Part 1, Step-Dad Inspiration
The sight of his thick, long and pink uncut cock is still wedged in my memory like a stubborn placeholder that will never leave, and I’m not mad about it. He still has no idea to this day, but whenever I see my step-dad I think back to those scenes in the garage, with him and our neighbor Sean talking dirty and using their penises like meaty swords to joust and spar.
I admit when Mike walked into our lives I wasn’t exactly excited about it. My mom had been single for about a year, after dad decided he preferred the company of a younger girl he worked with.
I guess it’s a common story in almost all respects. My dad did what a lot of men do when that midlife crisis hits; the first younger woman who paid him attention was quickly riding his dick. Of course he did all the other stuff before that, too. He got a new truck, bought a motorbike with the intention of finding friends to go riding with at the weekends, started going to the gym, his hair products seemed to procreate in the bathroom until a whole shelf was overflowing with oils and potions.
All of that could have been forgiven, my mom understood it all. She definitely couldn’t abide him fucking a younger chick, though.
Perhaps predictably my mom found a younger man to spite him. It wasn’t so easy for her, she spent six months dating all kinds of creeps and weirdos before Mike came along.
I was a moody eighteen year old who had almost yelled “you’re not my real dad!” at least once since Mike had come into our lives. I was a bit too old for it by that point, but you know how it is. Even though I was old enough to understand it all and I wanted my mom to be happy, I was still pissed that dad had left and this new guy was kind of taking his place.
Things are different when I look back on that time as an adult. I understand a lot of it far more than I did then. Of course dad moved on from his midlife crisis and he split with his younger girlfriend when she started banging a guy her age, and of course dad tried to get back with mom immediately. She told him to fuck off. By that time Mike had settled into our lives. If the relationship had started out as revenge mom had definitely fallen for him.
And now, as an older guy with a little more wisdom, I can understand why.
Although I didn’t like him at first it was only because I was a dumb teen angry that dad had left and this guy was trying to “replace him”. See? Same predictable story we’ve all heard before.
Problem is, he was a nice guy. I liked his British accent. He was younger than mom, in his early 30s. He worked out a lot, liked classic American cars, had money, and that London accent that everyone seems to love. He was into all kinds of sports but mostly the lesser known stuff. He’d been a gymnast in his younger years and even competed in the UK. He was into rock climbing and surfing, cycling and running. He got me into the Tough Mudder event that was held every year and a few of my buddies signed up for it.
All my friends really liked him, too. Everyone admired him and wanted to hang out with him.
Even his taste in music was cool. He loved all the grunge bands from the 90s and classic rock from the 80s. He had this collection of CDs from bands no one had ever heard of and some of it was so strange, but it was all good. Whenever Mike suggested having a party around the fire pit in the backyard I knew all my buddies would be coming over, along with all our neighbors.
At that time I was out of high school and working part time, but Mike would find opportunities to give me money here and there. One time I was talking to one of my buddies about a date I was going on with this real hot girl from work and Mike overheard me complain that I was on a tight budget. He leaned over the back of the couch “Don’t tell ya mum” he said, handing me two fifties.
For a while, during my hater stage, I was convinced he was doing something illegal to make money. I couldn’t understand how he was so wealthy and even though he worked and made good money I felt like he was living beyond his means. Then, one day, I heard him talking to one of our neighbors at one of our regular parties and he said something about a wealthy relative leaving him their house when they died. He’d sold it for millions.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to flaunt it. He wasn’t dripping with designer clothes or jewelry. Most of the time, when he wasn’t working, he was hanging out in board shorts and maybe a t-shirt. While he didn’t throw his money around he did like surprises that would make our lives better and things got noticeably easier. When the bathroom flooded he hired a bunch of workers and had a new bathroom installed within a couple days. When mom’s car started making odd noises he asked her what she wanted instead and although she argued against it he bought her a new Hyundai Genesis.
My gifts included random clothes, a new phone, haircuts, camping equipment when he heard a buddy of mine suggesting a weekend in the woods – he bought all of my friends new gear for that and even told us some great places to go.
