By Natty Soltesz
Granny and Aunt Sheila were going shopping, leaving Sheila’s husband Tony alone, with me.
“Try getting off the couch for a change of pace, ya lazy bastard,” Aunt Sheila snarled to her hubby on her way out the door. He raised his head for a moment, then laid it back down on the white leather sofa and continued flipping through the channels.
For someone who acted so lazy—and he did act lazy—his body didn’t reflect it. His lean legs were muscled and toned. His shorts were scrunched up and revealed a tantalizing amount of his inner thighs, which were dusted with fine dark hairs.
His muscled chest was broad under his thin white t-shirt (his minimalist outfit designed to beat the summer heat even in my Granny’s overly air-conditioned house). His roped arms stretched back, his hand ran through the long dark hair on his head.
Yeah, I was definitely hot for my Aunt Sheila’s husband. But as far as he seemed to be concerned, I may as well have not even been in the room. Tony didn’t like to visit Granny’s, and he made his displeasure clear by avoiding us at all costs, and keeping his eyes trained on the big-screen TV.
He flipped channels until he found a rerun of some shitty action movie. We watched it in silence. Tony shifted, sighed, and I watched his every move out of the corner of my eye.
Then he turned his head toward me. He actually looked at me.
“You going to the kitchen?” is what he said.
“Can you get me a pop?”
“Yeah,” I said, hopping up like a good nephew. I headed into the kitchen, grabbed two sodas, and went back to the living room. When I handed it to Tony he didn’t say thanks, or even smile; just sat up enough so he wouldn’t spill pop all over himself and cracked it open; gulped it down.
He set the can on the floor and all I could think about was how pissed off Granny would be if she knew Tony was setting a drink on her new carpet. I sat back down and waited to see if Tony would speak to me again.
He put his hand on his stomach, lifting up his shirt just enough that I could see the taut, olive-toned skin of his belly, also covered with that light dusting of fine, fine hair, that looked so inviting to touch. I imagined tasting it, the hair sliding naturally with the tongue; not feeling course or wiry, but flowing with the grain of his skin.
Tony’s fingers crept under the waistband of his white shorts, the Al Bundy move, casually enough that I couldn’t interpret it as anything but Tony absently wanting to feel himself.
On TV, people screamed into the telephone, and things blew up.
Tony’s hand delved deeper into his shorts, scratching his pubes with unselfconscious ease, the sound of it carrying back to me. Suddenly, there was a bulge in his shorts that I hadn’t seen before. The shape of a tube, soft and fat, that rose like a little mound beneath his fingers. Surely it couldn’t be. And yet that was what it seemed.
I stared hard. He wasn’t paying a lick of attention to me anyway. The tube grew by imperceptible amounts, until it was a thick pipe, lying along his thigh. Nothing in Tony’s manner suggested that he was even aware of his growing hard-on, he kept his eyes glued to the screen, his face expressionless.
Then the shaft made a major shift, jumping on its own volition, the head rising up and knocking against the waistband of his shorts. He must have realized what was happening, because he sat up and reached for his soda.
He brought it to his mouth. As he gulped it down I watched his cock throb once, twice, the mass of it making tiny jumps in his shorts in time with his swallows. He finished the soda and set it back down on the floor.
“Hey, Billy,” he said, almost like my name were foreign to him, like he was afraid he might get it wrong. “Is there more pop in there?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, standing up and quickly turning around to hide my erection. I stood before the open fridge and took a deep breath. I took Tony’s cold can of soda and pressed it to my erection. It didn’t do much but make it a little less noticeable, at least I hoped.
Tony had not changed position, but now the remote control was sitting in his lap, right next to his boner. I stood before him and handed him the soda. He held it in one hand, and looked me straight in the eye.
“Thanks,” he said. “You can change the channel, if you want,” he added, looking down at his crotch. My eyes followed his. I gathered all my courage, and reached for the remote in his lap, my fingertips brushing the soft fabric of his shorts and giving me a hint of the heat and hardness lying just beneath.
I looked up at Tony. He had his hands behind his head and his eyes were closed. I laid down my palm, half on the remote and half on his huge boner. I pressed down into its hardness and felt Tony press back, thrusting his hips to meet my hand.
I walked my fingers further down and found his nuts, hanging loosely beneath his legs, his shorts bunching around them when I gathered them up with my fingers. I knelt down beside the couch. Tony set the can of soda on the table behind his head (It’s going to leave a ring, I thought).
