perrito78
Sexy Member
La historia va muy bien!! Calentando poco a poco .. gracias
Hard as Ice
- Thread starter IDreamaboutMen
- Start date
I'm pretty sure Mxexpert meant that as high praise, Chris! And I agree with him.
No worries—I enjoy this discussion.
So, here are my thoughts:
[snip]
Yes, I understand things more clearly now. Thank you!
You do that quite well, Chris! That's why I keep coming back, and even re-reading.
For whatever my opinion is worth, I think you could probably accomplish that with minor adjustments, adding a phrase here, a sentence there, and so on.
Speaking of re-reading, I've just re-read Part Three. I quite like the way you show the older man feeling his capacity for love and affection gradually beginning to thaw.
Tsk. The filth, the filth -- and in such a pristine landscape! Just Stop Oil!
Doesn't it just make you want to go vandalize a great painting and disrupt a Shakespeare play or symphony concert?
(By the way, I do think the wide use of petroleum is poisoning the planet, and I do find the image of melted snow mixed with soot and oil powerful. I just hate vandalism as a tactic and think it harms the cause. The only thing that's going to wean us off petroleum is making clean electricity as ubiquitous, easy to use and inexpensive as possible, so those youngsters who threw tomato soup at van Gogh's Sunflowers should be studying electrical engineering while they're in jail. Sorry to veer off-topic.)
Hmmmmmmm ...
We're your focus group! You can take whatever insights you gain from your target-audience sample at LPSG and work those into your final product as Substack!
You sure are!! And I'm humbled by your energy and enthusiasmYes, I understand things more clearly now. Thank you!
You do that quite well, Chris! That's why I keep coming back, and even re-reading.
For whatever my opinion is worth, I think you could probably accomplish that with minor adjustments, adding a phrase here, a sentence there, and so on.
Speaking of re-reading, I've just re-read Part Three. I quite like the way you show the older man feeling his capacity for love and affection gradually beginning to thaw.
Tsk. The filth, the filth -- and in such a pristine landscape! Just Stop Oil!
Doesn't it just make you want to go vandalize a great painting and disrupt a Shakespeare play or symphony concert?
(By the way, I do think the wide use of petroleum is poisoning the planet, and I do find the image of melted snow mixed with soot and oil powerful. I just hate vandalism as a tactic and think it harms the cause. The only thing that's going to wean us off petroleum is making clean electricity as ubiquitous, easy to use and inexpensive as possible, so those youngsters who threw tomato soup at van Gogh's Sunflowers should be studying electrical engineering while they're in jail. Sorry to veer off-topic.)
Hmmmmmmm ...
We're your focus group! You can take whatever insights you gain from your target-audience sample at LPSG and work those into your final product as Substack!
Part four
You can also read this story as it evolves on my Substack, as well as some of my other stories.
You're more than welcome to share your thoughts with me.
The boy felt the man’s lips brush against his. Warm. Soft. His breath—gentle, musky.
He closed his eyes. Felt the tip of the man’s nose graze his own, his rough, unshaven skin teasing his upper lip.
The snow walls of the bivaque glowed faintly, an ultraviolet shimmer cutting through the dusk outside. Just enough for them to make out each other's shapes. And their shapes were close enough to make them feel their breaths intertwine, warm currents drifting over bare skin.
The man leaned over, reaching into one of his hip pockets.
– Here, he said, offering the boy something heavy. A faint smell of oil came with it. – Something to keep you safe.
He placed it on the snow, right next to the boy’s sleeping bag. The boy let out a deep sigh—then, suddenly, something sharp pressed against the man’s waist.
– You mean you give me a gun?... Something like this?
The man shifted back slightly.
– Yes… Didn’t know if you… you know, brought one.
The boy exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief.
– Really? He sighed. Jeeeesus, man – you actually thought I didn’t?
He picked up the object the man had beside him, fingers running over it, then let it go.
– And this… You bring this… a Sig? Wow.
The man hesitated. He could feel the energy in the boy’s voice, as well as the pointy object against his waist.
– Oh, dear, no end to the surprises here. I guess it’s a Glock you’re poking me with.
The boy didn’t answer right away. The man leaned back a little, waiting.
– Of course it is, the boy replied. A proper gun for proper folks… mountain folks.
He spun it around his finger like a toy, careless despite the small space between them. Then, just as smoothly, he caught it in a firm grip again.
The man felt the boy’s leg shift, forcing him to adjust his stance. He caught himself on one hand, knees pressing into the snow, his body hovering over the boy’s. Their faces were level, the Glock still pointed at him, the boy asked:
– And what made you think I needed protection? The man heard the smile in his voice.
The boy raised an arm, resting it against the man’s shoulder, his hand drifting slowly toward his neck.
– What’s wrong with trying to be nice? the man said.
– Well, the boy murmured, nice can be nice, and nice can be… stupid.
His fingers brushed against the man’s neck. At the same time, the man felt the barrel of the Glock slide upward. The boy shifted slightly beneath him, settling more comfortably underneath him, between his arms, their breath mixing in the cold air.
– Hmmm, well… under certain circumstances… can’t a man be both?
– I’m not sure that’s allowed, the boy said. And from what I’ve heard, a man can only be the two at the same time under very special circumstances.
– And those are?
The man felt the boy move the barrel further up along his stomach, stopping right on top of his heart, drawing a heart shape on the uniform.
– Sorry Sir, that’s top secret. It’s a “If I tell you, I have to kill you” thingy.
– Oh, is it now? The man adjusted his body, leaning in closer. – That sounds scary.
– Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I’d say lethal, even.
The boy grabbed the man’s hoodie and pulled it back over his head. Short hair glimmered in the darkness.
The man leaned in further, pressing the boy’s gun down between them, feeling the boy’s thighs spread wider to let him through.
He braced himself on his hands, spread on either side of the boy, barely making out the soft outlines of the face beneath him.
