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From: "blue pervina" <bluepervina@lycos.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Beach Bums (MMM, rom, sm, ws, puke, scat)
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Date: Sat, 03 Dec 2005 06:10:03 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Author: bluepervina
Title: Beach Bums
Summary: Two gay men hook up for their regular surfside date. They 
stumble upon a horny college kid just home for the weekend. This 
story contains some s/m, romance, pissing, puking, and scat.
Keywords: MMM, rom, sm, ws, puke, scat

(See MS Word document, attached.)


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<1st attachment, "beach_bums.doc" begin>

Author: bluepervina
Title: Beach Bums
Summary: Two gay men hook up for their regular surfside date.
They stumble upon a horny college kid just home for the weekend.
This story contains some s/m, romance, pissing, puking, and
scat.
Keywords: MMM, rom, sm, ws, puke, scat

=========================================================
=========================================================
This story's content is concerned with the fictional/literary
depiction of sexual acts. Some or all of these depictions might
be considered offensive by some readers.
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 or otherwise forbidden by law to
read (any - or specific - kinds of) electronically transmitted
erotic material, please do not read anything else in this file.
This material is copyrighted by bluepervina. All rights are
reserved. The author specifically grants to an individual user
the right to download and keep ONE electronic copy for that
individual's personal reading so long as all original copyright
notices by bluepervina remain included with the work. 
Any reposting besides that which is customary by the asstr-mirror.org
archives requires prior written permission from bluepervina. 
=========================================================
=========================================================




Beach Bums

by bluepervina,  2005



--1--

Jack drove out to the beach after work.  The sun was just
setting; he drove west with his eyes half-blinded, but he knew
where he was going.  Between two beachside mansions sat a modest
white house on stilts, and there was just enough space to park
his convertible Saab between the pylons and out of the next day's
sun.  Bruce, his best friend, was waiting.  Hopefully the beer
was plentiful and well-iced.  And there was plenty of lube.
 
He had the entire weekend to himself   plus a day.  His wife left
that Friday morning on a plane, bound for the North Carolina
mountains and a rendezvous with her kin.  She'd taken their two
daughters with her and had sadly kissed him goodbye at the
airport.  Jack had lied and said he was too busy with work to
travel over three-and-a-half days, so he begged off and would
stay home.  Which meant he'd stay at Bruce's and spend the Labor
Day weekend fucking.
 
"Ready to go?" Jack hollered up from his car.  Bruce appeared on
the deck that surrounded the house, tanned and well-muscled in
his white linen shirt and khakis.  He wore his hair in a ponytail
always, and he had distinguished-looking heavy platinum hoops in
both ears.  There were hoops in his nipples as well, and Jack
could see their outline against the shirt as Bruce descended the
steps toward him.  Bruce's brown leather sandals completed the
rich beach bum look, and as he slid into the seat beside his
longtime lover, Jack couldn't help but once again catch his
breath in the fresh revelation of how lucky he was to have found
such a classy, kinky stud.
 
"You look tired," Bruce said, reaching out and rubbing Jack's
knee as he backed the Saab out toward the narrow beach town's
main road.  They were headed to a beachside bar at the far end of
the island, called "Ruck's", which served up the best gumbo and
smoked mullet on earth, as far as Jack was concerned.  It was
just what he needed to set his mood straight for the weekend's
fun and to push back the scraping claws of fatigue that always
dogged him at the end of his week.
 
"I'm OK now," Jack smiled back, throwing the convertible into
gear and roaring them 2.3 miles north.  Along the way, he said,
"I've been wearing them all day, you know," and he unzipped the
fly of his smart wool trousers so Bruce could see.  A bright pink
pair of panties was easily visible between the teeth of the
zipper, but Jack reached in and pulled them aside to reveal the
black leather straps of the cock restraint he'd been wearing. 
Bruce grunted his approval and leaned over, pinching Jack's right
nipple between his expert fingers for a good minute before
letting go and leaning back.
 
"That's the spirit!" Bruce laughed.  "I bet that was some fun
having that on in court today."
 
Jack was a real estate lawyer.  "How many times do I have to tell
you?"  He rolled his eyes mock-dramatically.  "I do real estate.
I don't have to go to court, man."
 
"Well, you might if somebody here sees you wearing it," Bruce
muttered, and Jack hastily tried to zip with one hand as he
steered into the crowded parking lot at Ruck's.  Since they were
in a convertible, people heading into the restaurant could easily
see down into their laps as the walked past.  It took a moment to
furtively yank his zipper the last few millimeters up, but then
all was well.  On to dinner.
 
