The Runt is shooting like a fucking geyser today. Like Old Faithful, he’s spouting off at regular intervals. Big huge jets of the stuff. Every time, spouts erupt out of his rigid dick as his body shakes and quivers. He’s spunked all over the blanket, baptized the pillows and headboard, smacked me in the chest and face with his essence.
Every time, he looks at me afterward in panic and near distress. I can’t fathom what frightens him. He could be afraid I’ll assume he’s done, and cease the relentless grinding of my cock into his puffy red hole. Maybe he thinks his cries are loud enough to be heard by the neighbor upstairs. But I think secretly he fears he’s showing too much. The Runt plays his emotional cards close to his chest. Around his friends, his family, he’s pretending—pretending to be normal, pretending not to be gay, pretending to be a good and obedient boy who marches lockstep with the plans others have made for him.
The only time he’s anything close to being himself is when he’s naked and with me. In the dark, when I’m holding him so tightly by his trim waist that I’m leaving red marks on that smooth skin, when I’m shoving my obscenely enlarged fuckmeat into his soft, sweet guts, he’s free. He’s getting what he needs. He’s living the life about which he can only fantasize in the harsh light of day. I think that realization takes him aback. He’s unused to expressing the liberty he feels when he’s astride a man’s cock.
So when he comes, it’s loudly. Not like when he’s at home after the lights are out, fumbling himself under the covers. His narrow chest billows and dwindles, his breathing quickens and becomes harsh, his little dime-sized nipples shrink and pucker. His ass cheeks dimple and contract around my dick as he straddles it and rides. His lids open as if they’re revealing the world around him, and not merely hiding his beautiful brown eyes. He shudders and yells and then, right on schedule, his dick jerks back and forth. At each apex, it unleashes a stream of gooey white sperm. The first launch smacks me on the shoulder and flies off and over the bottom of the bed. The second lands at the bed’s foot. The third puddles on the blanket and begins to seep in.
His hair covers his forehead, falls in his eyes. It’s a wavy mess. Kids these days, right? His body rises and falls with every thrust of my hips. The Runt comes whenever I force my dick inside him. It’s the first penetration that triggers his spastic response, so I’ve been fucking him, left his hole rest and close, and then forcing it back inside. I’m cruel that way. Yeah, I’m a real bastard, all right, giving him climax after climax and then stretching his hole with my monster cock while he’s trying to recuperate. Sadistic fucker.