth, right where it belonged, as soon as possible.
I lay beside him, hugging him to me so I could take his cock in my mouth. I felt him gasp as I ran my tongue over his cock head, and then he took my cock in his mouth.
And then the race was truly on. I could not believe the workout he gave my cock. It was all I could do to concentrate on the task at hand. It's not that it wasn't a pleasure, it was; but the selfish part in me wanted to win.
Win what? I own the bed?
I pressed my fingers into Mr Wilson's asshole, while sucking and licking his cock, everything I could imagine for his pleasure. I didn't know if he'd ever be up for this again and I wanted to make it count. His cock was throbbing as I lashed my tongue across his cock head. He on the edge of cumming.
I used my lips to nip at his balls, and I felt him miss a beat on my cock. I squeezed his balls tightly and ran my tongue across the stretched skin. He stopped licking me for a moment - almost nervous - afraid of what was going to happen next. He had been squirming as I opened my mouth and rested my teeth on his balls, and suddenly he didn't move a muscle.
I started humming - some crazy mixed up tunes - my teeth vibrating gently on his balls. The effect was amazing. Mr Wilson groaned and rolled on his back, his legs wide apart. I moved around between his legs. I wanted to see him. He eyes were closed and he was playing with his nipples.
The old boy lifted himself and I was able to impale a couple of fingers up his asshole, while squeezing his balls with my free hand. It didn't take very much more stimulation, licking and caressing his cock before I felt him tighten close around my fingers and his whole body stiffened up before he bucked and moaned and his cum flooded out. I pressed my thumb in under his balls and massaged his prostate, milking it for every last drop.
"Come here, boy," he called, sounding distressed.
I was beside him in a flash, hugging him to me.
He was struggling for breath, but he managed to gasp out, "I'm ok, I'm just ..."
His words were lost in his puffing, and I held on to him, feeling his heart pounding.
Gradually his breath returned, and he sighed peacefully. He open an eye and looked at me ruefully.
He reached down and grabbed my cock and gave it a friendly squeeze.
"Seems you do own the bed," he grunted. "For today, anyway."
I laughed. "It's ok."
"No, you should claim what is rightfully yours."
With that, he rolled over and spread his legs.
My cock had softened, but the sight of his asshole quickly brought the blood pumping. I opened the oil and anointed his tender flesh until his entire ass crack was as slippery as a bob-sledge run. He sighed again and shivered at my touches especially when I teased his asshole.
I climbed on him and stropped my cock slowly up and down his crack, oiling up, and just enjoying the sensation of his warm body between my legs. I pushed my cock into his tight hole, and slowly fell forward across his body, driving my cock deep into him in one smooth slide.
Mr Wilson groaned. Pleasure or pain, resistance or acceptance, I couldn't tell. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly, before beginning to gently thrust into him. Just fractions of an inch of cock movement and he was writhing beneath me. I thrust slowly deeper, gradually feeling my cock driving the full nail.
This was not going to be a marathon fucking, he'd primed me so much with his blow job efforts. In just a few strokes the excitement of the first fuck and the tightness of his ass pushed me over the edge into a welcome orgasm. He arched back to me and I bit down on his shoulder and held him tight as though I was afraid I would lose him forever.
<<< Mr Wilson's story - part one <<< || >>>>>>
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