Bruce bought, as was his custom.  Ever since selling off his
company in the mid-nineties, life had been good for him.  The
majority of his profit from the sale got reinvested in the
market, and the tech boom that shortly followed reaped him
enormous reward.  Still using the market to make money for him,
Bruce had now amassed a fortune that would keep him secure for
the rest of his life.  As long as he didn't suddenly try to buy
Costa Rica or something.
 
"Pitcher of Bud, and let's say... eh, three Jack shooters each,
right?" Bruce announced to the waiter as soon as he arrived at
their table.  "And a dozen oysters on the half-shell... and gumbo
for each of us... and then we'll do some real ordering after
that," he chuckled, "if we can still remember where we are."

The beer and the bourbon got both men plenty comfortable with
their Friday night, and they sat at their table by the window,
with its magnificent view of the Gulf of Mexico at twilight, and
played footsies.  Bruce's shoes were off, and his bare toes
danced their way up and down the damp cotton of Jack's socks, his
feet long since out of his cramped but handsome loafers.  It was
excruciating for Jack whenever his cock made to rise in arousal.
The restraint became a choking, painful instrument of torture,
and it caused him a great deal of squirming and shallow breathing
while he willing it to go back down.  Bruce, of course, made it
worse by just staring at him as he agonized.
 
But the mullet was ordered, more beer consumed, and eventually
Jack felt the urge to piss suddenly come on him all in a hot,
pressing rush.  He told Bruce, and they went ahead and settled
the bill, swinging by the tiny restroom on the way out.  There
was one stall and two urinals all compressed within a room not
much bigger than a linen closet.  The urinals were so close to
one another that there was no space between for the customary
short partition.  The two men were alone as they entered, the
stall door hanging partially open, blocked by the jutting lower
bowl of the second urinal.  

"Yeah... a nice, cozy piss...." Bruce murmured, as he sidled up
to the second urinal, unzipped, and let his water flood out. 
Jack, standing right next to the door back to the restaurant, had
to wait and jiggle his cock a bit, trying to get it to soften a
little more so he could go.  His eyes peered through their dizzy
fog at the urine cascading down beside him, and he couldn't help
but sigh.  And as the last bit of that long breath died, he
suddenly felt his dick release, and his own gushing piss began to
thunder down onto the stained porcelain and the baby blue
deodorant cake.

"That's it, Jackie... nice, hot piss!" Bruce cheered, already
re-zipped and clapping him on the back.  He leaned in close and
licked Jack's ear, breathed hotly into his neck as he kissed it.
Jack rolled his head ever slightly and moaned.  Bruce nibbled on
his earlobe and whispered, "You know I love watching it,
remember?"

Outside the door, a waiter could be heard walking by, asking
someone else about a salad order.  Something bumped the wall on
the other side of the urinal, jostling the door but not opening
it.  Bruce stayed on Jack's neck and ear, kissing, licking,
nibbling, breathing so low and so slow.  Jack's eyes were closed,
and all he did was feel it all.  And then he felt the splash.

Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw Bruce's large, bronzed
hand playing back and forth through his still-rapid flow of pee.
As his lover danced his fingers across the jetting piss, hot
splashes of it rained back against Jack's front, pelting his
crotch, wetting his pants obscenely.  Jack's nearly choked on his
sudden desire, his breathing came so hard; all he wanted to do
was lie down right there and let Bruce find a dozen other men to
come in and soak him in his clothes, from head to toe, with their
stinking, boiling piss.

Bruce chuckled softly, watching Jack jerk a little with pleasure.
 "You little pig, you," he intoned, closing his fingers over the
head of Jack's cock as the urine stream weakened and then died. 
He gave it one affectionate squeeze, then pulled up his hand and
wiped it back and forth several times across Jack's dress shirt.
It soaked in a few places large enough and deeply enough to see
the matting of his chest hair beneath.  And its rich stench was
all around him, that glorious piss-stink he'd loved all his
life.
 
"Fuck," Jack muttered, then laughed.  He got his cock back in his
pants and took care to give Bruce a quick kiss on the cheek. 
"Thanks, stud," he smiled.  "I owe you one."

Before Bruce could kiss him back or laugh or drag him into the
stall for a serious moment of cocksucking, the door was flung
open; three men attempted to bunch themselves inside the
claustrophobic restroom, much like idiots outside elevators often
attempt to enter before bothering to look inside it to see who
might be coming out.  The first man ran right into Jack as Jack
stepped back away from Bruce in surprise.  The other two men
attempting to follow the first piled all into each other, until
their combined klutziness pushed them and Jack straight back into
the stall's nearest partition and up against the sink.  Bruce
laughed, "Whoa!"  He had his hands out helping to catch and
steady any man he could reach.

