By the time I, a then twenty-three year old librarian fresh out of grad school, came up from the staff room to do my stint at the circulation desk I was already horny from reading an erotic gay novel on my break. The situation was made worse when, from the vantage point of the circulation desk, I could see down the length of the reference room, under one of the heavy oak tables, and straight into the lap of the young stud who sat there.
By the books he and his girlfriend had toted in I could tell that they were college sophomores. I could also tell that the boy was horny as a cockle-bur, as he kept trying to put his arm around the girl, but she kept ducking, and every time he tried to kiss her she'd turn her head, giving him a mouthful of frizzy blonde hair. He kept jiggling his legs nervously, and every once in a while he'd reach down and give his cock a furtive, loving squeeze. I could also see that he had a raging hard-on.
Watching that young stud grope himself would have driven me half-crazy with lust if I'd let it. Instead, I distracted myself as best I could, checking books in, and checking them out.
A chair's leg scraping on linoleum recalled my attention to the reference-room duo. The boy had stood up, in an odd posture so the girl wouldn't see his excitement, and he was saying something to her. Then, pocketing his hands to hide his boner, he marched right past me, headed for the men's room.
I knew what he'd do once he got there. Any normal, red-blooded American male would do the same. He might really need to piss, but once he'd wrapped his fingers around that bone-stiff slab of fuck-flesh he wouldn't let go until he'd jerked off that big load churning in his balls. I was willing to bet on it. And, horny as I was, I was ready to risk my job to get next to that hot boy while he milked off his horny meat. Who knows, maybe he'll need a hand… or a hot, sucking mouth. It's not like I had never done that type of thing in the library washroom before, so it was a possibility.
I hollered at Paul, the guy we'd hired to put away books and told him to watch the desk while I took a washroom break. Then, as quickly as discretion allowed, I nipped downstairs to the public men's room.
I heard the slap-slap-slap of flesh against flesh the minute I creaked open the door. There were two stalls in the place, one of them occupied. When the door had swung closed behind me I bent over and looked under. I could see the college boy's faded jeans atop his high-topped basketball shoes and could hear his belt jiggle as he beat his meat, now with swifter, quieter strokes. My own cock throbbed in my gray flannels as l realized how right I'd been. Now, if I could only be right about his needing some help with his rigid young dick.
I sauntered into the stall next to his, blessing as I did so our saintly (gay) janitor, who, far from boarding up the glory hole between the two booths, maintained it scrupulously with Bon Ami and fresh paint. Rumor had it he'd bored it himself, and it certainly looked like a professional job (no rough edges); but I hadn't caught him at it so I can't really say.
The point is that there was this hole, a good three inches in diameter, in the wall between the two stalls. If I was careful I'd at least get a look at the boy's cock. If I played my cards right, before too long he'd be standing with his belly plastered against the other side of that partition while I chowed down on the stiff inches he'd slipped through the hole.
I dropped my pants and sat down on the black, hard-rubber toilet seat. Leaning in towards the partition, I bent slowly forward until I could peep cautiously through the hole and got my first glimpse of what the college boy had between his legs: a fairly large, thick, cut cock. Pre-cum oozed from the slit in its purplish head, which he was using to lubricate the smooth, pink shaft as he quietly stroked.
He had leaned well back on the toilet, affording me a perfect view of his groin. His hairy, muscular thighs fanned in and out with the motion of his right hand. His left hand toyed with his balls, rolling them between long fingers like a pair of enormous worry beads.
I risked leaning far enough forward to get a look at his face. Handsome at worst, he looked even hotter now with his sensuous mouth hanging open, face flushed, eyes closed, thinking of what… his girlfriend? I started to masturbate myself, slowly and quietly at first, gradually picking up speed and volume. Pretty soon I was going ninety-to-nothing. The tiled restroom echoed with the sound of fist scraping flesh.
He followed suit, made more daring by the sounds of my masturbation and the few low moans I ventured. I knew he was turned on by it, too, by the novelty and forbiddingness of two guys jerking off next to each other. In time he uttered a little groan of his own.
At that point I knew I had him hooked. In a whisper, scarcely audible, I asked him, "Need some help with that thing, buddy?"
A pause ensued, so long a pause that for a horrible moment I suspected that I'd made a mistake, that horny as he was, the young college stud was not going to accept my advances. But as my heart raced and I was contemplating getting out of there quick, he responded.
"Yeah," he said. His voice sounded strangled, like he was having trouble getting the word out.
I crooked a finger through the glory hole. "Put it through and I'll suck it for you," I said.
There was another pause and I thought I'd lost him, expecting him to bolt at any second.
"I dunno," he finally quavered. "Maybe I better just beat off."
"Suit yourself," I said. The difficulty of trying to sound nonchalant almost made my voice quiver, too, but I managed to keep it under control. "You ever had a blowjob?" I asked.
"From a guy?"
"Nah, just my girlfriend."
"She ever deep-throat it for you?"