– And just how lethal would you say? Mega, mega lethal, or… just, like, very lethal?
He felt the boy’s open mouth—so close now. Nose tips almost touching, their breath creating a small tropical microclimate of their own. The boy’s hips lifted slightly against his.
– Oh, very mega lethal… Sir. I’d hate having to harm you.
– And what makes you think you could harm me? the man replied.
The boy smirked, hearing him echo his own words. He shifted slightly, pressing his bulge against the man above him.
And then, they got even closer. The man couldn’t look away from those shimmering crystal-like blue lagoons beneath him, still gleaming with that ultra-violet glow.
– The only hard object I can feel here is… well, it isn’t a Glock, the man said, adjusting his hips, and although big… it doesn’t seem that harmful.
The boy thought about the men he had killed just days ago.
– I hate to ruin the moment, Sir, but I think there are quite a few men who’d disagree.
The man studied him for a second, gazing, pulling a lock of hair from his forehead, then whispered:
– Well, you are quite the little rascal, aren’t you?
He let his weight sink a little more, his breath warm against the boy’s cheek. Their bodies were flush against each other now, close enough for him to feel the sharp inhale just before the boy spoke again.
– You’re heavy, the boy murmured, shifting slightly underneath him, his voice somewhere between complaint and invitation.
– Yeah? You want me to move?
The boy hesitated just long enough for his silence to be an answer. Then, he exhaled—slow, almost absentmindedly.
– Not a chance. One move and I’d have to kill you.
Something bubbled up inside the man, light and unexpected—then it broke into a smile. He couldn’t hold the giggle in. Then he exhaled, tilting his head slightly. A brush of lips, barely there. Then another.
And so they kissed. Properly, this time.
The boy’s mouth parted instinctively, breath catching as the kiss deepened. Slow at first, tasting, teasing. Their tongues met in soft, searching strokes, the heat between them melting the cold that lingered in the air. The man shifted, pressing down more firmly, feeling the boy arch up to meet him, his hands sliding from his shoulders to his back, then lower, gripping onto him as if anchoring himself.
And then there was no restraint, no hesitation. The kiss turned deeper, hungrier. Mouths wide open, panting, breathless, kissing. Tongues clashing, strong, teasing, slick, sliding together in rhythm. The boy moaned softly into him, the sound barely a whisper but enough to make the man tighten his hold, pressing him down into the thick fabric of the sleeping bag beneath them.
The boy exhaled sharply, his breath trembling against the man’s lips.
– Told you, he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. – Lethal.
He felt the boy’s arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close, clinging to him. Hips grinding up against him, their combined weight forcing the man’s hands deep into the snow.
He is so heavy, the boy thought as the man pressed his full weight onto him. So fucking wonderfully heavy. His hands roamed the man’s body, tracing the firm lines of muscle through the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer with his arms, pushing him up with his hips—as if trying to merge them, to fuse them into one.
The man felt the power in the young body underneath. The raw energy. The way the boy gripped him, held onto him, refused to let him go. Their bodies moved in sync, chest to chest, groin to groin. Hard bulges straining beneath their uniforms, heat radiating between them.
He buried his face against the boy’s shoulder, and felt the flicker of his tongue against his neck, along his earlobe. That scent—soft but distinct. Musk, soap, the sharp freshness of spearmint on his breath.
Two strong hands gripped his back, pressing him even closer still, strong hips lifting them both.
The man let out a low breath, lips parting against the boy’s neck. Then he kissed him there—slow, deliberate—his teeth grazing just enough to leave a mark. He licked over it, tasting salt and skin, burying his nose in those dark blond curls, inhaling him, pulling him in deeper.
Two young hands unzipped his uniform—steady, knowing, focused. Then, cold fingers slipped inside, sliding over his chest, caressing him through his underwear. Thumbs pressed into the crease between his muscles, fingertips teasing his nipples over the fabric. Mapping him. Examining the contours of his body.
He pushed his pelvis against the boy’s, and the boy answered by spreading his thighs even wider, lifting his hips, raising his ass so that the man’s bulge could find its place between his legs. A soft, pleased sigh escaped him as he felt the pressure against him.
Yes, the boy told himself. That’s where you should be. Been waiting too long for this.
The man began thrusting slowly, testing the rhythm. The boy moved with him, aligning his body to match. A slow, instinctive dance—one where the man dictated the pace, and the boy, the action. His hands explored deeper, slipping further into the uniform, past the edges of the fabric, under the t-shirt—until finally, skin. Warm, solid.
He began to peel the uniform away, bit by bit, freeing the man’s shoulders, then his back, uncovering the sculpted muscles that had been hiding beneath.
The man lifted his chest, giving him space. The boy moved lower, dragged the t-shirt upwards, mouth trailing down his neck, finding his pecs. Lips parting. Licking. Biting. Playing his nipples with the flick of a tongue.
The man arched over him, his body unfolding like a stretch—like a yoga pose, sun salutation—spine lengthening, chest rising, head tilting back as far as it could under the low ceiling of the cliff that hid them.
Raising his hips slightly gave the boy just enough space to explore, his fingers gliding over the man’s stomach, following the dark trail of hair leading downward. He traced it slowly, tracking his way toward the man’s groin.
So soft, the boy thought, reaching the pubes. So thick…
His hand moved over the tight ridges of muscle, feeling every subtle shift, every breath the man took through those dark curls.
– Fuuuck… the man sighed, shuddering as fingers teased through his pubes. – Goddamn, boy…
The boy answered by burying his face in the warm space between his pecs, inhaling him, his breath hot against his skin. His other hand slipped inside the man’s briefs, fingers closing around the thick, rock-hard cock that had been waiting for him.
– There you are… he murmured to himself. There…
He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, feeling its heat, the pulse beneath the skin. Slowly, he began moving his hand, stroking upward, and downward. The thick head of the cock pressed against his wrist as he tightened his grip.