I don’t even think he was trying to buy my support with these occasional gestures. It was always useful things, based on the needs of the moment. He never made any performance out of it either. With the camping gear he knew I had a tent and sleeping bag, but that I hadn’t used them for years and I thought they were probably in the attic, I just needed to find it all. So a couple days before our trip I went into the garage and found he’d bought three new tents, chairs, sleeping bags and a stove. “Your mate Liam needed a tent too, right?” he replied when I asked him where it came from, “and I guarantee one of the other lads is gonna get there and find out he’s got a massive hole in his tent. Might as well take a spare”.
He reminded me a lot of David Beckham and it wasn’t just the accent. He looked a bit like him and he loved football. He reminded me of one of those stereotypical British movie villains, with his heavy brow, chiseled jaw, stubble, a few tattoos on his arms. All my buddies thought he was so cool, too. Whenever one of them stopped by they would try to get him into all kinds of conversations, everything from football to Cockney Rhyming Slang.
And the thing is, Mike played along and entertained everyone. He was just cool like that. He never saw himself as a novelty or the butt of the joke, he just liked making my buddies laugh when he said something like a London gangster.
He was popular in our neighborhood. Whenever anyone had a problem Mike would be there to help out. Whether it was James across the street trying to get a family of raccoons out of his shed or old lady Millie at the end of the block needing a ride to the pharmacy. He always seemed to be in the middle of everything, always busy, always with a project or ten in progress.
He wasn’t a flake either. If he said he was gonna do something he would do it. He had a hundred reminders on his phone at any one time. If he told a neighbor he would stop by to help them paint a wall or something, then someone else would suggest they were going away for the weekend and needed someone to look after their dogs, he would shuffle it all around and fit everything in.
Mom seemed to love it. When dad was around everything was routine and boring, but with Mike every day was a new adventure. If he had time free one weekend he would suddenly announce a bike ride through the woods out along the river and everyone would just be on board. My friends would show up ten minutes later on their bikes, mom would pack ten lunches for the bag that Mike would carry (just in case we met anyone else along the way), we’d set out and not be back until midnight.
Then we’d sit outside in the back yard for another hour and all my buddies would sleep in the living room. Sunday would start around lunchtime and Mike would have a new idea for what to do that day.
Does he sound perfect? Maybe. Dad was still around regularly and no one could replace him, but having Mike around really made a massive impact on my life and he just naturally seemed to have enough energy to give everyone attention all the time.
So I guess that’s what made my discovery so much more of a moral dilemma.
It happened on a weekend when Mike had hosted one of the regular parties in the backyard. I say he hosted it because it always seemed as though he was in charge, everyone else just went along. It was past midnight, I had a couple of buddies sleeping on the living room floor and mom had gone up to bed after walking one of the elderly neighbors back to their door down the street.
Me, Liam and Jesse were trying to decide whether to stay up and find a movie or just call it quits. I knew most of us would probably be falling asleep within the first few minutes but Jesse started looking for something to watch and I decided to head to the garage to grab some cans of soda.
The house wasn’t a mansion by any means, but it was bigger than average. The garage was on the other side of the house, kind of seperate from the rest and connected with a little corridor. Most of the time we kept some sodas in the kitchen but with the party in the back yard that stock had been depleted, and of course none of us teens had thought to bring anything through to the house.
As I walked up I could see the light in the garage was on. The door was a little bit open, just enough to let a shaft of light stream through into the corridor and sweep across the floor and up the wall.
I didn’t think anything about it at the time, if I had I would have just assumed someone had grabbed something for the party and left the light on. Then I heard Mike, and another voice, quiet and conspiratorial.
My first instinct was to jump through the door and scare them. In retrospect that would have been the worst decision I probably could have made.
I krept up to peek through the gap.
Of all the things I could have probably imagined I might find, the scene in front of me was so far beyond what was expected I think I actually flinched and blinked a few times.
The garage had been planned by my dad a long time ago, back when he was into mechanics and DIY projects. It was a big double garage and much more than we ever needed, but he’d been determined to make use of it and wanted a shop, so he’d built a wooden bench all along the back wall, hooks and shelves above it, tools lined up and glass jars hanging from below shelves loaded up with random screws, bolts and other junk that would probably never be needed.