"Jesus!" said one of the men, then, "Thanks."  They all managed
to keep their feet and navigate their way around each other, Jack
and Bruce finally getting through them to the open doorway.  In
those close quarters, pressed almost sensually up against the
strangers as he shuffled his way out, Jack smelled powerfully the
odor of piss; he caught one man as he passed sniff and glance
down dully at Jack's splotched shirt, but he stared openly as if
not at all comprehending what he saw, not able to add the stench
to the stains and come up with the obvious.  It was clearly not a
leap the stranger was able make.  He blinked in a dim sort of way
and awkwardly let Jack go on out the door.

A few moments later, Jack was slowly attempting to meander the
two of them home.  He was at the very end of his tolerance for
alcohol, was just the perfect shade of drunk for the night, and
he could tell that Bruce was, too.  They laughed even more,
touched even more.  Talked even less about stupid, mundane
things.  The car hummed along, almost seeming to drive itself. 
The breeze that blew over them took away most of the piss smell
that still clung to Jack, but Bruce, ever Puckish, raised his
hand to Jack's nose from time to time as the went along, giving
his lover some sweet moments to inhale the scent of dried urine
that still clung to Bruce's unwashed fingers.

"Hey!  Pull in here," demanded Bruce suddenly, pointing at a
brand new convenience store about halfway between his house and
Ruck's.  "I need some smokes."
 
When he came out, Bruce was accompanied by a scrawny-looking kid
in baggy painter's jeans that barely hung onto his bony hips.  He
wore a black Emerica t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and his
hair was shaved on the sides, long on top, and fine strands of
long blonde hair fell all about his head in a lazy way, stirred a
bit like spaghetti just thrown into the boiling water.

"Hey, Jack, look who I found!" laughed Bruce, who tossed a carton
of Dorals into Jack's lap and then graciously held the door open
for the boy.  Nearly tripping over his own flip-flops, the kid
scrambled to get behind the seat that Jack hastily folded
forward.  He glanced once at Jack and muttered something that
must've been a thank you, and then he glued his eyes to his own
hands, clutching a one-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in his lap.

"It's Raylene's kid, Cory," chuckled Bruce, settling in the
passenger seat.  Raylene was Bruce's regular drinking buddy, a
divorcee with all kinds of money pouring in.  She lived in a
house similar to Bruce's just a quarter-mile down the beach. 
"You remember him, don't you?  He used to be the guy wakeboarding
in front of my place 24/7."

Jack did a double-take, and Cory turned red.  "Yeah,
matter-of-fact, I do remember him.  Wow!  You've grown up a
bunch, kid."  Jack was lying.  Except for the haircut, which had
definitely thrown him, everything else about the boy seemed the
same as it was the last summer, when he was hanging around their
beachfront, almost like a lost puppy, showing off his little
wakeboard tricks.  "You off at college now?"

Cory cleared his throat and looked out the side as they rode. 
"Yeah," he grunted, taking a swig of his Dew.  "I'm up in
Gainesville."

"Well, congratulations, man," Jack smiled, remembering some good
times there.  "That's where I went to school, too.  I know you're
having loads of fun!"
 
"Yeah," said Cory flatly, and he rode on with them in silence. 
Jack had to glance back over Cory's shoulder twice on that drive,
checking traffic behind, and he couldn't help but notice that
Cory's jeans were riding so low as he sat that nearly half the
white of his underwear was visible beneath his t-shirt.  But it
was thick underwear, or baggy, or some kind of pair of shorts or
something he had on, because it was clear there was more bulk to
the undergarment than a normal pair of BVDs would show.  Jack, in
his hazy brain, barely thought about it, though, and soon he quit
glancing back entirely and just kept on driving.

Bruce was trying to make conversation still, without much
success.  "So where's your skateboard, Cory?  I heard from
Raylene that you're skating more than ever now, got some kind of
traveling competitive thing going on sometimes too?  Some kind of
skate club in Gainesville, right?"

"Yeah, well," muttered Cory, "it's more than a club, really.... 
But I'm just takin' a break down here this weekend.  Tonight.  I
guess.  Didn't even bring down my board...."

As the boy's voice dully faded away, it was clear to Jack that
the kid was regretting accepting the ride.  But Bruce would not
be Bruce if he didn't bull straight on ahead and force the boy to
talk some more.  He grabbed a question from out of the blue and
let it fly:  "So, Cory, you still smoking as much pot as you did
before, back when you were such a little dick-beater hanging
around my house all hours of the day?"

Jack couldn't suppress his short laugh, and he looked back
briefly, just in time to see Cory roll his eyes in a heartfelt
and spontaneous commentary upon the infinitely moronic ways of
adults.  The boy shook his head in disbelief and then shrugged,
looking down at his Mountain Dew.  "Yeah, dude.  Of course. 
What-the-fuck, right?"