The man groaned, his body arching instinctively, muscles flexing as he fought to control his reflexes. Then moving forward, so that the boy could explore more freely. Still resting on his hands in the snow, he felt the boy shuffle downward, licking his chest and abs along the way.
The boy unfolded the man’s uniform step by step, freeing the bare skin, acting as if it was a gift to unwrap. Caressing the man’s waist with one hand, slowly fingering the crack between his asscheeks, while jerking the foreskin back and forth.
The air in their small hideout grew warmer as the insulation of their uniforms unraveled, their soft sighs and kisses wrapped in the silence of the sleeping forest.
– Boy… the man murmured, feeling the flicker of a tongue circling his navel, eager fingers slipping deeper between the firm curves of his ass, gripping onto those rock-hard, tensed glutes. Then he decided to be silent.
Those strong, searching hands—constantly shifting between force and playfulness. That tongue, mapping every sensitive inch of his skin. The breath, flooding over him in warm waves, drifting like the light smoke of incense.
His entire body tightened, all power centering in his groin, pooling in his pelvis, building, surging. The boy’s soft, deliberate strokes over his balls sent ripples of heat spiraling through him, gathering along his cock, waiting—aching—to explode.
The man exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against the snow-packed ground, struggling to stay steady. His arms trembled slightly, his body hovering above the boy, held up by the strength in his shoulders, his core tight to keep himself from collapsing into him. His weight balanced on one hand, the other sinking into the boy’s hair—fingertips threading through those curls, the sensation heightening everything, sending another jolt of heat through him.
The boy moved lower, his mouth trailing downward, his breath hot against the man’s skin. The darkness inside their bivouac made everything more visceral, tighter. He couldn’t see the boy, only sense him. Every flicker of breath, every shift of muscle, every touch magnified in the absence of sight.
The boy’s hands pressed against his thighs, fingers exploring with a slow, deliberate hunger. He could feel the press of them against the straining muscle, kneading, teasing. Then they slipped inward, fingertips gliding over the sensitive skin just beneath his groin, a place where warmth and tension had already gathered, coiled tight.
A low, ragged groan slipped from the man’s lips. His triceps, back, and waist burned by now from holding himself up, but he refused to let his weight drop. Not yet. Not when the boy was this close.
The boy chuckled softly beneath him, letting the big, veiny cock rest against his cheek.
– You like that, sir?
The man let out a breathless, half-strangled laugh.
– Naah, I’ve had better.
The boy’s tongue flicked out, barely brushing the crease where thigh met groin, feeling the sharp shudder it created in the man’s body. Then lower, his warm breath trailing over the swollen heat of the man’s cock, teasing the sensitive skin with every slow exhale.
The man clenched his jaw, every muscle tightening. The darkness swallowed everything but sensation. The slick heat of the boy’s mouth. The slow, wet slide as he took him in.
A sharp inhale, his fingers curling against the frozen ground. The boy worked him with instinct, his mouth moving with deep, patient strokes, lips sealing tight, tongue teasing just beneath the head. The pressure made his arms shake harder, the weight of his pleasure threatening to drop him completely.
The only sounds in the bivouac were breath, muffled groans, and the rhythmic slickness between them.
The man forced his eyes open into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything but vague, shifting shadows. Couldn’t see the boy’s mouth wrapped around him, but he could feel him.
And fuck, that was almost better.
His voice came out strained, barely controlled.
– Goddamn. His fingers tensed against the boy’s back.
The boy’s movements vibrated and sent a deep, uncontrollable tremor through his body. His hips bucked slightly, the strain in his arms reaching its breaking point.
His hands slid up the man’s thighs again, gripping his hip bones, holding. Keeping him steady. Keeping him focused.
Now he exhaled slowly, feeling the heat of the man’s cock against his lips, unseen but fully present in the darkness around them. His fingers wrapped around the base, tracing the thick, veined shaft with his thumb, feeling the pulse of it beneath his grip.
Finally.
His tongue flicked out, teasing the ridge beneath the head, mapping its shape, tracing the firm contours that pressed against his skin. The taste of salt and something deep, raw, purely him spread across his tongue—earthier than sweat, cleaner than skin, a faint trace of something synthetic clung to the man’s uniform. A sterile, sharp scent, mixing with the heat of his body.
Fuck that uniform, the boy thought. I want his sweat.
Tilting his head, he dragged his lips along the underside, slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge, every twitch. His breath spilled over damp skin as his other hand traveled upward, seeking, finding the sharp ridges of the man’s hip bone. He gripped it, firm, steady, his fingers pressing into taut muscle, anchoring the man’s movements, guiding them.
The man groaned above him, arms trembling slightly as he held himself up.
The boy smirked against his skin. Lethal… Yessir.
Opening his mouth wider, he let the swollen head push past his lips, his tongue pressing up against it, feeling the smoothness, the distinct ridge. The sharp contours. He sucked in slowly, taking more, inch by inch, hollowing his cheeks to draw him deeper. The heavyweight glided deeper into him.
The man sighed, his breath hitching. His hips rolled forward, testing the boy’s grip, and the boy let him move—just enough. Feeling his warmth engulf him.
With one hand, he controlled the rhythm, keeping the man’s thrusts in check, fingers digging into his hip. With the other, he reached down, cupping his balls, rolling them slowly, feeling the heavy warmth in his palm, letting one finger in between his thighs. The man let out a deep, shuddering groan, his fingers flexing against the frozen ground.
The boy grinned around him, swallowing deeper, feeling the thick head nudge the back of his throat. The warm, dark forest of his pubes tickled his nose and lips.
Yes.
He pressed his tongue against the ridge, savoring the weight, the sheer size of it. Slowly, deliberately, he began to move, sliding his lips back and forth, each motion controlled. He knew he was playing his cards right. The man should be fucking grateful—so grateful he’d let him do this again. All the time. Whenever he wanted.
