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Hard Ball

© December, 2000

Chris Carr

 

 

 

 

 

IV.

 

To the constant pitter-patter of rain against the window, twin bodies writhed, pressing against each other in the dark. Stripped to their boxers, they found warmth against each other, the touch of each other’s skin intoxicating. Young hands roving beneath the covers, they played over smooth brown skin, heightening the desire within. Plucking tender nipples, causing them to erect they continued, down hastily over taut stomach muscles, dropping further to rest in a nest of curly pubic hairs.

Moving closer, the teen guided his erection, resting it comfortably between ripe cheeks. A rustling beneath the covers, the boy removed his boxers now. Returning to spoon, he rubbed his hard dick against the boxer-clad melon halves. Arms encircling to hold tight, he shoved his dripping dick, leaving trails of sticky wetness in its wake.

In time, he grew tired of merely grinding. His eyes glinting in the moonlit darkness, he communicated his desire, with just one look, provoking a reaction.

No, he didn’t want his nipples slobbered on like he was some bitch. And no, he didn’t want to kiss, he wasn’t like that either. Get yo’ punk ass down there and get busy, his eyes demanded.

The rain increased, drumming softly against the window as the teen waited. Yeah, he breathed, a slight hiss escaping him as sensuous lips slipped around his dick. Spreading his legs, he locked his hands behind his head and watched, passionate slurps and sucking sounds filling his ears. A sensuous tongue lashing about the sensitive head of his dick, the boy emitted a soft moan.

That was all fine and good, he allowed, but he wasn’t “‘bout moaning and whining like no bitch either.” Gripping the bobbing head in his hands, he ushered it further down his column. Yeah, he hissed, thrusting his pulsing missile back and forth, delighting in every sensation of the suckling, warm cavern.

Lips nursed his throbbing bone, slurping lustily, that wicked tongue whipping around the boy’s shaft now. Holding the bobbing head tight, the boy’s dick fervently fucked the suctioning throat. Shit feel good, he indulged, rubbing his dick against the lapping, wet tongue. Bitch can suck dick. Yeah, get yo’ mouth down on that shit, he thought, marveling at the numerous sensations.

Lightning flashed outside the window, its angry arc summoning an increase in the rain. Helpless, the heavens opened, surrendering its burden. Pounding against the window it fell in earnest.

Every inch of his dick sensitive now, the boy could stand no more of the talented mouth. Extracting himself, there was an audible pop as his dick plopped from it. Holding his throbbing, wet bayonet, he stroked it lewdly, squeezing sticky drops of boy juice out the shiny head. Yeah, ‘bout that time, his gray eyes dictated. Assume the position bitch, he leered, his dick growing extra hard in anticipation.

Both of them naked now, the boy hopped between the sleek, brown legs, his dick a torpedo, darting from his groin. Grasping it again, he pleasured himself, his fist stroking the rigid shaft and kneading the swollen head. More of his juices seeped out, smearing about the throbbing head, shooting sensations out to his dangling balls.

Lifting the smooth brown legs onto his shoulders, another sensation coursed up his hard shaft. His dick pleading for release, he guided it toward the tight anal passage. Positioning the pulsing knob at the tight hole, he gazed into the face below him as he pushed. Pain registered on that face as his stiff battering ram forced its way in.

His searing bat sinking deep, he finally removed his hand and pushed further, nestling his pubes against the smooth, round cheeks. With one last thrust, he hit bottom, eliciting groans of pain and discomfort from the boy beneath him. His balls drawing tight, he suppressed a moan of delight himself, sensuous ripples passing the length of his tool.

The wave passing, he slowly pulled out, every inch of his pole caressed as the tight ass hole tugged at it. Waves coursing through his body again, he could even feel the sensations in his quivering toes.

Fuck! Shit feel good, he trembled, sliding his stiff length back in. Whimpers greeted him, his propelling rod apparently hitting that spot. His pipe swelling, he barely avoided another pre-ejaculation, thousands of sensations rocketing from his throbbing length now. God damn, he moaned, furiously ramming his dick back and forth. This bitch’s ass better than pussy.

From the tip of his thrusting head to the hang of his churning balls, his dick was aglow. Was it just the way a good piece of ass felt, whipping around the head of your dick that produced this sensation, he thought, or was it the intoxicating power of who’s ass it was?

Pounding the tight hole, his post fighting to make it relent, he knew the question was really rhetorical. Bedsprings creaking beneath their torrid, lewd tussle, there was no escaping it. Were it anyone else, he’d never feel the incredible sensations, writhing about his driving pole.

