Message from John Carter

This blog is rated R and is not appropriate for people under the age of 18. If you are offended by gay content, please move on and read some other blog.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Middleboro Part 3

Mitch grabbed a vitamin water from the fridge, walked over to the kitchen table and opened his PC.  He needed to take a shower.  He’d just finished a hard work out at the gym and his sweat-soaked t-shirt was starting to get cold.  He took a swig of the water, and standing in front of the sliding-glass door that led out onto the back porch, he stripped off his shirt.

No one could see him; his backyard was enclosed by a high privacy fence and, besides, it was dark outside.  The door made a prefect mirror and Mitch wasn’t above admiring himself for a few minutes.  He looked good, if he did say so himself.  His abs were really coming along, and his chest was very well defined. 

He could have been wrestling tonight, if he’d wanted to.  Dave had asked him over, but really Mitchell wasn’t too crazy about Foster.  He was so damned clingy.  Chris was hot but stuck up.  And Carl was okay, but sort of a galoot.  Dave had matured nicely, and Mitchell wouldn’t have minded wrestling him, if it had been a private match.  But it wouldn’t have been, not with Foster and the others there.  

Mitchell threw his shirt over the back of a chair and flexed a bit in his reflection.  Was he vain?  He didn’t think so.  He’d been working out like a motherfucker for months and he thought he was really seeing some progress.  Of course, he’d looked pretty damned fine to start with.  All those years in high school wrestling and playing football.  He was a stud.  That’s all there was to it.

Okay, maybe he was a little vain.

Did he need to shave his chest?

Just then, something caught his eye.  Mitch saw it…something…just beyond the square of light that fell onto the back porch. 

He leaned forward against the glass.  What had it been?  A dog?  Maybe a squirrel?  That’s what it was.  Some damned squirrel! 

There it was again.  A dark shape just beyond the light.  Was that a squirrel?  It was too big to be a squirrel…a dog…it had to be a dog…but how had a dog gotten into the backyard.  If it shit on his grass, he was gonna be pissed.

It wasn’t a dog.

A person stood up.  Mitch took a step back. 

Jesus, he thought.  Who the fuck is that.  Who…?

David stepped into the light. 

He was wearing a pair of tight fight shorts and his body was oiled and muscled.  Mitchell was transfixed.  He knew David had been getting bigger, but damn.  He looked fine. 

But, what was he doing here?  Why was he in the back yard?

Mitchell unlatched the door and slid it open.


David walked quickly toward Mitchell, and Mitchell started to back away, but then David was putting his hands on Mitchell’s face and pulling him in close.

As David’s tongue slipped inside Mitchell’s mouth, Mitchell wondered how this could be happening.  Why wasn’t David at his house with Foster…and Carl?  And why did he look so damned great?  David’s muscles glistened and bulged.  He appeared to be deeply tanned, and his eyes caught Mitchell’s and held them.  Before Mitchell could do anything, David had run a hand down Mitchell’s sculpted chest and down over his abs.  Then, he deftly slipped it into Mitchell’s shorts, where he ran it back and forth, gently brushing the head of Mitchell’s rapidly hardening cock.

Suddenly David’s expression changed.  He got a cocky, fuck-you look on his face and he shoved Mitchell backward into the house.  Mitchell laughed, in spite of himself, and backed into the living room, followed closely by David.

As Mitchell backed into an open space in his living room where he usually wrestled, David stopped and dropped his shorts to the floor.  His cock was enormous and erect.  It glistened and bobbed, and David grinned an evil grin.

Mitchell nodded.  “Okay, motherfucker…okay.”  He let his shorts drop to the floor.  “If you want to wrestle for stakes, we’ll wrestle for stakes.”  Mitchell shot a flex, brandishing his twin guns.  “Take a look, Davey.  These are what I’m gonna use to make you my boy tonight.  You ready to give up that ass?”

David flexed his own guns and Mitchell couldn’t help but admire them.  Jesus, David seemed bigger than he’d remembered.  Much more cut.  Damn, he looked fine.  He was already covered in a thin sheen of oil—how had he done that?  And he looked so hot.

Mitchell locked up with him and strangely felt his breath sort of leave him.  Had he been holding his breath that intently?  David was laughing, silently, taunting him, blocking his moves, reaching down and playfully slapping Mitch’s cock repeatedly.

Ordinarily, that sort of thing didn’t really affect Mitchell, but David’s touch was so unbelievable.  Whether it was the two of them, locked up in a collar tie, or David’s fingers brushing his cock, Mitchell felt like he wanted to pass out with the pleasure.

But, they were there to wrestle, and Mitch wanted David’s ass.  He caught the younger guy in a headlock and wrenched the pressure up.
“What are you gonna do now, you little fucker?  Huh?  What are you gonna do?”

Mitch threw David down onto the carpet and rolled over, attempting to administer a schoolboy pin.  But David was having none of it.  The oil on his body made him slick and he turned beneath Mitch and then was up and on top, putting Mitch down on the carpet.  Mitch was immediately aware that David’s huge cock was pressed up against Mitch’s abs, trapping Mitch’s own cock and working it furiously.

But Mitchell wasn’t done.  He posted a leg and rolled David to one side where they struggled to gain an advantage.  It was difficult getting a hold on the guy; he was so slippery, and he was around and behind Mitch before he knew it.  Then, he had a hand under Mitch’s chin and was setting him up for a backbreaker.

As Mitch felt David’s body across his back and the pressure increase as David forced Mitch’s head up, higher and higher, it occurred to Mitch that they’d been wrestling on his white carpet.  David was covered in oil.  Were they leaving stains on the carpet?

Mitch pried David’s hand from under his chin and looked down.  Nothing.  There were no stains.  No dark marks.

David had used Mitch’s distraction to drape himself across Mitch’s body.  His head hung over one of Mitch’s shoulder’s and their cheeks touched. 

“Mine…” said David.  Or had he? 

David flipped Mitch over and they locked hands and rolled back and forth across the room.  David’s cock as so hard and insistent, slapping against Mitch’s chest and abs, jabbing at his own cock, fighting him as surely as David was fighting him.  Mitch wanted to trap David in a scissors—his favorite hold—but David continually slipped away from him, and caught him in different holds.  A choke.  A nelson.  A bearhug.  Jesus, when had David gotten so good? So fucking hot?

Then, David head-butted Mitch in the abs, driving him onto his back.  David grinned a crazy grin and went down on Mitch’s cock, swallowing it whole.  Mitch almost screamed it felt so good.  David was messaging and working it, running his lips back and forth up the shaft and over the sensitive tip.  Mitch was having a hard time catching his breath and the blowjob went on and on.  He wanted David off him.  Wanted to fuck David.  But David was working his cock so furiously, so expertly, that Mitch put a hand to his forehead and leaned back.  As he lost control, and felt his cock begin to spasm and blow its load, he turned his head toward the left and saw the two of them in the reflection in the door.

Mitch came.

A massive spew of hot, white cum ejaculating into David’s hungry mouth.  And as he bucked under David’s muscular body, Mitch saw that it wasn’t David that sat across his chest.

No comments:

Post a Comment