His mouth was full to the brim, stretched, almost gagging from the sheer force of the blood-filled vessel he had craved for so long.
Every movement was deliberate, unhurried. He had dreamed of this moment since the first time he laid eyes on the man—those broad shoulders, that thick, muscular ass flexing under the uniform.
He hadn't been able to let go of the memory of the man undressing in front of him. Confident. Careful. Knowing he was watched, appreciated.
He had sat there, watching the man, barely breathing, feeling the heat pool in his stomach as his cock hardened, as it was leaning against his thigh, clear for the man to see. His mind had already been racing ahead, already eating the man’s ass, the man’s fingers toying with his own, aching for the man to get inside of him.
It was worth waiting for. The dick was thick, firm. Veins patterned along the shaft, the thick foreskin giving his hand a solid grip. He let the tip of his tongue flick over the slit, teasing it—before the flood, before the tsunami of sperm that—hopefully—would fill his mouth with that sweet, salty taste.
He was rock hard himself, his dick pressing against his uniform, straining, creating a pyramid-like shape between his thighs.
I’ll get to you later, he thought. I’m so horny I’ll probably cum without touching.
But that was then. This was now.
And for once, reality was so much better than dreaming.
He savored every inch, every cubic centimeter of what the man so willingly gave him. His strong, sturdy body hovered above, letting him feast on the rough, brim-full piece of meat placed before him.
He moved his head along the shaft, alternating the pressure of his tongue, tracing every shift in texture—the smoothness of the skin, the raised veins, the thick, swollen ridge just beneath the head. The rhythm of it, the pneumatic movements, the taste of salt, dark leather, and oil—it was hypnotizing.
To be continued
You can also read this story as it evolves on my Substack, as well as some of my other stories.
You're more than welcome to share your thoughts with me.
The boy felt the man’s lips brush against his. Warm. Soft. His breath—gentle, musky.
He closed his eyes. Felt the tip of the man’s nose graze his own, his rough, unshaven skin teasing his upper lip.
The snow walls of the bivaque glowed faintly, an ultraviolet shimmer cutting through the dusk outside. Just enough for them to make out each other's shapes. And their shapes were close enough to make them feel their breaths intertwine, warm currents drifting over bare skin.
The man leaned over, reaching into one of his hip pockets.
– Here, he said, offering the boy something heavy. A faint smell of oil came with it. – Something to keep you safe.
He placed it on the snow, right next to the boy’s sleeping bag. The boy let out a deep sigh—then, suddenly, something sharp pressed against the man’s waist.
– You mean you give me a gun?... Something like this?
The man shifted back slightly.
– Yes… Didn’t know if you… you know, brought one.
The boy exhaled sharply, shaking his head in disbelief.
– Really? He sighed. Jeeeesus, man – you actually thought I didn’t?
He picked up the object the man had beside him, fingers running over it, then let it go.
– And this… You bring this… a Sig? Wow.
The man hesitated. He could feel the energy in the boy’s voice, as well as the pointy object against his waist.
– Oh, dear, no end to the surprises here. I guess it’s a Glock you’re poking me with.
The boy didn’t answer right away. The man leaned back a little, waiting.
– Of course it is, the boy replied. A proper gun for proper folks… mountain folks.
He spun it around his finger like a toy, careless despite the small space between them. Then, just as smoothly, he caught it in a firm grip again.
The man felt the boy’s leg shift, forcing him to adjust his stance. He caught himself on one hand, knees pressing into the snow, his body hovering over the boy’s. Their faces were level, the Glock still pointed at him, the boy asked:
– And what made you think I needed protection? The man heard the smile in his voice.
The boy raised an arm, resting it against the man’s shoulder, his hand drifting slowly toward his neck.
– What’s wrong with trying to be nice? the man said.
– Well, the boy murmured, nice can be nice, and nice can be… stupid.
His fingers brushed against the man’s neck. At the same time, the man felt the barrel of the Glock slide upward. The boy shifted slightly beneath him, settling more comfortably underneath him, between his arms, their breath mixing in the cold air.
– Hmmm, well… under certain circumstances… can’t a man be both?
– I’m not sure that’s allowed, the boy said. And from what I’ve heard, a man can only be the two at the same time under very special circumstances.
– And those are?
The man felt the boy move the barrel further up along his stomach, stopping right on top of his heart, drawing a heart shape on the uniform.
– Sorry Sir, that’s top secret. It’s a “If I tell you, I have to kill you” thingy.
– Oh, is it now? The man adjusted his body, leaning in closer. – That sounds scary.
– Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I’d say lethal, even.
The boy grabbed the man’s hoodie and pulled it back over his head. Short hair glimmered in the darkness.
The man leaned in further, pressing the boy’s gun down between them, feeling the boy’s thighs spread wider to let him through.
He braced himself on his hands, spread on either side of the boy, barely making out the soft outlines of the face beneath him.
– And just how lethal would you say? Mega, mega lethal, or… just, like, very lethal?
He felt the boy’s open mouth—so close now. Nose tips almost touching, their breath creating a small tropical microclimate of their own. The boy’s hips lifted slightly against his.
– Oh, very mega lethal… Sir. I’d hate having to harm you.
– And what makes you think you could harm me? the man replied.
The boy smirked, hearing him echo his own words. He shifted slightly, pressing his bulge against the man above him.
And then, they got even closer. The man couldn’t look away from those shimmering crystal-like blue lagoons beneath him, still gleaming with that ultra-violet glow.
– The only hard object I can feel here is… well, it isn’t a Glock, the man said, adjusting his hips, and although big… it doesn’t seem that harmful.
The boy thought about the men he had killed just days ago.
– I hate to ruin the moment, Sir, but I think there are quite a few men who’d disagree.
The man studied him for a second, gazing, pulling a lock of hair from his forehead, then whispered:
– Well, you are quite the little rascal, aren’t you?