Standing in front of the bench, leaning against it, was Mike, with our neighbor Sean beside him. Both shirtless, as they had been the entire evening in the backyard.
Sean was in his late twenties, a hard working guy, still living with his parents down the street but working on an old house he’d bought just outside of town. Mike had become good friends with him after they teamed up to fix an old ATV Sean had bought online. Ever since then he’d been heading out to the house and helping Sean fix up the place.
I hadn’t known Sean very well before Mike came into our lives. I knew he had a reputation as a troublemaker and dad told me to stay away from him. He’d never done anything real bad, just underage drinking or causing a nuisance in the neighborhood. That was all in the past, though.
He was a very common straight meathead most of the time. I guess he was good looking, his black hair and blue eyes made him notably handsome. He was well built with wide shoulders and thick arms built from real work rather than the gym. He was the kind of guy who wore tank tops, plaid shirts and torn jeans, work boots and a trucker cap. Or at least that’s how I mostly remember him looking.
They were probably six feet away from me. If the corridor behind me wasn’t in darkness they would have easily seen me peering through the two inch gap in the door. The lighting imbalance had definitely served me in that moment.
Mike was holding a magazine in his hand, Sean was gazing at the porn being displayed for them. I could see the second half of one of the pages at it hung down from Mike’s grip. It was a full page image of a blonde girl with a large cock between her lips, the fat nuts in her grip, her blue eyes meeting the camera as if to say “It’s your turn next”.
Below their pages of entertainment their cocks were freed from their board shorts, held in their hands, like they’d paused for a moment to consider whatever beautiful woman or activity was being displayed for their enjoyment.
Sean’s penis was long and slender, half-hard, poking out from his unzipped fly and being lazily toyed with, his large tanned balls hanging like plums below, resting over the blue material. The tip was like a snake’s head, fatter than the rest.
A lot of our neighbors, and Mike’s work buddies, had started wearing shorts, especially for our parties. At the time I hadn’t noticed it, but now when I look back it’s almost comical how many of them had started emulating him. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was some kind of inside joke, but if it was I wasn’t told about it. It felt organic to me, like almost all of Mike’s friends wanted to impress him or be like him.
Sean was still wearing his usual oil-stained torn jeans most of the time, but when we had one of those parties most of the guys would show up in crocs or sandals, shorts, tank tops or t-shirts.
Even my friends had done the same.
On this occasion, as I’d been expecting we’d be going to sleep any moment, I was only wearing socks and boxers just like Jesse and Liam. I stood there quietly watching my step-dad and his friend, not hearing what they were saying. I guess they were just talking quietly about the girls on the pages while they slowly played with their exposed cocks.
Mike’s shorts had been pulled down under his nuts, his pale pink scrotum full and wrinkled, presented upward by the drawstring of his waistband behind them. He had big balls, definitely bigger than average. I guess I’d seen enough ball sacks to know what most guys have, but his were oversized. Even though I recognized that his cock was bigger than most his balls were still bigger than you’d expect to find swinging under an eight inch dong.
I’d never seen Mike naked, never seen his cock. There had been one instance where I almost did, during the bathroom refit when we didn’t have a working lock on the door. It was probably less than half a day that anyone who used it was vulnerable to being walked in on but I’d been the one to accidentally intrude.
Not really thinking about it I’d walked in while Mike was in the shower. I don’t even remember actually seeing him, he was just a tall naked figure in the shower who I probably briefly looked at before mumbling an apology and reversing out.
Now here I was gazing through that two inch crack in the door while he gently pulled on a thick and long pipe of penis, the shaft stiffly rigid and angled upward with a gentle curve, the underside bulging with a thick and veined cable of muscle and the head slowly but repetitively exposed and covered again by a sheath of wet foreskin while his fist moved forward and back along the tumescent staff.
I looked away for a moment, perhaps not quite understanding what I was seeing, and maybe feeling a little guilty that I was spying.
I reversed slowly and started my journey back to the living room.
An old movie was playing when I got back to my friends. Maybe five minutes had passed and they were both sleeping. Jesse was already snoring quietly to himself on the couch while Liam was sprawled out on the floor on his side, remote control still in his hand.