They dropped Cory off in front of his house, a modest beachfront
frame home built in the sixties, raised up on a small forest of
twelve-foot wooden pylons, each one as thick as Bruce's
considerable chest.  The boy shrugged his way out of the backseat
and mumbled his thanks to them for the ride, slowly threading his
way through the pylons and out toward the darkened beach, which
lay out of sight over the slight dunes.  He was already fishing
in his pocket, pulling out a large joint, finding his lighter
with the other hand, the bottle of soda lidded and tucked beneath
his arm.  As Jack's car backed away, Bruce reached over and
sharply slapped the horn.  A short blare of noise shot all around
the underside of the house, making Jack jerk nervously despite
himself.  Bruce laughed hard at him, but he watched Cory too; and
the boy never even flinched.

"What a burned-out little fuck he is now," chuckled Bruce,
lighting up a cigarette as Jack turned them back onto the road. 
"We'll have to come down and visit his snotty little ass later
on.  I really think we will."

By the time Jack had killed the engine beneath Bruce's house, his
fly was unzipped and his cock was being tugged free.  Bruce was
done with his cigarette and bent over, slurping up and down his
lengthening rod, mumbling happy sounds to himself.  Jack lifted
his ass off the seat and let Bruce pull his pants and Jockey's
all the way off, kicking free of his shoes in the process.  He
lay the seat all the way down so he could angle his ass and legs
a little better, and soon Bruce's finger slid wetly up Jack's
musky asshole.  Bruce poked at Jack's prostate in a delicious
rhythm that matched his sucking mouth perfectly.  Jack just
closed his eyes and listened to the dim boom of the waves in the
distance.  There was nothing as good in this world as sex at the
beach.  Nothing.
 
The finger withdrew.  The sucking stopped.  Jack sat up,
startled.  Bruce was getting out of the car and heading toward
the steps.  "Well, come on," Bruce chided quietly.  The sounds of
partiers on a nearby condo balcony echoed faintly among the
pylons.  "Let's go get serious about it, why don't we?"
 
"No fair!" whispered Jack, gathering his clothing and scampering
up the steps.  "You are a fucking cock tease, godammit!"

Bruce had the door open for him, and as soon as they were inside
they locked in a passionate kiss.  Jack tasted some of his own
pre-cum in Bruce's mouth, along with the flavor of cigarettes and
a hint of their gumbo and oysters.  His hands worked to get his
lover fully undressed, as Bruce did the same with him.  Soon they
were both nude, pressed tightly together, hips working to grind
their cocks against each other's hard belly.

Jack withdrew this time, dancing away toward the wall of sliding
glass doors that faced the darkened beach below.  He got down on
the Berber carpet on all fours, pressing his cheek to the rolled
fibers and swaying his back.  His ass was high in the air, and he
knew how delicious his balls must look.  The scant moonlight
coming into the darkened room was plenty for Bruce to see by, and
Jack was rewarded with a low whistle.

"Mmmmmm, Jackie," murmured Bruce, "Lemme' have a lick of those
sweet nuts...."  And then Bruce's tongue was on his scrotum,
licking, slurping, tasting up and down on his sack, around each
shaved globe over and over, just delicately enough... just rough
enough... and Jack could only tremble and moan.  Then Bruce's
tongue moved up his perineum, the delicious ridge of skin that
lead straight from the root of his balls to his asshole.  Over
and over, the tongue caressed his ridge up and down, until his
sack was dripping with Bruce's saliva.
 
And then his tongue found the hole.  Jack gasped and pushed his
anus back against Bruce's face, and his lover happily obliged by
driving his tongue even deeper into Jack's musky, loose hole. 
Around and around the tongue went, licking hard against the
inside of Jack's tingling anal ring.  Bruce's hand came up and
began to lightly stroke Jack's cock and balls.  An agony of sweet
strokes and subtle squeezes, a little tug timed just right as his
tongue stabbed deeper than ever... and Jack had to pull away.  He
fell forward upon his face, chest heaving, arms splayed out to
his sides.
 
"Oh God!  Jesus!" Jack breathed.  "Too much!  Fuck!"
 
Bruce crawled on top of him, chuckling.  "You look like you're
ready, eh, bitch?"  His fat cock wedged between Jack's asscheeks
like an enormous crowbar.  It was huge and hard and slimy at its
tip.  Jack's anus spasmed; his ass humped reflexively against the
weight of it lying in his crack.  His own cock plowed back and
forth upon the springy, rolled carpet, crushed beneath their
combined weight, quickly getting raw.