He let his weight sink a little more, his breath warm against the boy’s cheek. Their bodies were flush against each other now, close enough for him to feel the sharp inhale just before the boy spoke again.
– You’re heavy, the boy murmured, shifting slightly underneath him, his voice somewhere between complaint and invitation.
– Yeah? You want me to move?
The boy hesitated just long enough for his silence to be an answer. Then, he exhaled—slow, almost absentmindedly.
– Not a chance. One move and I’d have to kill you.
Something bubbled up inside the man, light and unexpected—then it broke into a smile. He couldn’t hold the giggle in. Then he exhaled, tilting his head slightly. A brush of lips, barely there. Then another.
And so they kissed. Properly, this time.
The boy’s mouth parted instinctively, breath catching as the kiss deepened. Slow at first, tasting, teasing. Their tongues met in soft, searching strokes, the heat between them melting the cold that lingered in the air. The man shifted, pressing down more firmly, feeling the boy arch up to meet him, his hands sliding from his shoulders to his back, then lower, gripping onto him as if anchoring himself.
And then there was no restraint, no hesitation. The kiss turned deeper, hungrier. Mouths wide open, panting, breathless, kissing. Tongues clashing, strong, teasing, slick, sliding together in rhythm. The boy moaned softly into him, the sound barely a whisper but enough to make the man tighten his hold, pressing him down into the thick fabric of the sleeping bag beneath them.
The boy exhaled sharply, his breath trembling against the man’s lips.
– Told you, he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. – Lethal.
He felt the boy’s arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close, clinging to him. Hips grinding up against him, their combined weight forcing the man’s hands deep into the snow.
He is so heavy, the boy thought as the man pressed his full weight onto him. So fucking wonderfully heavy. His hands roamed the man’s body, tracing the firm lines of muscle through the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer with his arms, pushing him up with his hips—as if trying to merge them, to fuse them into one.
The man felt the power in the young body underneath. The raw energy. The way the boy gripped him, held onto him, refused to let him go. Their bodies moved in sync, chest to chest, groin to groin. Hard bulges straining beneath their uniforms, heat radiating between them.
He buried his face against the boy’s shoulder, and felt the flicker of his tongue against his neck, along his earlobe. That scent—soft but distinct. Musk, soap, the sharp freshness of spearmint on his breath.
Two strong hands gripped his back, pressing him even closer still, strong hips lifting them both.
The man let out a low breath, lips parting against the boy’s neck. Then he kissed him there—slow, deliberate—his teeth grazing just enough to leave a mark. He licked over it, tasting salt and skin, burying his nose in those dark blond curls, inhaling him, pulling him in deeper.
Two young hands unzipped his uniform—steady, knowing, focused. Then, cold fingers slipped inside, sliding over his chest, caressing him through his underwear. Thumbs pressed into the crease between his muscles, fingertips teasing his nipples over the fabric. Mapping him. Examining the contours of his body.
He pushed his pelvis against the boy’s, and the boy answered by spreading his thighs even wider, lifting his hips, raising his ass so that the man’s bulge could find its place between his legs. A soft, pleased sigh escaped him as he felt the pressure against him.
Yes, the boy told himself. That’s where you should be. Been waiting too long for this.
The man began thrusting slowly, testing the rhythm. The boy moved with him, aligning his body to match. A slow, instinctive dance—one where the man dictated the pace, and the boy, the action. His hands explored deeper, slipping further into the uniform, past the edges of the fabric, under the t-shirt—until finally, skin. Warm, solid.
He began to peel the uniform away, bit by bit, freeing the man’s shoulders, then his back, uncovering the sculpted muscles that had been hiding beneath.
The man lifted his chest, giving him space. The boy moved lower, dragged the t-shirt upwards, mouth trailing down his neck, finding his pecs. Lips parting. Licking. Biting. Playing his nipples with the flick of a tongue.
The man arched over him, his body unfolding like a stretch—like a yoga pose, sun salutation—spine lengthening, chest rising, head tilting back as far as it could under the low ceiling of the cliff that hid them.
Raising his hips slightly gave the boy just enough space to explore, his fingers gliding over the man’s stomach, following the dark trail of hair leading downward. He traced it slowly, tracking his way toward the man’s groin.
So soft, the boy thought, reaching the pubes. So thick…
His hand moved over the tight ridges of muscle, feeling every subtle shift, every breath the man took through those dark curls.
– Fuuuck… the man sighed, shuddering as fingers teased through his pubes. – Goddamn, boy…
The boy answered by burying his face in the warm space between his pecs, inhaling him, his breath hot against his skin. His other hand slipped inside the man’s briefs, fingers closing around the thick, rock-hard cock that had been waiting for him.
– There you are… he murmured to himself. There…
He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, feeling its heat, the pulse beneath the skin. Slowly, he began moving his hand, stroking upward, and downward. The thick head of the cock pressed against his wrist as he tightened his grip.
The man groaned, his body arching instinctively, muscles flexing as he fought to control his reflexes. Then moving forward, so that the boy could explore more freely. Still resting on his hands in the snow, he felt the boy shuffle downward, licking his chest and abs along the way.
The boy unfolded the man’s uniform step by step, freeing the bare skin, acting as if it was a gift to unwrap. Caressing the man’s waist with one hand, slowly fingering the crack between his asscheeks, while jerking the foreskin back and forth.
The air in their small hideout grew warmer as the insulation of their uniforms unraveled, their soft sighs and kisses wrapped in the silence of the sleeping forest.
– Boy… the man murmured, feeling the flicker of a tongue circling his navel, eager fingers slipping deeper between the firm curves of his ass, gripping onto those rock-hard, tensed glutes. Then he decided to be silent.
Those strong, searching hands—constantly shifting between force and playfulness. That tongue, mapping every sensitive inch of his skin. The breath, flooding over him in warm waves, drifting like the light smoke of incense.
