[Breeder] A Visit from Scruffy

[TheBreeder]

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“No one else makes me feel the way you do.” Scruffy looked up at me from only inches away as I drove my dick deeper inside him. The sensation of my hardness parting his hole and popping open the next ring made his neck drop. He stared through the slats of the blinds for a moment, jaw slack, the legs hooked over my shoulders the only thing separating our chests. Then he raised his head again and, with great effort, looked me in the eyes. “I’ve never had anyone in my life fuck me as good as you.”

It’s the kind of thing every top wants to hear. Hell, it’s the kind of thing any man wants to hear, as he’s slamming his third load into a quivering, helpless hole.

I’d heard from Scruffy earlier in the week. It’s been almost four months since I saw the kid last; we’d had a brief exchange of text messages around Christmas and the new year, but the trip never materialized that he’d planned to my area from middle of the state, where he’s currently living with his mom. He told me Wednesday that he was planning to visit his ex in my city while he checked out a couple of job opportunities. My Saturday was his, I’d told him.

He showed up around five, after a day of visiting with the ex and driving to various potential employers. Scarcely was he in the side door when he bolted into my arms. Our mouths devoured each other. His teeth raked against my lips, my jaw, my chin, as he tried to inhale me all at once. I shoved him against the stairwell wall, causing his breath to huff out in a rush. For long, long minutes we made out in the dusk without saying a word.

“I missed you,” he finally said. “Fuck, did I miss you.”

“I did too, kid,” I replied. His face was clean-shaven. Without the layer of scruff and fuzz he normally wears, he looked like an all-American kid—curly-haired and blond, freckled, and blue-eyed, the kind of boy every suburban moms dreams her son will grow up to be.

We kissed some more until he pushed me away and gasped for air. Those Delft-blue eyes bored into mine. “Am I still your boy?” he wanted to know.

“Yes,” I answered. “Of course. You’re still my boy.”

He responded by melting into my arms.

Once we were upstairs, we rolled around on the bed for long minutes, kissing and grinding our denimed crotches against each other. He didn’t want to talk much. He didn’t want to catchup, or tell me about his job hunt. He wanted my mouth on his, my beard on his neck, my hot breath on his ears. He wanted me pushing my hardness into his own, and my hands down his pants with my fingers teasing and probing at his hole.

When I pushed him against the pillows and yanked up his shirt to rake my face against his tender, white skin, he smelled of soap and body spray. I knew he’d sprayed himself with that stuff because he’d known I’d smell it it on him, and tell him how nicely scented he was. He flushed with pleasure when I did, and I had a sudden mental picture of him in his ex’s bathroom, showering for me, washing his most private places. Spraying himself with Axe where he knew my face and lips would travel. Primping in the mirror. Selecting his clothing, knowing that I’d remove every piece. The care he’d taken flattered me.

I repaid it by undressing him. He obediently lifted his hands over his head while I removed his shirt like I was undressing a little boy, then raised his hips for me when I unfastened and slowly pulled off his jeans and shorts. He murmured with pleasure when I laid my clothed body atop him, roughing up his soft, pale skin with my denim and my stubble. My nails raked across his nipples, causing him to gasp. And then I sucked him, slowly and carefully, savoring every drop of pre-cum that began to ooze from the tip of his thick meat.

Scruffy managed to gather enough force of will to roll out from under me. I allowed him to unbutton my jeans and to pull them off. On his knees, he removed my socks and rolled them together. Then he settled back onto the mattress and took my dick in his mouth. “Did you miss that dick?” I wanted to know.

“So much,” he gasped, releasing it momentarily. “Fuck. I needed this dick. It was made for me. Your dick was made for my holes.”

“Good boy,” I whispered, and placed my hand gently on the back of his neck. Over the year and more we’ve known each other, Scruffy has learned how to suck me—long, slurping strokes with a minimum of teeth and just the right amount of pressure. He’s had me close to coming many times, with his blow jobs. That’s more than most men can say.

Saturday he was doing something different from before, however. Like most guys, Scruffy can get most my dick in his mouth, but the last two inches are a little bit of a challenge. Saturday he decided to try out some newly-acquired deep-throating skills. He would take as much of my dick in his mouth as possible, then push down onto my fuckspear to impale his own throat. Every time he did it, I’d feel the effort it would take him. Then I’d feel the delicious tightness of his deepest muscles around the head of my dick, and the feeling of his lips around the lowermost base of my shaft. For a moment, he’d struggle to control his choking. Then he’d back off, breath in heavily through his nose, and try it again.

I let him deep-throat me for a long, intense few minutes, and then I pulled him off my dick. He stared at me with what I could only interpret as adoration. Tears were streaming from both eyes; his face was streaked, wet, and red. “You okay, boy?” I asked him.