Bruce's mouth was on Jack's ear, nibbling, licking, breathing 
hot against him.  Bruce kissed his neck and bit his shoulders,
his teeth going in hard, chewing against his skin in time with
their slow, hard humping.  Jack knew he'd have marks all over him
for a solid week, but he could find ways to avoid his wife
seeing.  It took some care and some luck, but the inconvenience
was worth it.  Between his cock scraping across the carpet,
Bruce's cock sliding up and down his asscrack, and the teeth
gnawing mercilessly at his skin, Jack was powerless to do
anything but grunt and buck and beg for more.
 
"Oh yeah, fucker, bite me!" Jack growled.  "That's it, fuckin'
chew on me!"
 
Bruce bit down harder, grabbed Jack by the back of his hair and
ground his face into the carpet.  He lifted his cock just enough
to reach in with his other hand and jam the head straight into
Jack's sloppy, wet asshole.  In one searing thrust, Bruce's huge
cock sank to the root.  Jack was powerless to move.  He could
feel a rug burn grind itself into his cheekbone as Bruce
continued to smear his face into the berber.  His shoulder felt
like it was bleeding.
 
"That's it, oh yeah, bitch," Bruce muttered, his hips twitching
as he settled his cock inside Jack as deeply as possible.  "Way
down in that hot ass.  Deep inside you, you goddamn faggot...."

Bruce then pumped his cock steadily inside Jack's ass, from head
to root, over and over, taking his time.  He chose different spot
on Jack's flesh, biting down hard and unexpectedly.  Sometimes he
slapped him viciously on his ass or the side of his head.  He
then picked up his pace, reaching down to wrench back one of
Jack's arms, twisting it up brutally behind him in a police hold.
 Jack screamed in agony and wept freely like a child.  But his
cock at that moment spurted thick hot jets of come against his
belly and the carpet, and he couldn't help but choke out a
strangled "YES!  FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!" even as his body writhed to
get out of the painful hold, despite his waist and ass spasming
joyously through his orgasm.
Bruce laughed cruelly, "Yeah, little fucker, cry like a baby and
come all over my fuckin' rug...." And then he suddenly released
Jack's arm and grabbed his shaking waist in both hands, hammering
his cock into Jack's wet asshole with all his strength.  Jack's
prostate felt nearly crushed, its throbbing no longer rhythmic,
but constant, a sensory overload that shot straight through every
nerve in his body, strangely enrapturing and paralyzing him at
the same time, his neck and head and arms alternately stiff and
flopping about of their own accord.  His cock continued to fire,
but no more jism was left; his gland shot off anyway, again and
again and again, painfully driving Jack even higher in his
twisted heights of pleasure.

As for Bruce, he jetted rope after rope of semen deep inside
Jack's ass, continuing to pound his cock to the full until every
ounce of come was spent.  He bent forward then, breathing
heavily, and kissed Jack tenderly, over and over and over, all
over his back and shoulders and neck.  He kissed the side of
Jack's face and licked up his messy tears.  He kept his cock
inside until it was soft, and then he withdrew, still kissing and
petting Jack as the other lay there beneath him, exhausted, sore,
and euphoric.

For an hour the two of them slept there on the floor, wrapping
arms and legs together, still naked, unwashed, their sweat and
semen drying slowly.  Jack had a dream that he was on a
merry-go-round, tied with his upper body hanging partly off the
side, so that his head was only inches above the rocky ground
that spun by below him.  He was naked and his cock was pointing
straight up.  Bruce flashed by every second or so, his strong
arms flinging the playground wheel ever-faster around and around.
 Beside him stood the boy Cory, drinking a Mountain Dew.  "He's a
dizzy bitch, ain't he?"  Bruce said to Cory, but the boy only
shrugged and rolled his eyes.  As Jack continued to spin,
helpless, in the dream, he saw flashes of the two like a zoetrope
animation staggering rapidly across his vision, a flipbook
tweening of moments that he craved to see more of... Bruce still
spinning the wheel, but somehow also getting his cock out and
letting Cory kneel to suck it... Cory suddenly naked, so scrawny,
but with a huge long cock, squatting himself over the bottle of
soda, fucking it slowly up into his own pink asshole... Bruce
pissing a fountain of golden rain from his cock, all over Cory's
upturned face and open mouth, the boy weeping in humiliation and
in need, his own cock spewing huge globs of come as he jerked on
it frantically....

"Hey, Jackie," Bruce whispered, and Jack was awake.  He still
felt like he was spinning, but already the dream was forgotten. 
His body was softly rocking as Bruce shook him tenderly from his
sleep.  "Hullo, stud," Jack mumbled, smiling.

