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Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Middleboro Part 11

Here's episode eleven of Middleboro.  I may not be able to post another chapter until a week or two from now.  I will be in Iowa next week for the NCAA Wrestling Tournament and will hopefully be doing a lot of wrestling myself.  I will try and return with plenty of pictures of the action. If I can, I will post one more chapter before I go, but it depends on how long it takes me to write it.

Pictures, again, are from Sean Cody. 

Foster twirled the end of his t-shirt in his fingers as he nervously sat in the back seat of Jack’s car.  Jack, David, and Chris had been inside Spanky’s house for what seemed like an eternity.  What were they doing inside?  Hunting monsters?  That was crap.  They were probably wrestling.  Everybody was always wrestling, but not with Foster.  Oh, no.  Whenever he showed up, everybody always got that look--a roll of the eyes, the snide remarks--but he didn’t care. He was as good as anyone else. 

But, Jack.  Now he was different.

Foster hated to admit it, but he’d been in love with Jack since ninth grade.  Jack had always been so fucking hot, so cool.  He had that thick, black hair and the dark complexion.  He was built, too.  Maybe he hadn’t been the biggest guy in high school, but he looked good.  And what an ass!  Jesus.  Foster was a bottom.  No doubt about that.  But Jack’s ass was another thing altogether. 

A tap on the glass.

Foster was surprised to see Jack standing at the window, looking in.  Damn!  He wasn’t wearing a shirt!  Foster had known they were inside wrestling.  So, at least Jack had had the decency to come outside and invite Foster in. 

Jack was grinning a funny grin, and he motioned for Foster to roll down the window.  Foster wasn’t sure why Jack didn’t just open the car door, but what the hell.  He slid across the seat…and realized that the windows were power.  He unlocked the door instead and opened it.  Jack pulled it open the rest of the way and that was when Foster saw that Jack was standing there in a very brief pair of red trunks and a pair of black wrestling boots.  Jack’s cock was hard—Foster could see it through the fabric. 

“Jack, I knew you guys were wrestling in there!  Why didn’t you just invite me in?  You didn’t have to make up some lame story about a…”  Foster didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.  Jack was in the backseat and had caught Foster by the back of the head and pulled him in.  Jack’s tongue was down Foster’s throat and Jack was working at Foster’s belt and zipper. 

Foster didn’t fight.  He wanted this so badly, wanted Jack to want him.  And it was happening!  Finally! 

God, Jack looked so great as he pulled back and looked down at Foster’s crotch.  Foster leaned back and let Jack un-do his pants.  Then Jack’s big, strong hands were under Foster’s tidy-whiteys and had a firm hold on Foster’s cock.  Jack was so muscular, so strong, and he slide further into the backseat so that he was on top of Foster. 

Foster gave himself over to Jack, kissing him on the mouth, the cheek, anywhere he could land his lips.  Jack seemed to be laughing at him.  Messing with him.  For a brief second Foster wondered if this was some sort of joke.  Some sort of prank.  But Jack was turning Foster over and yanking down his pants to expose his ass. 

If this was a prank, then what a fucking prank!

Jack rubbed Foster’s exposed ass with one rough palm and then gave him a slap.  Foster involuntarily giggled.  He thought he sounded like a little girl and he was a little ashamed of that, but Jack didn’t seem to care.  He worked two fingers into Foster’s ass and reached around to work on Foster’s cock.

Then, Jack plunged in.  His massive cock hit Foster just at the right spot and he arched his back and tried to adjust himself so that Jack had a good angle.  But, oddly, he didn’t need to.  Jack was hitting the right spot with no trouble at all, and Jack was working Foster’s cock with an almost manic stroking.

Foster put his palms on the window in front of him and let it happen.  Jack felt so good in him, and on his cock.  The pounding against his prostate was heavenly and Foster felt himself getting ready to cum.  Jack stroked him like a piledriver, up and down, up and down, and Foster gritted his teeth in an attempt to keep from cumming too soon.

Looking down, Foster saw Jack’s hand on his cock and it felt so damned good.  But, that was funny.  It almost looked like Jack’s hand was extended around Foster’s body, like some elastic man.  Jack’s arm literally curved around Foster’s body like a powerful snake.  It was an optical illusion.  It had to be.  The pleasure was so intense, so fantastic, that Foster wasn’t seeing right. 

That had to be it, didn’t it?

Then, Foster felt Jack’s hand as it caressed his chin and cheek.  Jack had such rough, powerful hands, and Foster loved that feeling of intimacy that he felt when someone ran their hand over his face as they fucked him.

But, wait a minute.

Jack was still stroking him.  And another hand held Foster in place while he pumped his ass.  So, where was this other hand coming from?

Foster started to look back at Jack, but Jack held Foster’s head in place.  Oh God, he was about to cum.  Fuck, this was gonna be a big one! 

And it was, too.  Spattering the window in front of Foster like icing on a cake.  The rush of ejaculation felt so fantastic.  Foster’s entire body was into it.  Every fiber of his being seemed to vibrate with the pleasure of it.  He could actually feel the cum as it exited his cock.  Feel the long streams of white cum as it spattered against the armrest and window.  He felt like he was being drained.  Emptied of everything.  And, everything looked blue.

*    *      *

As soon as Jack walked out onto the front porch of Spanky’s house, he saw the back door of his car sitting wide open.  He ran down the steps and across the short expanse of lawn.  Foster was gone.  The back seat reeked of cum, and Jack saw white strands dripping from the armrest and the far-side window.  Jesus.  It looked like Foster had cum an ocean in there.

“Where is he?” It was Chris.  He was standing there in just a pair of tight leather pants and his sneakers.  It wasn’t his best look.

“Gone!  It’s got him!”

Spanky was standing a few feet away.  He was dressed—if that was the right word—in a pair of leather briefs and a leather harness.  “Hey!” He said, but Jack and Chris weren’t listening.

“My God, Chris!  What the hell is going on?  Where is it taking them?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, but Jack could tell by the panicked look in his eyes that Chris had no idea.


“We’ve got to find David, Chris.  You have to help me find him!”


Jack was suddenly aware that Spanky was trying to get their attention.  “What?”  He sounded irritable, and he was.

“Isn’t that Foster over there?”  Spanky was pointing across the street.  There, just at the edge of a circle of light cast by a street lamp, sat Foster.  He was in the street, the gutter really, his back to one of the big storm drains.  He was naked, and his head lolled to one side.

“I think he’s out,” said Jack.  “C’mon, the thing didn’t take him.”

“Even the monster doesn’t want Fost,” added Chris.

Jack and Chris ran down the drive and into the street.  Foster’s round belly seemed luminescent in the glimmer of streetlight.  It actually seemed to glow.  But Jack could see that it was just a sheen of cum that slicked him. 

As they were crossing the street Jack saw them, emerging from the darkness in the storm drain behind Foster.  Spindly, black legs, like the legs of an insect or a spider, closed around Foster’s torso.  Jack wanted to scream, wanted to yell, but it was too late.

Foster was yanked backwards into the storm drain.

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