He shifted his hips to accommodate me as I slid off his shorts. His erection appeared, like some sort of magic trick from under a handkerchief. It was heavy and uncut, and it reached towards his stomach from a nest of trimmed pubes. I took his shorts all the way down his legs and Tony kicked them off his feet, taking his shirt off at the same time. I took a step back in my mind and gazed at the man before me, unmatched in his perfection. Aunt Sheila had this in her bed every night, and still found reason to be upset? Pardon me, but what the fuck was her problem?
Tony made no move, no sound as I lifted his heavy cock from his stomach, stroking it just enough to pull the foreskin back from his glans, revealing a pearly drop of pre-cum emerging at the tip. I put my face in his lap and inhaled his scent, which smelled like cologne and something deeper and muskier. I lifted his balls in my hand, felt the smooth but hairy space underneath them. Still, Tony didn’t move. For all I knew he was convincing himself that all of this was some sort of fantastic dream.
I took the head of him into my mouth and sucked off the nectar there. Now I heard it, steady breathing from Tony that was becoming heavier. I pulled up his hood and sank my lips down his shaft, letting his fat cock fill up my mouth as I attempted to take him all the way down to the balls. I couldn’t at first.
I ran my hand up his muscled chest, tweaking his fat nipples, as my head bobbed up and down in his lap. I’d managed to get my lips down to the base of his dick, and it remained ever hard and fat and juicy. If this was some kind of fantasy I never wanted it to end.
I sucked on his balls, rolling his hot, loose sack around on my tongue, sucking each nut gently into my mouth before going a few more laps on his pole. Tony’s hips started to pump, ever so subtly in time with the bobs of my head. I repositioned myself to get better access, and snaked my tongue into the space beneath his balls. Lapping at his taint, I ground my tongue against the hard root of his erection, the tip of my tongue writhing closer and closer to the slick skin of his butthole.
I put my hands under Tony’s knees, and he got the hint and raised them to his chest, bringing his dank and hairy asshole into view. My one hand pumped Tony’s fat piece while the other held his balls out of the way, making room for my nose as I snaked my tongue into his cologned asshole.
His butthole was tight but receptive. I dove my lips and tongue inside and ate him out hungrily, like I was devouring a delicious Italian meal in a lusty, vulgar way. Tony, kept his knees steady against his chest, giving me full access to his anus. I dug my tongue in deep, loving the taste of him.
I took my mouth off Tony’s ass and grabbed his balls tight in my hand, sliding a sweaty salty fist up and down his shaft as I sucked his cock. Now I was going for the prize. Tony still had his hands behind his head, still had his eyes closed. His hips moved slowly in time with my mouth, his chest heaving heavier until his breath shuddered and a gasp escaped his lips.
I touched my finger to his butthole. More gasps came from Tony. His nuts drew tight to his body, his cock grew impossibly harder, and with a final stroke and suck, a big shot of load streamed up through the space beneath his balls (his asshole contracting against my fingertip) and shot out of his cock.
It blew warm and sweet on my tongue. I pressed my finger harder into his asshole. Tony’s mouth opened, and something sounding like a moan managed to creep out. Another shot of load spilled on my tongue, and I quickly swallowed what I had gathered so far.
Another spurt and my fingertip somehow sank into him up to the second knuckle. Now this was a moan, undeniable and masculine and almost hotter than the load that was searing my throat. Two more torrents of gushing come rushed down my throat, his asshole contracting each time. And then it was finished.
His chest heaved as his breath struggled to catch up. I took my fingertip from his ass and stood up.
I straddled his chest and took out my cock, beating it with firm strokes. Tony looked up at me, bewildered and maybe slightly angry; but I was doing what I had to do and could’ve given a fuck if it somehow concerned him.
Tony must have seen that I was serious, because he laid right back and closed his eyes again. I brought my dick closer to his face. My orgasm was getting closer. Tony clenched his eyes and mouth in anticipation. I looked at his handsome face, saw in my mind’s eye what it was going to look like in one second and let ‘er rip.
Jets of jizz streamed across his hair and landed on my Granny’s couch (fuck!). The next one landed square across his face, streaming in his eye and nose and jaw. I sprayed it everywhere, giving him the facial I couldn’t only have imagined in my wildest fantasies.
It was literally the least he could do for me, the lazy bastard.