Bruce found Jack's mouth and kissed him, soft at first, then with
more heat, more tongue.  Jack responded with his own rising
passion, letting Bruce roll over on top of him, lie full-length
upon him as he held off his weight with his gorgeous arms.  Each
man felt the other's cock slowly stiffen against his belly; each
man groaned and kissed ever more deeply, their crotches rocking
back and forth, their cocks fucking hungrily against each other,
trapped inside the tight vise of their two hard abdomens, the
stickiness of dick-scum slicked and smoothed deliciously by the
fresh pre-cum that now leaked out of both slits, mingling,
greasing.

Bruce broke off the kiss, though, and stilled his hips.  Jack
whined a little in his throat and looked pleadingly up at his
lover.  Bruce couldn't suppress his laugh.  "Jesus, Jack!  You
really are a bitch!"  He bent and kissed him once more, briefly,
then stood up.  Jack, from his back on the floor, watched in
rapture as Bruce towered above him, all legs and cock and balls.
And drippy!  A splotch of unidentified fluid landed messily on
Jack's throat, slowly sliding off onto the carpet, as he stared
hungrily up at his man.

"What?"  Jack asked thickly.  His hand went to his cock and
gently stroked; still a little sore from the carpet, but ready
for more....

"Well, buddy, I gotta piss," Bruce said, hands on his hips.  His
cock bounced goofily as he talked, like it tried to mime the
words but was completely out of synch and utterly uncoordinated.
"But I'm too hard to piss now, thank you very much."

Jack laughed and continued to stroke himself.  "Sorry, Bruce, but
you kissed me that time."

Bruce waved that off and looked away, through the sliding glass
door at the nearly pitch black Gulf of Mexico beyond.  "Yeah,
yeah, whatever.  Listen, what is it, like, midnight now?  You
think anybody's still out there?"

Jack laughed again, but he stopped stroking and manfully got to
his feet.  He only groaned once from the pain that lanced up into
his sore shoulder.  "Fuck, Bruce, but you did get drunk tonight!
How the hell should I know who might still be out there?  You're
the one who fucking lives here, remember?  Not me!"  But he came
up behind Bruce then and put his arms around him, letting his
rigid dick slide thickly against the hard crack of the bigger
man's ass.  They stood that way, hotly pressed together in the
warm room, for a long time, Jack kissing Bruce's back and
shoulders just as tenderly as he had been kissed before.  But
then finally Bruce broke away and turned.

"All right, that's long enough!  Let's go down there and let me
piss on you out in the open air, OK?"   Bruce nodded
enthusiastically at his own plan and immediately slid open the
glass door and stepped onto the deck.  A drying rack stood nearby
with some swimming trunks clothes-pinned to it.  He pulled off a
pair for himself and a pair for Jack, tossing them to him and
then stepping quickly into his own.  "We need some camouflage for
the walk down to the water's edge, eh?"  He grinned.  Jack
grinned back and stepped into his trunks.  His cock tented the
front outrageously, but he didn't care.  It was dark, he was
horny.  What the fuck.

--2--

Cory knew the honk was coming.  If one thing never changed, it
was Bruce.  Always with the horn, forever trying to get a laugh.
Fucking rich asshole, but at least he was good for free booze or
some pot whenever Cory ran out.  And he never cared much about
closing his windows or locking things.  Made it easy to get in
and snoop around.  Spy.  

Not that he needed to do that tonight.  He'd seen enough of the
Jack and Bruce show on other weekends.  It was all sweat and
teeth and muscles.  A lot of jackhammer stuff, and Cory honestly
didn't know how Jack took it.  How the hell could he even like it
that way?  But whatever.  Tonight was just not the night for all
that.  Cory took a nice long drag on his joint, hitched up his
pants a bit, and headed out for the beach.  He had other shit on
his mind.

Tyler was done with him.  After nearly a whole year of doing
everything right, or at least trying to, Cory's boyfriend had
dropped him cold.   It had been his first openly gay
relationship; since he was so far away at college, he felt like a
completely different person, free to be himself at last, and what
he'd wanted above all else was to just find a guy and not worry
about any of the stupid hometown stuff.  No more talking in code
on the phone.  No more playing it so stone cold straight at
school and at the mall and on the weekends.  No more idiot
girlfriends to drag around and spend money on.  He could give and
get blowjobs in his own room without worrying about a fucking
thing.  He could ride as much cock as his ass could take, any
time he wanted, any way he wanted, and he didn't have to worry
that some chatty bitch would find out and spread it all over town
  or worse, that his mom would stumble in and see her boy for
what he really was.  That could fucking well end the money, at
the least.  