“I want to make you feel good,” he rasped out.

“You are.” I cupped his chin in my hand. “But are you okay?”

“Yes.”

My dick couldn’t have been harder if it had been carved from diamond. There was great need in his expression. I released his chin and let him go back to deep-throating me.

“Show me your ass,” I said a few minutes later. He let my rigid tool drop from between his lips. If his face had been red before, it was now bright scarlet from exertion. The tears he’d cried had made him look like a beautiful mess. I slapped his butt once he’d knelt on the mattress and turned around. The impact made him shout, then groan. I could see the vaguest of imprints from the impact on his white skin, darkening where I’d struck. When I parted his cheeks and let the tip of my tongue flick out, his gasped; his back arched, and his dick stiffened and pointed toward the wall. I ate his hole like a starving dog, gnawing at the cheeks and leaving behind reddened flesh and bite marks. I didn’t care.

When at last I had him ready, I lubed my meat and drove in the first two inches. I wanted to shove it all inside, but I paused, and instead threw back the question he’d asked me upon greeting. “Are you still my boy?”

He whispered in the half-dark, “I’m always your boy.”

“How bad do you want this dick?”

“I love your big dick,” he whimpered into the pillow. “I’ll do anything for your dick. Please. Please, just give me your dick, sir.”

He sounded sincere. I drove it home, causing him to yell, to grasp at the pillows, and to clench his teeth and hiss with pleasure.

We fucked for a long hour or more. I topped him slowly and deliberately, humping on top of him with long and slow strokes while he craned his neck over his shoulder so that our lips might meet. He received my first load with thanks and tears. My second load I pounded in from behind again, but had him kneel on the bed’s edge as he shoved his butt in the air. And the third load, long in coming, arrived as I fucked him face to face, with his knees hooked atop my shoulders. It was in that position that he made his astonishing confession. “I’ve never had anyone in my life fuck me as good as you.”

I stopped for a moment. “Do you mean that?” I asked. It’s the kind of thing guys say in the heat of the moment, to keep the action hot, to make the moment seem more real and romantic than it might really be.

The tears on his face might have been left over from the deep-throating he’d attempted an hour before, but I suspected they weren’t. “You know, the first time I came over here, my legs were shaking so bad that I could barely walk to the door, I was so excited about getting you. You give me exactly what I need,” he whispered in a rush. “Nobody else does that.”

Again, he was sincere. “Thank you,” I told him. I stared into his eyes. I’ve known Scruffy a long time. I can’t say I know him well. He doesn’t open up to me in the same way Spencer has. We don’t have a lot of long, in-depth conversations about his thoughts, his hopes, or his likes and dislikes. What I do know about him is very little, outside of what we do in bed. But when we are in bed, and when we are connected dick to hole, I know he’s giving his all. He’s right there in the moment with me. And that’s rare. “Thank you for saying that.”

“It’s true,” he said, his beautiful eyes open and wide. “I wish it could go on forever.”

My hand brushed the hair from his eyes. “And I wish I could make everything bad go away from your life.” He stared at me, then blinked. His mouth raised to offer me the sweetness of his red lips.

My hips took over. I couldn’t help myself. That moment of perfect intimacy swelled my desire, and I fucked him hard and without restraint. When I came, it was almost painful—as if I slammed into a wall of sensation with such force that it wracked my entire body with sensation.

We weren’t done, though. Not by a long shot. While Scruffy played with himself, I positioned him so that his head hung over the bottom of the mattress. Then, my forearms resting on the bedroom dresser, I squatted over his mouth with my ass, and lowered it up and down on his face. I talked dirty to him and told him to eat his daddy’s hole while he gulped and grunted and groaned. When he came, I was basically wiping my ass crack over his face, moving back and forth to as my dick and balls dragged over the kid’s forehead and nose.

His orgasm was noisy, and explosive, and seemed to last for long minutes. Then he subsided, and on trembling legs I lowered myself to the bed beside him. We lay curled up next to each other for several minutes, not talking, but holding and touching each other as the last of the sunlight faded.

Then he stumbled to his feet and we both dressed in the dark.

“Sorry I’ve gotta go,” he told me, as he pulled on his shoes at the back door. “I’m supposed to go out to dinner with a couple of friends and the ex.”

“Where does he think you are?” I wanted to know. Scruffy always stays with his ex while he’s in town; they seem to have a good relationship as friends, though no longer as lovers.

“Oh, he knows where I am,” Scruffy laughed. “I’ve shown him your photos.”

My eyebrows raised. “Really!”

“Oh hells yeah.” Impulsively, Scruffy pulled my face down to his. “No way I’m not going to brag about getting you. Are you shitting me?”

When he left, I had the biggest grin on my face. He’d flattered and surprised me yet again.

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