His entire body tightened, all power centering in his groin, pooling in his pelvis, building, surging. The boy’s soft, deliberate strokes over his balls sent ripples of heat spiraling through him, gathering along his cock, waiting—aching—to explode.
The man exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against the snow-packed ground, struggling to stay steady. His arms trembled slightly, his body hovering above the boy, held up by the strength in his shoulders, his core tight to keep himself from collapsing into him. His weight balanced on one hand, the other sinking into the boy’s hair—fingertips threading through those curls, the sensation heightening everything, sending another jolt of heat through him.
The boy moved lower, his mouth trailing downward, his breath hot against the man’s skin. The darkness inside their bivouac made everything more visceral, tighter. He couldn’t see the boy, only sense him. Every flicker of breath, every shift of muscle, every touch magnified in the absence of sight.
The boy’s hands pressed against his thighs, fingers exploring with a slow, deliberate hunger. He could feel the press of them against the straining muscle, kneading, teasing. Then they slipped inward, fingertips gliding over the sensitive skin just beneath his groin, a place where warmth and tension had already gathered, coiled tight.
A low, ragged groan slipped from the man’s lips. His triceps, back, and waist burned by now from holding himself up, but he refused to let his weight drop. Not yet. Not when the boy was this close.
The boy chuckled softly beneath him, letting the big, veiny cock rest against his cheek.
– You like that, sir?
The man let out a breathless, half-strangled laugh.
– Naah, I’ve had better.
The boy’s tongue flicked out, barely brushing the crease where thigh met groin, feeling the sharp shudder it created in the man’s body. Then lower, his warm breath trailing over the swollen heat of the man’s cock, teasing the sensitive skin with every slow exhale.
The man clenched his jaw, every muscle tightening. The darkness swallowed everything but sensation. The slick heat of the boy’s mouth. The slow, wet slide as he took him in.
A sharp inhale, his fingers curling against the frozen ground. The boy worked him with instinct, his mouth moving with deep, patient strokes, lips sealing tight, tongue teasing just beneath the head. The pressure made his arms shake harder, the weight of his pleasure threatening to drop him completely.
The only sounds in the bivouac were breath, muffled groans, and the rhythmic slickness between them.
The man forced his eyes open into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything but vague, shifting shadows. Couldn’t see the boy’s mouth wrapped around him, but he could feel him.
And fuck, that was almost better.
His voice came out strained, barely controlled.
– Goddamn. His fingers tensed against the boy’s back.
The boy’s movements vibrated and sent a deep, uncontrollable tremor through his body. His hips bucked slightly, the strain in his arms reaching its breaking point.
His hands slid up the man’s thighs again, gripping his hip bones, holding. Keeping him steady. Keeping him focused.
Now he exhaled slowly, feeling the heat of the man’s cock against his lips, unseen but fully present in the darkness around them. His fingers wrapped around the base, tracing the thick, veined shaft with his thumb, feeling the pulse of it beneath his grip.
Finally.
His tongue flicked out, teasing the ridge beneath the head, mapping its shape, tracing the firm contours that pressed against his skin. The taste of salt and something deep, raw, purely him spread across his tongue—earthier than sweat, cleaner than skin, a faint trace of something synthetic clung to the man’s uniform. A sterile, sharp scent, mixing with the heat of his body.
Fuck that uniform, the boy thought. I want his sweat.
Tilting his head, he dragged his lips along the underside, slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge, every twitch. His breath spilled over damp skin as his other hand traveled upward, seeking, finding the sharp ridges of the man’s hip bone. He gripped it, firm, steady, his fingers pressing into taut muscle, anchoring the man’s movements, guiding them.
The man groaned above him, arms trembling slightly as he held himself up.
The boy smirked against his skin. Lethal… Yessir.
Opening his mouth wider, he let the swollen head push past his lips, his tongue pressing up against it, feeling the smoothness, the distinct ridge. The sharp contours. He sucked in slowly, taking more, inch by inch, hollowing his cheeks to draw him deeper. The heavyweight glided deeper into him.
The man sighed, his breath hitching. His hips rolled forward, testing the boy’s grip, and the boy let him move—just enough. Feeling his warmth engulf him.
With one hand, he controlled the rhythm, keeping the man’s thrusts in check, fingers digging into his hip. With the other, he reached down, cupping his balls, rolling them slowly, feeling the heavy warmth in his palm, letting one finger in between his thighs. The man let out a deep, shuddering groan, his fingers flexing against the frozen ground.
The boy grinned around him, swallowing deeper, feeling the thick head nudge the back of his throat. The warm, dark forest of his pubes tickled his nose and lips.
Yes.
He pressed his tongue against the ridge, savoring the weight, the sheer size of it. Slowly, deliberately, he began to move, sliding his lips back and forth, each motion controlled. He knew he was playing his cards right. The man should be fucking grateful—so grateful he’d let him do this again. All the time. Whenever he wanted.
His mouth was full to the brim, stretched, almost gagging from the sheer force of the blood-filled vessel he had craved for so long.
Every movement was deliberate, unhurried. He had dreamed of this moment since the first time he laid eyes on the man—those broad shoulders, that thick, muscular ass flexing under the uniform.
He hadn't been able to let go of the memory of the man undressing in front of him. Confident. Careful. Knowing he was watched, appreciated.
He had sat there, watching the man, barely breathing, feeling the heat pool in his stomach as his cock hardened, as it was leaning against his thigh, clear for the man to see. His mind had already been racing ahead, already eating the man’s ass, the man’s fingers toying with his own, aching for the man to get inside of him.
It was worth waiting for. The dick was thick, firm. Veins patterned along the shaft, the thick foreskin giving his hand a solid grip. He let the tip of his tongue flick over the slit, teasing it—before the flood, before the tsunami of sperm that—hopefully—would fill his mouth with that sweet, salty taste.