I turned off the lights and just kind of stood there for another minute or two, looking at the screen, not really paying any attention to the movie. I started to wonder where the magazine had come from. I’d guessed it was Mike’s and he’d hidden it in there at some point.
Catching Mike jacking off wasn’t that much of a surprise to me. I was eighteen, I knew my way around my own dick. The topic of jacking off was a regular theme among my friends. It was an insult mostly, the accusation that you only did it because you weren’t getting laid. In reality, we all knew everyone was jacking it every day, pussy or not.
The surprise was seeing him and Sean both sharing a magazine and enjoying their penises so openly. That kind of thing wasn’t anywhere on my radar. Back then my understanding of sexuality was limited. You were straight, bisexual or gay. Having said that, even bisexuality wasn’t really a thing in our minds, at least not enough to make it into our daily lexicon among my friends. It was a theoretical notion, a kind of rarity that didn’t suit the jibes friends throw at each other.
Yes, we had all the gay jokes, I’m not going to pretend we were forward-thinking angels. It was never malicious. If anyone in my friend group had come out as gay all that would have stopped instantly and they would have been accepted without question, unless they were okay with the jokes and then they would have continued with the additional knowledge that we were all enjoying the inside joke.
Regardless of my understanding of sexuality I knew I would be hunting for that magazine at the first opportunity.
Of course I already knew the following day I would find an excuse to spend time in the garage and I would search for his secret stash. It didn’t matter that I had the internet and a phone. Porn wasn’t hard to come across – excuse the pun. There was something so intensely erotic about the idea of finding something new, something physical, pages that I could look through.
Maybe it was the novelty of a magazine, the way it was made and presented, the extra things you might find like stories or advertisements for toys and phone lines. Having never really looked at any porn magazines there was something really exciting about the prospect of looking through those pages and seeing what it was like.
I don’t know why I’d never even seen a Playboy, but I guess the internet had filled that gap for everyone in my age group.
Standing there thinking about all of this clearly did its job. I looked down and my cock had sneaked out of my boxers with rhythmic throbs of increasing excitement. The button on the front had been lost long ago so my six inch penis had quickly worked its way out of the flap to wag with demand in front of me. If either of my friends had woken up in that moment they would no doubt have been surprised to find me standing there motionless beside the door, naked but for my boxers and socks, my cock rudely pointing at them and waving like an accusing wand.
I contemplated going up to my room and dealing with my needs. I thought about heading to the bathroom. All it would take is a few minutes and my cum would be pumped and my dick would go down, allowing me to get to sleep.
Instead I found myself creeping back along the corridor toward the garage.
I don’t know for sure why I went back but I think I just wanted to see those pages, I wanted Mike to hold the magazine in such a way that I could participate and look at the images of the pretty girls showing their pussies and enjoying the men they were playing with. Maybe I wanted to just walk in and join them proudly? It could be my horny later self inventing this notion but I do sometimes think about this incident and wonder what would have happened if I’d just walked in, cock leading me, inviting myself to their masturbatory gathering.
My intent was probably just to be curious, look at the pussy they were looking at. But what I got when I returned to my peephole crack in the door was far more than I’d expected to see.
Sean had moved. Mike was still almost leaning against the bench, but our neighbor was in front of him, their cocks wagging at each other like jousting poles. I stood there silently watching as their dick tips collided and slapped against each other, the two men staring down between them while their erections playfully nudged and tapped in play. Their exposed helmets glistened in the light while they paused in connection, a little nudging and rubbing making their reddened flesh slip and glide against each other. Mike’s hood of pink skin was wrapped around his shaft, retracted and bunched up behind the bulging glans.
Mike grabbed his larger dick and pulled forward, his sheath of extra flesh easing over his red tip to form a little tunnel that Sean kissed with the head of his own cock, like he was trying to put the very end of his helmet inside the folds of flesh.
He pulled back and a string of clear cock juice connecte their tips while Mike eased his foreskin back again to fully expose the shiny wet dome.