Bending low to nuzzle the youth beneath him, he cried out, his thrusting spear exploding within the snatching tunnel.

“Fuck that shit, nigga” the youth squealed, his own dick leaping between them. Hugging the boy tight, Vincent rammed, his body quavering as his dick released its urgent load.

 

 

 

 Epilogue

 

 

The crisp, morning air cool, August pulled his jacket tight, praying his bus wouldn’t be late. There was rain forecast but, as of yet, the threatening angry gray sky hadn’t delivered. Sitting in silence, he grieved the loss of his CD player.

Days before, as he’d sat waiting for his bus another thug had approached him and simply stated,

“Come up outta that CD playa bitch!” His heart pounding, August passively watched as the boy snatched his CD player away, ripping his earphones off also.

“Faggot,” the boy snapped, walking away, leaving August frightened and musicless. Loosing the player was bad enough but what he really hated was that his favorite Li’l Kim album was gone along with it.

Shivering in the cold, his senses were acutely keen, every movement about him cause for alarm. Accepting his bus was going to be late again, he wished he’d taken those extra winks.

A car passed, the male passenger slowing to gaze as he passed. In the distance, he sensed a familiar sound, but was so distracted, he didn’t readily process it. August smiled at the man, hopeful but he continued, staring as he passed.

The sound got closer, swiftly approaching…

Bounce… bounce… bounce…

 “Sup nigga?”

“Vincent! Where you been?”

Bounce… bounce… bounce…

“Been ‘round,” he informed, talking in that quiet, confident demeanor of his. “Goin’ to work?” he asked, bouncing his ball.

“Yeah,” August replied, curious.

“You still lookin’ good,” Vincent quipped, holding his ball. August blushed, flattered. Why couldn’t he have said that before?

“You missed me?”

“Yeah,” August smiled.

Bounce… bounce… bounce

“Yeah…” Bounce… bounce… bounce…

The suspense killing him, August blurted, “Nigga, where you been?”

“Hangin’ with my homies.”

“How come I never see you no more, then?” Vincent shrugged, holding his ball again.

“Seen you a couple of times, but you was always with someone.”

“You could’ve said hey, or somethin’.”

“Yeah… my bad.”

Bounce… bounce… bounce…

“So… who you hangin’ with, then?”

Bounce…. Bounce… bounce…

“Mostly Juice.”

“JUICE!” His hand reflexively raising to cover his mouth, August gasped. “You and Juice ain’t….” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t imagine the two youths together, doing what his mind dared conjure up.

Vincent bounced his ball a couple of times then casually nodded his head yes. August gasped again, shocked.

“But… who? Oh no… No you ain’t…” Again, Vincent nodded his head yes.

 

August never made it to work that day. Before his late bus ever arrived, he’d dragged Vincent back to his apartment, called in sick and didn’t rest until he’d got all the sordid details.

“Anybody else know?” August asked, Vincent’s story unbelievable.

“Just you.”

“And… you stayin’ with him now?” Vincent nodded again.

“But… how did you know?”

 “Anytime a nigga beat up on his lady,” Vincent plainly stated, “he weak.” 

“Well, god damn.”

“Once we had that fight at the store, I knew his ass could be had. Next time I saw that punk, I just took his ass back to his apartment and took his shit.”

“He didn’t…”

“Laid there like a bitch and took it. Shit, his ass like this dick now,” Vincent said, gripping his groin.

“How come… how come you never…”

“’Cause I like playin’ hard ball, August and you ain’t the hard ball type. I just like hangin’ out with you ‘cause you fo’ real, b.”

Vincent was fucking Juice, August marveled. And Juice was liking it. I was letting a punk fuck me, August thought. He’d definitely have to work on his game.

“When was the last time?” August inquired.

“Last night.”

“He ever been…” August stopped, unable to pose the question plaguing him.

“Naw, his shit tighter than a virgin. Hurt him like a mutha fuck. But he seemed like he wanted me to just slam his ass. He kept sayin’, ‘harder, harder, harder.’”

“Well God damn…”

 

 

 

 

August saw Juice one time after Vincent’s revelation. He was at the neighborhood BK, when the 20 year old walked in with a bunch of his homies. Juice spotted him, then looked away, the color draining from his face. August didn’t say anything to him. Just smiled smugly as Juice waited on his order.

 

As he left, he paused within earshot and said, “Trade.”

 

End

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