He was rock hard himself, his dick pressing against his uniform, straining, creating a pyramid-like shape between his thighs.
I’ll get to you later, he thought. I’m so horny I’ll probably cum without touching.
But that was then. This was now.
And for once, reality was so much better than dreaming.
He savored every inch, every cubic centimeter of what the man so willingly gave him. His strong, sturdy body hovered above, letting him feast on the rough, brim-full piece of meat placed before him.
He moved his head along the shaft, alternating the pressure of his tongue, tracing every shift in texture—the smoothness of the skin, the raised veins, the thick, swollen ridge just beneath the head. The rhythm of it, the pneumatic movements, the taste of salt, dark leather, and oil—it was hypnotizing.
To be continued
Part five
The man arched his hips forward, pressing deeper, his body trembling above him, refusing to stop until the boy gagged beneath him.
His mouth was a perfect fit, a tailored tube around him, a slick, wet heat that massaged his dick in slow, steaming waves.
The boy's hands controlled the rhythm, keeping it steady, savoring every movement, drawing out the anticipation. But the need built fast, pressing, undeniable. The tempo needed to change.
It was time to move.
Hormones surged, a battle rising deep inside, perfectly in sync with his hips as he pushed further, deeper, harder. This is fucking Olympic, he thought.
He laid down, resting on his elbows, feeling the boy work his magic, giving him the space to move his hips as needed.
The boy was hungry—the fire in the way he engulfed his dick was obvious, thrilling. His tongue burned as it stroked along the ridge, one hand rolling his balls, a single finger teasing at his ass…
I’m not religious, he thought, but the boy’s a god.
His thrusts became more powerful, more deliberate. He cared less and less about the boy’s gagging, and more and more about filling him—laying all his weight onto the power tool anchored between those young, eager lips.
His juice steamed up inside him—boiling, fizzing—eager to get out. The boy felt it too. His tongue pressed harder, the grip of his hands firmer, the finger poking his ass more deliberate. Closer. Challenging. Provoking.
The man pushed harder, rhythmic, with a piston-like sturdiness, hammering himself closer to release. The boy gagged frequently but never backed away—firm, reliable, awaiting the flood about to come. His lips caressed it tightly as it moved in and out.
The man couldn’t believe his sensations, how everything else was blocked out, senses closed for anything except mouthfucking that beautiful boy. Every move triggered him, pushed him closer. His groin almost cramped from the constant pushing, balancing his weight first on his hands, now on his elbows, eyes closed, engulfed by the forces firing their way through him.
Gripping harder, the boy almost squeezed the man to release, his finger groping its way closer to his ass, forcing him like a hand squeezing the last drop out of a tube.
Nose buried in pubes, balls thrust against his cheek, one hand now inside his uniform, playing with his dick, which had been pulsing with need, straining for attention. The boy was ready for whatever was coming.
And then… maybe he screamed, maybe he just let out a strangled moan—he couldn’t remember. Whatever happened, the man let go, his body couldn’t wait any longer, the fire was too big, the steam way too strong, so it shot its load—a strong, fist-like flow of sperm right into the boy’s mouth. Hips moving, thrusting like a steam engine, forcing the flow deeper and deeper, wave by wave.
The boy gagged as the warm flow filled his mouth—thick and heavy, like whipped cream on a sunday. The sweet saltiness flooded every part of him. He swallowed. Then he swallowed again… and then again.
The man kept shooting into him, his ass cramping, his body tensed like it had been electrocuted. Shot by shot, he claimed the boy, made him his own.
Still swallowing, the boy felt the energy of the sperm surge through him, wave after wave spreading like an electric current down to his dick. He was jerking it like a madman. The head, almost burning from the friction, was unbelievably hard, swollen to the brim with his own blood.
His loins contracted, drawing all power to that one narrow channel between his legs, forcing fluid through his balls, propelling it upward—thick, almost painfully thick—until it finally erupted.
A flush of heat, then the first spurt, then another. Load after load landed hot across his stomach, streaking the front of his uniform, then spilling down his dick, his hand, coating his fingers, slicking his grip, spreading its scent throughout their minuscule hideout.
His face was buried into the man’s furry groin, then he slowly moved upwards, along his body, until he could lean against the tight skin of the man’s broad pecs as the force from his orgasm slowly calmed down.
The man waited, catching his breath, slowly stroking the boy’s hair. He then moved slowly, down to his side of their make-do double, next to their AK 5:s, and the rest of their equipment. Sighing. Laying on his side, slowly drawing a finger through the sperm gathered on the boy’s uniform.
— So, this is how they make the camouflage on our uniforms.
He dragged a finger through the pool of cum, tracing a pattern along the boy’s navel. The boy smirked faintly, letting out a short cough.
— Yeah, didn’t you know? That’s a teen boy’s prime occupation—camouflaging.
— I might need to look that phrase up… Not sure it means what you think it does.
The man smiled.
– And what’s with that cough?
He leaned in closer to the boy’s face, resting beside him on his sleeping bag.
— I think I’ve got something in my mouth… Sir.
— That sounds bad, come here, let me take a closer look.
The man leaned in even further, sensing the boy’s smirk just before he let the tip of his tongue flick over the slick liquid spread across his cheeks. Slowly, he began licking it away, cleaning his face with steady, unhurried strokes.
Eyes closed, calm in the aftermath of his release, the boy let himself be taken care of—warm, relaxed.
And then - he felt the first stirrings of life in his dick again.
To be continued…
The man arched his hips forward, pressing deeper, his body trembling above him, refusing to stop until the boy gagged beneath him.
His mouth was a perfect fit, a tailored tube around him, a slick, wet heat that massaged his dick in slow, steaming waves.
The boy's hands controlled the rhythm, keeping it steady, savoring every movement, drawing out the anticipation. But the need built fast, pressing, undeniable. The tempo needed to change.