The magazine was still resting in Mike’s open hand, but now it was off to the side like he was holding a tray of drinks, seemingly forgotten while the two men watched their erections colliding. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were both smiling, making jokes or just discussing their play.
I don’t know when I grabbed my own cock and started masturbating, but I became conscious of it when Mike’s hand released his own thick muscle and reached to grasp Sean’s erection, bringing it closer to his and holding them both together in his fist.
The combined cocks were thick, too thick for Mike’s hand to fully wrap around, but it didn’t matter. There was a little humping from Sean, their pipes of penis rubbing against each other in Mike’s grip. I looked upward, over their bunching abs and slightly hunched forms, their faces transfixed in serene enjoyment of what their erections were doing together.
Sean reached under a gathered up the large fleshy sack of Mike’s nuts and played with them slowly while their cocks were rubbed together. I reached down with my free hand to find my tightened orbs, encouraging them to slip down into the bag a little while I watched Sean massaging the pendulous sack hanging heavy a couple of inches under Mike’s meat.
Is it strange to say that I’d never really thought about how different penises and balls were? Obviously I knew cocks came in different lengths, skin tones, thicknesses and so on. I’d seen thousands of cocks online and plenty of ball sacks, jacked off to the sight of erections filling pussies or being stroked to explosive cum shots over pretty girls. Even so, I’d never looked at dicks and balls on their own like this and really studied them or contemplated how different we all are.
Sean’s penis was so different to Mike’s, and they were both so different to mine. The most obvious thing was that Mike was uncut, and I admit I kind of found that fascinating. I’d never thought about what it would feel like to have a foreskin, but now as I watched his gooey hood of extra skin slipping around while their dicks rubbed together I focused my attention on my tip and spread the precum leaking from my glans over the bulging shape of my end.
I was watching it and trying to feel the same thing, wondering what it would be like to have that tunnel of skin wetly sliding all over.
I brought my fingers up to mouth and licked them messily, tasting the slight saltiness of my own juices for a moment before reaching back down and smothering my helmet in spit.
Sean’s cock was different to Mike’s. While on their own they would both look like pink lengths, when combined like they now were it was obvious Mike’s cock was very pale in comparison to his friend, almost alabaster. I could even see the bluish hugh of his pulsating veins snaking around the right side of his rampant meat. I guess having darker hair and a slightly more tanned skin tone Sean’s penis was just naturally slightly darker, but it was more rugged, if that makes sense?
The skin of Mike’s penis was so pale and smooth, but Sean’s cock skin was darker and more varied in tones.
His penis was also a lot more slender, kind of more like mine. His curved downward a little. Mine was angled to the right just a couple of degrees. I had a neat scar around my shaft, Sean had a darker line circumnavigating his slender rod.
Mike’s big balls had a connecting flap of skin reaching from between the creases created by each heavy testicle to the underside of his girthy shaft, Sean played with it for a moment before returning his attention to rotating the two orbs in his palm.
The one thing we all seemed to have in common was that we were all extremely hard and enjoying our erections.
Standing in the shadows, pumping my penis in my hand with slow and steady determination, I continued to stare at them. I don’t think I’d made the conscious decision to see either of them finish before I let loose, and I certainly hadn’t planned ahead to adequately deal with the mess I might make. Even though I could feel the need to ejaculate swelling up inside me, and even though my cock had become rock hard and my balls tight against the root of my dick, I still slowly stood there watching without making any kind of plan.
It was incredibly stupid of me.
I was eighteen. My cock could be a firehose of semen even if I spent mere moments stroking it to completion. Like I said, though, I’d never really thought much about arousal and masturbation, not beyond satisfying my immediate needs. The idea that a longer and more intensely inspired jack off would lead to a bigger climax wasn’t something I was capable of working out for myself.
Back then my jacking was on the basis of need. I’d see a video and grab my cock, give it a few rubs and splash out a fountain of semen. I don’t think I’d ever masturbated for more than five minutes at any given time.
Now here I was, perhaps fifteen minutes into this scenario, feeling my need to climax swelling to a limit I’d never experienced before and barely able to touch my cock head without the threat of orgasm rushing up on me.