"Nah, she just kinda puts her mouth over the head and sucks on it while she jacks me off."
"No offense to her, but that's no blowjob. A real blowjob is when they take it all down their throat, you know, like the way you do her cunt, cramming your dick in until it's all in, right up to the balls."
He groaned quietly at my description.
"Why don't you let me show you what a real one feels like?"
Yet another pause, then he said, "Sure, why not." You could hear the shrug in his voice. He stood up, turned to face the partition, and moved towards me.
For my money there's no more beautiful sight than a hot cock coming at you through a glory hole. This one was particularly beautiful, and straight in all senses of the word. This was one cock I was going to relish closing my greedy lips around.
Before I did that, though, I turned ninety degrees on the toilet seat and leaned forward to swab the big head of that work of art. I felt it shudder as my tongue made contact. I ran my tongue up under the broad flange of the head and dug it into the sensitive piss-slit. "Oh, Jesus," he uttered, and his meat grew stiffer, flopping against the graffiti-scarred wall.
I rolled my eyeballs up and saw that he had his hands hooked over the top of the partition. From the way he was clenching and unclenching his fingers I could tell he was in seventh heaven, or close to it. I ran my tongue up and down the length of his straining shaft until it was slippery with my spit. Then, after a momentary pause, I impaled my throat on that throbbing, glistening pole.
I consider myself a bit of a pro at sucking cock, and didn't gag when the pulsating purple head lodged down next to my tonsils. I let it stay there and throb. Meanwhile, my tongue was busy with a sort of windshield-wiper routine on the thick under cord of the meat, and my lips and cheeks were doing a hungry-calf number, milking away at the boy's thick, venous shaft.
Need I tell you that the young college stud went wild? His loins vibrated against the wooden wall. Groan after lustful groan issued from his lips and echoed around the ceramic-tiled room. Waves of lust rolled up from his balls with every motion of my suctioning lips.
And then the meat was gone. Someone else had come in and he'd yanked it out of my mouth. I could see it glinting wetly through the hole, just out of reach of my lips, and then he sat down on the toilet.
Whoever had come in took a piss at the urinal and then left. I got back in position, looked through the hole and saw that he was stroking his cock quietly. I also saw that his balls were drawn up tight and his face was scrunched up like he was about to cum. "Gimme your cum!" I begged and then thrusted my tongue through the hole as far as it would reach.
"Isn't there someplace else we could go? I'm a bit nervous someone else might come in," he said, and I realized with relief that he wasn't cumming, just holding off.
"What about your girlfriend?" I asked.
"I mean after the library closes. Do you have a place?"
I pondered. My straight roommate wouldn't approve of my dragging home a trick, considering my bedroom is in the solarium right off the living room. I weighed his disapproval against the disappointment I'd feel if I didn't get to milk the cream from this young piece of fuck-meat. Then, like a gift from the gods, came the thought of the women's staff room up on the third floor of the library. There was a sort of fainting couch or chaise lounge there where the women could put their feet up when they were having their periods or whatever.
I told him about it, and we arranged for him to come back fifteen minutes after the library closed. Then we pulled up our pants and exited the stalls. "I'm John," I said, extending my hand.
"Dean," he replied.
We then went upstairs, separately, of course. I still had a hard-on, one that came and went over and over for the remaining two hours that the library was open. It didn't help that Dean was there most of that time. I couldn't take my eyes off him. Whenever his girlfriend bent over her books he'd look up at me, grin, and give his crotch a squeeze.
At closing time, Paul seemed inclined to hang around and chat. I had to make a pretense of leaving by getting in my car and driving away. When I pulled into the library parking lot again, Dean was waiting outside the back door.
I let us into the building with my passkey and led him up to the staff room on the third floor. No sooner had I done so than he started to unzip he pants. All hesitancy from earlier was gone. Now that he'd had a taste he was obviously as horny for it as I was now.
I pushed his hand away and had his cock out in seconds. It was already rock hard. I dropped to my knees and gave it a few good pumps with my mouth. He threw back his head and howled, grabbing my shoulders and urging me to deep-throat it like I had earlier. Instead, I got up and pulled his shirt off over his head. I wanted this boy completely naked while I sucked his cock. With his shirt off, I then got back on my knees and removed his shoes and then unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down and off. Next I removed his underwear.
After taking a moment to take in his young, firm, lean body, I loosened my tie and removed it, followed by my button-down shirt. Then I removed my shoes, pants and underwear. When he saw my seven-and-a-half inches of stiff, cut cock jutting out he felt compelled to tell me that getting his cock sucked was as far as he thought he could go — with a guy — and that he hoped I didn't expect him to suck my dick or anything. I said that was fine. I was perfectly happy at getting the opportunity to suck the big, hard cock of a stud like him that I couldn't care less about reciprocation. His relief was very apparent.