It was time to move.
Hormones surged, a battle rising deep inside, perfectly in sync with his hips as he pushed further, deeper, harder. This is fucking Olympic, he thought.
He laid down, resting on his elbows, feeling the boy work his magic, giving him the space to move his hips as needed.
The boy was hungry—the fire in the way he engulfed his dick was obvious, thrilling. His tongue burned as it stroked along the ridge, one hand rolling his balls, a single finger teasing at his ass…
I’m not religious, he thought, but the boy’s a god.
His thrusts became more powerful, more deliberate. He cared less and less about the boy’s gagging, and more and more about filling him—laying all his weight onto the power tool anchored between those young, eager lips.
His juice steamed up inside him—boiling, fizzing—eager to get out. The boy felt it too. His tongue pressed harder, the grip of his hands firmer, the finger poking his ass more deliberate. Closer. Challenging. Provoking.
The man pushed harder, rhythmic, with a piston-like sturdiness, hammering himself closer to release. The boy gagged frequently but never backed away—firm, reliable, awaiting the flood about to come. His lips caressed it tightly as it moved in and out.
The man couldn’t believe his sensations, how everything else was blocked out, senses closed for anything except mouthfucking that beautiful boy. Every move triggered him, pushed him closer. His groin almost cramped from the constant pushing, balancing his weight first on his hands, now on his elbows, eyes closed, engulfed by the forces firing their way through him.
Gripping harder, the boy almost squeezed the man to release, his finger groping its way closer to his ass, forcing him like a hand squeezing the last drop out of a tube.
Nose buried in pubes, balls thrust against his cheek, one hand now inside his uniform, playing with his dick, which had been pulsing with need, straining for attention. The boy was ready for whatever was coming.
And then… maybe he screamed, maybe he just let out a strangled moan—he couldn’t remember. Whatever happened, the man let go, his body couldn’t wait any longer, the fire was too big, the steam way too strong, so it shot its load—a strong, fist-like flow of sperm right into the boy’s mouth. Hips moving, thrusting like a steam engine, forcing the flow deeper and deeper, wave by wave.
The boy gagged as the warm flow filled his mouth—thick and heavy, like whipped cream on a sunday. The sweet saltiness flooded every part of him. He swallowed. Then he swallowed again… and then again.
The man kept shooting into him, his ass cramping, his body tensed like it had been electrocuted. Shot by shot, he claimed the boy, made him his own.
Still swallowing, the boy felt the energy of the sperm surge through him, wave after wave spreading like an electric current down to his dick. He was jerking it like a madman. The head, almost burning from the friction, was unbelievably hard, swollen to the brim with his own blood.
His loins contracted, drawing all power to that one narrow channel between his legs, forcing fluid through his balls, propelling it upward—thick, almost painfully thick—until it finally erupted.
A flush of heat, then the first spurt, then another. Load after load landed hot across his stomach, streaking the front of his uniform, then spilling down his dick, his hand, coating his fingers, slicking his grip, spreading its scent throughout their minuscule hideout.
His face was buried into the man’s furry groin, then he slowly moved upwards, along his body, until he could lean against the tight skin of the man’s broad pecs as the force from his orgasm slowly calmed down.
The man waited, catching his breath, slowly stroking the boy’s hair. He then moved slowly, down to his side of their make-do double, next to their AK 5:s, and the rest of their equipment. Sighing. Laying on his side, slowly drawing a finger through the sperm gathered on the boy’s uniform.
— So, this is how they make the camouflage on our uniforms.
He dragged a finger through the pool of cum, tracing a pattern along the boy’s navel. The boy smirked faintly, letting out a short cough.
— Yeah, didn’t you know? That’s a teen boy’s prime occupation—camouflaging.
— I might need to look that phrase up… Not sure it means what you think it does.
The man smiled.
– And what’s with that cough?
He leaned in closer to the boy’s face, resting beside him on his sleeping bag.
— I think I’ve got something in my mouth… Sir.
— That sounds bad, come here, let me take a closer look.
The man leaned in even further, sensing the boy’s smirk just before he let the tip of his tongue flick over the slick liquid spread across his cheeks. Slowly, he began licking it away, cleaning his face with steady, unhurried strokes.
Eyes closed, calm in the aftermath of his release, the boy let himself be taken care of—warm, relaxed.
And then - he felt the first stirrings of life in his dick again.
To be continued…
perrito78
Sexy Member
Damn that was hot as fuck---no one can read this and not stay hard--Awesome for sure. Excellent sotry--much appreciated--it was well worth the wait.
Story--sorry for the typo--guess I was concentrating on something else---lol....
¡Me alegra que lo pienses! ¿Alguna escena o detalle en particular que subió la temperatura?
Hahaha - Big thanks! Always a pleasure typ keep you busy
To keep you…Hahaha - Big thanks! Always a pleasure typ keep you busy
Interesting to have a scene be both that hot and that unsettling.
Because the boy put his gun to the man's body almost cheerfully, and I remembered throughout the entire scene that the gun was there -- and that, given what the boy had been through in that lab complex inside the mountain, the boy was fully capable of shooting the man, no matter how intense or joyful the sex had been.
Because the boy put his gun to the man's body almost cheerfully, and I remembered throughout the entire scene that the gun was there -- and that, given what the boy had been through in that lab complex inside the mountain, the boy was fully capable of shooting the man, no matter how intense or joyful the sex had been.
Yes! I love that you picked up on this. I’m fascinated by the idea of these men - monsters in many ways - trying to navigate a world where there’s the faintest possibility of becoming something else. But for that to happen, they have to let go of everything they’’ve been trained to become and discover who they might have been without it. Attraction and sex can be catalysts for growth - hopefully.
YES---I thought this was interesting as well and trying to determine if they can move beyond their training or does it go sideways---like how you keep us guessing and on the alert while being sex charged---lol
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