A gay story: His Pussy Boy Pt. 08 There were things that one tended to take for granted after a certain time. For example sex. How could not one take sex for granted after one had the keys to another person’s secret anatomy? Another example was, perhaps more fascinatingly, love — more fascinating, and more heartbreaking if one spared more than a mere thought about it.
Throughout the long cheerless winter months John had several episodes of his moods. Even Lisa noted his change, as if it could be hidden from one’s partner-in-life. The only thing that kept his depression in check was his son Kevin, who at two-an-a-half was a constant beacon of joy and warmth. That, and of course, whatever it was that he had with me, even if with Clark in the picture it had become a shell of what it used to be.
Not that sex with John had become perfunctory, far from it he was still a very much passionate and even generous lover, and I imagined he was the same way with Lisa. Every few nights he would make love to her — I knew because after she fell to sleep with his cum inside her he would come to me. It was a ritual now, him coming deep inside my boy pussy after he had satisfied his wife with his ardent cock, almost as if he wanted to compare the both of us. I hoped my deep asshole held its own against his wife, but I didn’t know what was going on behind his spectacled eyes most times.
Like now, as he was lying on his back in my bed, naked from the hair of his head to the tip of his toes, his tall erection — with its signature mushroom head — subsumed in spit and lube and love. The condensation was covering his spectacles, covered his eyes from mine, the windows to his mind. I could not for the life of me pierce that shadow of his, that moodiness, but at least what I could see he looked content, with cock deep in hole, the hole that had given him so much love over the past year and a half.
“I love you, you know that,” I risked all telling him, even as I concentrated on pulsing the rhythm of my asshole around his intruding cock.
“Of course, baby,” he grinned. “You love me. That’s all there is.”
“You men, you won’t know love if it looks you in the eye.” I sniggered, to take off the sting of my words. For his part, he smiled wider as if catching the joke of it all.
“My pussy boy, my lovely boy with the lovely cunt I’m fucking.”
“Mmmm… fuck, John, fuck me deeper.”
“Fuck baby, can you move, I wanna pee.”
A spontaneous idea came to me. “Piss inside me, baby.”
“Are you for real?”
“Come on. Don’t make me change my mind.” John paused his thrusts, concentrating on his micturition instinct. I knew it would take some time seeing how hard he was, so I spent the time meanwhile on his lovely ears, whispering how it would be so hot to receive his piss inside me, to take something that Lisa could not give him in any capacity.
“Ahh… fuck, baby my pussy boy, my beautiful boy.” I felt the flow inside me, so wet, so warm. I clenched my asshole shut, unwilling to let it drip. The towel under us would catch the excess but I remained adamant I would keep his piss inside until my trip to the john after our sex.
“It’s so warm, so hot, like I’m melting inside.”
“Fuck baby, you’re taking my piss, my fucking piss. I love you so much.”
“I love you.”
Later he watched bemusedly as I bore down and released the frothy mixture of his urine and his cum from my battered cunt. He laughed when I made a funny face as I pulled down the toilet pump. We took a bath together, he was so lovely, a lovable oaf as he kissed my face, my ears and my neck and entangled our hands together, making his wedding ring meet my PB ring in the drip drip of the shower water. Strange how a guy got once you let him piss inside your asshole.
At the door before he left he gave me such a deep smoldering kiss I was left breathless. He smiled, aware of the effect he had on me, even after such mind-blowing sex. “I love you, pussy boy.” He flicked a finger on my exposed asshole, and I impulsively clenched at his finger, earning myself another wide smile.
“I love you too, daddy.”