He sucked again on the fat, sweet joint and suppressed a small
shudder.  Thing was, Cory didn't really know how his mom might be
about it.  Hell, her best friend most of the time was Bruce, who
didn't worry about anybody knowing his preferences.  But, then
again, Bruce was this huge muscular rich guy who didn't need
anybody's approval.  Plus, he could kick ass if somebody gave him
trouble about it.  At the very least, his money could change a
mind or a mouth pretty fast.  More than a few cops on the island
kept quiet the complaints about Bruce's beach adventures over the
years.  But that was Bruce.  Cory could only sit back and dream
about shit like that.

The warm breeze swept across him over and over like an endlessly
unfurling bed sheet, fresh from the drier.  Waves murmured up and
back, in and out, across the shallow tidal sands, a pleasant sort
of conversation that Cory missed deeply when he was away at
school.  The sound and the smell and the softly moving air, the
beach he'd grown up loving was in his blood too deep to deny, and
he couldn't help but like coming back home.  Even if it was for
no other reason than what he was doing just then: sitting on the
sand, smoking, settling into himself, just finding a minute or
two with no seams whatsoever.  Nothing but a sweet moment of
unbroken solitude, surrounded but serene, the sand and the waves
and the stars keeping him company and keeping everything else
away.

So Tyler had a problem.  Big fucking deal.  Cory shuffled out of
his slides and let his toes dig a little in the sand beneath his
house, then he set off toward the water and his regular spot. 
The fine powder was good and cool and helped keep his anger down.
 It was so hard to be pissed at anything on a night like this. 
So hard to find enough fault with Tyler to truly miss him that
much.  What was it worth anyway?  Had he really thought his first
real adult love would last forever?  He was a freshman, after
all!  Think of how many more years, how many more men there can
still be before some next big change.  Tyler's just the first,
but think of the next!  Think of anything else, at least, but
Tyler's cock   or Tyler's balls resting on your tongue, or his
ass when he danced, or his toes in your mouth, his fingers so
deep inside you....

"Fuck!" Cory exhaled, shaking his head a bit and reaching down to
adjust his pants again.  Damn things slid all crazy now,
something he hadn't expected, but he'd remember from now on and
wear better-fitting jeans or something.  He'd remember because he
knew he would do it again.  Even though it had crushed his life
with Tyler, he had made a choice.  Tyler could find someone else
now, but Cory had to keep becoming the adult he wanted to be. 
The free man he deserved to be.

He sat in a weathered wooden beach chair, deepset, seat riding
the sand, with a high back and long armrests, his legs relaxed
out straight on the cool quartz powder of the shore just thirty
feet off the waterline.  His ass squirmed and scooted until
everything felt just right.  He'd been in that same chair
hundreds of times in his life, of course, but he took an
especially long time to settle into it just then.  After all, it
was the first time he'd been in it wearing a diaper.

The mere thought of it stirred his cock, and he couldn't help but
feel for the dozenth time, at least, the outline of his penis
beneath the puffy layers of super-absorbent synthetic.  What a
fucking miracle all of this was!  How had he even thought he was
really free   really even alive at all   before realizing this
amazing fact about adult life?  He could wear a diaper, all day
if he wanted, and nobody would notice, nobody would care.  Even
if somebody did care, nobody ever had to know.  The stores sold
them to adults just the same as to kids!  And medical supply
stores sold even better kinds, and they didn't care at all if you
came in and bought a whole case at once.  Online stores were
great, too, or so Cory had been told, but he didn't want to wait
for the shipping and he didn't want to pay extra for the fast
delivery.  So he'd tried Wal-Mart first, and their adult brands
had been OK.  But then he hit Tassler's Medical Equipment and
Supply, Inc., and their store was enough for him.  He'd tried all
three of their major brands now and had finally settled on the
diaper maker and style he liked the best.  All that had been left
were two things:  wearing them 24/7 and letting Tyler know.

It was the letting Tyler know part that he'd tried first, after
his weeks and weeks of covert experimentations were through,
after he knew for certain how important this new part of his life
was going to be.  He was ready to go toward wearing them
full-time, but since he had a full-time lover it would be
impossible, and stupid, to try to hide this crazy thing he now
loved.  Tyler sat across from him for nearly an hour as Cory had
tried to explain.  Tyler had been there, after all, when it had
all started.  He'd gone with Tyler to that all-gay fetish party
on Halloween in the fall.  Tyler had already gotten quite drunk
before they arrived (he was dressed as Captain Morgan), and he
more or less dozed the night away in a wicker patio rocking chair
while Cory in his "207-boned Skeleton" costume had been free to
roam, if not to romance.