I had him lay back on the chaise lounge and put his hands behind his head. I then bent over him and started to gnaw at his pubes, at the same time rubbing my cheek up and down the length of his bloated, bone-hard cock. I couldn't help it! Even if I'd been trying to avoid that stiff thing it still would have gotten in the way.
Dean jumped with surprise when he felt my stubble rubbing his prick, arching his abdomen slightly, and then he put his hand on my head with slight pressure. I knew he wanted me to go down on him. Did I oblige? No way! For me to go down on him the first time he asked would be like a good Christian girl fucking on the first date. I intended to graze on the periphery until he was so ready he would be half out of his mind with lust.
And that's just what I did. I lapped his nuts and felt his enormous, full balls draw up tight against his body. Next, I turned my attention to the sensitive area between nut-sac and thigh. That appeared to be an erogenous zone that he had not realized he had. He thrashed on the couch, raising his hips and mashing his crotch into my face, using his hands on the back of my head to hold me there while my whirligig tongue went wild.
I finally yielded to the pressure of his hands and slipped down again until my face was in his crotch. Again, as in the men's room, I teased his pulsing, quivering fuck-tool with my tongue. He groaned and writhed, and for the first time came right out and begged me to suck it. He even said please!
I couldn't refuse such a well-mannered boy. I opened my slavering lips just enough to slide them over the shiny head of his big cock. Then, without stopping, but with absolutely no hurry whatsoever, I allowed gravity to pull my lips down the length of that rod, inch by slow inch, until I felt the head squeeze through the entrance to my throat's tight tunnel and knew I'd swallowed all that Dean had to give.
He knew it, too. I felt him tense, and then, almost as slowly as I'd taken his cock, a groan wrenched loose from his lips.
"Oh, God!" he moaned. "Oh, yeah. Oh, fuck YEAH!"
Those words, and words like them, were all he could find to say for the next solid hour. The college sophomore was ready to pop when I started, but every time I felt his thigh muscles tense and heard his breathing begin to labor I'd pull my lips away, leaving that spit-dripping pole to flop and dry and cool off in the air while I returned to nuzzling his balls. After a minute or two I'd gingerly slip my lips over the head again and work down to the base, eventually resuming a slow stroking that increased in speed until, once again, I felt him about to cum. Then I'd pull off once more.
It was surprising that I'd do this, being that I knew how hungry I was for the taste of his creamy, heavy load after waiting a couple of hours to finally have it. But, as you might be able to tell, my guiding principle of cocksucking is that a delayed orgasm is the best orgasm. Dean had started asking me to make him cum after about fifteen minutes; after half an hour he was begging, and I made him wait another thirty minutes or so before I felt the time was ripe.
At that point, instead of pulling away when I felt his thighs start to shiver, I simply slowed my rhythm to a crawl. I'd been going pretty fast, and the change of pace surprised him. He started to fuck up into my mouth with short, speedy strokes, but I grabbed his hips and held them to the couch so that my lips became the only pacesetters.
The effect was this: the young stud's cum was boiling at the base of his cock, ready to spill over, and my slow sucking seemed to make a bottleneck of his dick so that the cum rose slowly through the shaft, like mercury rising in a thermometer, and his pleasure rose with it.
His tense leg muscles grew tighter still, lifting his body off the chaise lounge and levering his taut, all-but-bursting dick into my mouth. Between strenuous breaths his inarticulate groans somehow managed to get words behind them, words that squeezed together and grew in intensity like a pagan chant: "suckitsuckitsuckitsuckit-SUCK… IT!" he cried, and with that last shout his cum burst forth.
He grappled my head to his crotch, stuffing every inch of his exploding cock down my throat. I didn't gag, but I did struggle, momentarily, to get free enough to catch one thick bolt of his seed full on my tongue. Then, with the taste of that fresh stud-juice to savor, I let him ram his dick down my throat again and shoot the rest of his load straight into my guts. For a while I thought I'd triggered some sort of unstoppable chain reaction in him. His orgasm went on and on. Finally, though, he settled down.
"That feel good?" I asked, licking spit and semen from my chin.
I didn't wait to hear his reservations. I knew what they were. Straight boys in our society don't have their first sex with a man without feeling guilty afterwards. It's an old story, and even back then I was tired of it. I laid a lip-lock on his now semi-erect cock and kept it there until I'd lip-massaged his mammoth cock back to full erection, which, at a youthful age, never takes long even right after having an orgasm. When it was hard, I slipped down and lubed it up good with my saliva. Then I spat into my hand and greased up my own asshole.
Taking a cock as big as this stud's doesn't go in without causing some pain, but I didn't let it show. He started to protest at first, but stopped when his cockhead touched my asshole and popped inside my hot tunnel. In a few minutes I was doing deep knee bends, riding his cock high into my guts. A few minutes more and he fired another load deep inside me.
When he was done unloading I assured him that these weren't the only pleasurable things that two men could do together. He wanted to know what other things I was talking about, but I told him he'd just have to come pay me another visit and find out sometime. And, as I suspected, he did… many times.
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