Still, Mike and Sean were playing, slowly, their penises now in each other’s hands and being pulled toward each other in rhythmic unison.
Mike was gently pulling his friend’s cock, Sean was tugging Mike’s thicker meat, both just watching their hands working between them on the other’s erection. The conversation continued, beyond my hearing. I feel like even if I could have heard them my brain would have scrambled it all before I could make sense of their words.
My penis was so tender, rock solid, just poking out in front of me and slightly upward, begging for release. I couldn’t do anything but hold my dick by the root and let it dribble clear juice that I occasionally collected and smeared on my boxers. I couldn’t use it on my cock because any little contact with my dick caused a spasm of pleasure that would have launched my load.
Mike and Sean were laughing quietly together, still focussed on their task of masturbating each other, but something changed.
Just as I was thinking about abandoning this scene and rushing to the bathroom, hoping I could get there before the breeze of my movement caused my penis to start splashing semen along the corridor, their hands sped up.
The first words I’d be able to hear left Mike’s lips. “You gonna jizz mate?” he asked.
“Fuck yeah, make me nut bro” Sean replied urgently.
And with that, the instruction was fulfilled.
Mike pulled his friend’s cock in his fist another couple of times and uttered “fucking shoot it mate” and the first splash of milky white semen erupted from Sean’s helmet to splash upward and hit Mike’s abs.
In an instant their mutual cock play resembled one of those fountain displays in Vegas. Both cocks had reared up to become even harder than they had been, semen spewing from their exposed tips, their squirts of cum leaping up between their exposed bodies to splash against their hardened abs and pecs.
I had no time to prepare at all.
After the first couple of splashes of semen spewed out of their cocks my body was gripped by the most intense climax I had ever experienced.
My body was fully gripped by it, in an instant. My penis had been so on edge for minutes that it was like an explosion went off inside me, radiating out with a pressure wave that I think could have knocked me over.
Still holding my penis by the root it lurched and sent a lasso of cum splashing ahead of me, even though it was dark I knew I’d decorated the garage door with my splooge.
I scrambled, as best I could while my body was shaking with the intense pleasure of such an extreme climax. I grabbed my boxers by the waistband and pulled the material out and up, hoping to recapture my solid erection, just as another gush of cum shot from my tip, streaking up in the air. I held my dick against my abdomen and paused, maybe thinking it would be over in an instant. The sudden wet contact of skin against my helmet only served to sharpen the pleasure in another explosive wave as more cum shot out and far enough to hit the underside of my chin.
I peeked back through the crack in the door, hunched over and trying to cup the exposed tip of my erupting member. Mike and Sean were still trapped by their gushing penises as more cum shot up toward their smiling and dumbfounded faces, their drooling and semen-soaked erections now combined in a rocket-like mass between them, gripped in Mike’s rubbing fist.
That brief look must have been no more than a second but in that time I knew I couldn’t stay there, I knew I couldn’t just let my penis finish and watch them conclude their messy finale.
My cock gushed again, and again, pumping hot molten pleasure out and into my semi-cupped palm where I tried so hard to contain it. It was a fruitless exercise. Trying to catch all that semen was like trying to hold the contents of three cracked eggs in my hand. I pulled my boxers up again, almost giving myself a wedgie as my tight nuts were parted by the seam between my legs, one aching orb either side, the plump globes pressed against my quickly wet inner thighs. I was desperate to contain the incredible flood leaving my penis but it was too much.
I backed up quickly, heading toward the stairs. My body was fighting me. My legs were weak while the waves of orgasmic bliss shot through every muscle and more semen erupted into my hand and shorts, the concoction of thin liquid and thicker creamy nutt flooding to escape my underwear and pour down my legs toward my knees. I reached the halfway mark and leaned down just for a second to try to stem the rivers of cum matting my hairs against my thighs, but it was pointless.
I climbed the final stretch two steps at a time, hoping to at least get to my bedroom before my load was just leaving an incriminating wet trail behind me.
Throughout this short climb my body was still fully trapped by my climax. I still don’t know if I moaned or grunted throughout this, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I had. My body was almost completely hijacked by the power of my climax and I’m not entirely sure how I managed to get back into my bedroom and quietly close the door behind me.
The second I was safely in my room I tugged my sodden boxers down to my knees, grabbed my cum-drenched erection and continued masturbating. The relief of flesh against flesh was so incredible. My climax was still racing through my body even though it was slightly diminished, my right arm flexing while my fist rubbed along my solid inches as yet more semen spurted out in explosive gushes to launch over my bedroom floor.
At this time I’d never had a second round when jacking off, it was always just a quick jack and spurt, but whether it was circumstance or just luck, my need to cum continued to grip me and my penis was happy to carry on. That was the night I discovered that I could shoot more than once and make my jacking last a lot longer.
My cock was determined to spew as much semen as it could, there was so much of it inside me and it needed release.
I breathed open-mouthed and heavy as I watched more cream splashing. It seemed to go on for another thirty seconds. The last of it leaving me in repetitive little gushes firing off in time with the sparks of orgasm flooding my senses.
The splashes reaching out feet ahead of me became spurts, then little spasms of cream, then a constant dribble that seemed to want to pour for minutes more.
The mess was just insane to me. My abs were smeared with cum, semen was dripping from my chin down my neck, streaks had splashed up between my pecs, my inner legs were glistening wet down to where cum was seeping into my socks. I gazed over my wood floor, the streaks of splooge melting into each other to form puddles of cock cream glistening in the light from my bedside lamp.
I stood there catching my breath and milking my slowly softening penis for a few more minutes, just blanky thinking about nothing but the mess. My boxer shorts slipped down to the floor, heavy with the cooling flood of ball juice I’d pumped into the material. I’d made so much mess already I didn’t care that the last of my semen was dripping down to join the rest as it seeped out of my extremely tender tip.
Grabbing a towel from my laundry and dropping my soggy boxers in there I started to clean up, drying myself off before mopping up the masses of dick juice I’d shot all over my bedroom floor.
I thought about having a shower but it was too late at night and I didn’t want to wake anyone.
After slipping on another clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt I headed out into the hall, just as Mike was coming up the stairs. “Your mates are out for the count” he said quietly. I chuckled needlessly, “yeah” and walked by him while he made his way to the bathroom. I don’t know if he’d cleaned up before coming upstairs but I guess he must have. I couldn’t see the evidence of his and Sean’s explosive play session in those few seconds passing each other.
With Mike out of the way I headed straight to the garage and opened the door, reaching inside to flick the light on. I could see the dots of wet where their cum had landed around them, it looked like someone had tried to clean up and I knew it would be dry by the morning.
I checked the door.
An arching wet splash reached from left to right, my semen dripping down the wood toward the floor. I grabbed some paper tissue from the roll hanging from the shelf, wondering if that’s what they’d used to wipe up all their juice.
I quickly removed the evidence of my wayward gush and checked the floor in the corridor, finding more splashes of my own semen, and another big streak up the wall beside the door frame.
I quickly dapped and wiped, wondering what Mike would have thought if he’d noticed that mess when he stepped back into the house.
“What ya doin Tommy?” a deep voice boomed around me and for a second I thought Mikey had returned to catch me destroying the evidence.
Liam was standing there in his boxers, seemingly wide awake, watching me work.
“Oh, erm, someone dropped something I guess, no big deal” I balled up the damp tissue and stepped back into the garage, dropping it in the trash and heading to the fridge “you want a soda?”
I thought I would probably fall asleep pretty quickly, but after half an hour of settling in on the couch, with Jesse unconscious and Liam snoozing on and off, my cock sprang to life again, inspired by the sight of barely contained boobs on the screen.
When I finally woke up the next day I had my dick in my hand, hard as steel. I scurried off to masturbate again in the bathroom while my friends continued to snooze. I didn’t need any inspiration, it was entirely about me and my penis, and the memory of the night before. It was a relief, quick but still fulfilling, but it set me on a new path that I didn’t know was possible.
To say this was the beginning of a new chapter in my – until that point – limited sexual life would be an understatement, and my step-dad still has no idea what he inspired.
Author note:
You can find more bator tales in the Book of Bate series, available at BradSmithson.co.uk.