A dozen or so of the guys had been wearing diapers; Cory, having
never thought about such a thing before, was thunderstruck.  He'd
spent most of the night hanging out with the diapered guys (who'd
all sort of stuck together, their respective "daddies" bringing
them drinks or whatever throughout the night), and he even got to
watch several of them piss or shit their diapers.  He felt the
warmth from the outside as it spread and filled the fibers.  He
massaged the hot, heavy bulge as it sagged down between a guy's
thighs.  He even got to see a couple of them get changed   wiped,
powdered, the whole works.  It tripped him out harder than any
drug had ever done.  His entire perception of adulthood, of
queerness, of freedom, all of it changed.  The diapered guys
talked about how they lived their lives in diapers.  He learned
what it took to keep things discrete, to make it a real life's
choice and not just some occasional horny thing.  He even learned
brands of diapers to look for, how and where to buy, what some
web sites there were that could help him learn more.  And of
course he got their names and numbers, and he heard about their
local chapter of the GAB/DL Club.  He made it to their next
party, the very next week, matter of fact.  

It had been his first moment of broken trust with Tyler.  He'd
told him he had to study, that he was hitting the library for an
all-nighter.  What happened all night, instead, was that Cory had
gotten drunk, put on his first ever adult diapers, and let nature
happen.  A half-dozen Kendall Wings later, there was no doubt. 
He'd changed himself the first couple times, of course, being
shy; but the last several changes he had whomever was near take
care of him, and it only added to the thrill and the euphoric
rush of freedom that once again turned his perceptions inside
out.  Not a hand touched his cock but to clean it.  Not a finger
neared his asshole but to wipe it and powder it and keep it nice.
 It was not cheating.

But that didn't matter to Tyler, of course.  Who knew that even
gays could be uptight, close-minded prudes?  Cory shook his head
softly, breathing more smoke into the night.  Whatever.  He was
gone.  It would've happened sooner or later, anyway.  Cory knew
that about himself now.  He was always going to be different, and
shame - at least so far - wasn't a part of that experience.  What
he liked was what he liked.  He craved what he craved.  How could
he help it?  He didn't go looking for his lusts, after all.  They
were already a part of him, and they felt as natural as his arms,
his legs, his beating heart.  

As normal and as inevitable, in fact, as the urge to shit; Cory
shifted his ass slightly as the sweet sensation of fullness
rattled up from his colon.  Then, with one long, gentle push, he
let the first fat turd pass through his pulsating sphincter and
come to rest, firm and warm, inside the snuggling safety of his
diaper.  The kid took a deep drag on his joint, closed his eyes,
and pushed again... and again... until every turd was squeezed
out of his ass and squashed thickly inside his faithful Abena's,
with not a single seep into his jeans to worry about.

Sighing, truly happy for the first time in weeks, Cory gazed up
at the high, clear vault of stars and gently traced the outline
of his cock as it steadily hardened beneath the diaper.  

--3--

The Gulf of Mexico was warm this time of year, even at night, so
it felt a lot like bathwater and less like ocean.  Jack was sure
it would stimulate Bruce's bladder tremendously once the two of
them got down to the water's edge.  Soon they were ankle-deep,
still holding hands and enjoying the rhythmic, muted scrape and
slide of the night-time Gulf's calm wavelets, the sound
surrounding them there at the wet ocean shore and creating a
sense of absolute unity, privacy, solitude... as if the two of
them were alone on the earth, enfolded, protected.  Jack sighed
and squeezed Bruce's hand.

"Sentimental fucker," Bruce chuckled.  "You're not going to start
quoting Thoreau again, are you?"  He was enjoying the moment,
too, smiling serenely, gazing out across the dark waters at a
distant buoy, its signal light blinking in and out of sight with
the rise and fall of the far-off waves.

Jack shook his head.  "No, this time I was thinking more of
Rembrandt."  He could make out Bruce's profile in the midnight
gleam off the water.  Bruce was rolling his eyes.

"Choose only one master," Jack grinned, "Nature."

Bruce snorted with derision, then spit the ensuing loogie far out
into the shallows.  He squeezed Jack's hand, though, and looked
him dead in the eyes.  "Who the hell gave you permission to
choose?" he sneered, all fuck-devil Top.  His hand let go of
Jack's and went instead to the crown of Jack's head and pushed. 
"Get on your knees, Jackie," and Jack quickly did, mouth open and
ready.  Bruce's other hand was tugging his swim trunks down,
freeing his thick, piss-ready cock.

"All right, baby..." Bruce grunted, as much to Jack as to his own
penis, encouraging them both; then he sighed as the urine finally
came, a heavy, smelly, salty torrent that blasted Jack squarely
between his eyes.  Bruce growled and played his piss-spray all
over Jack's face, the eager mouth of his lover straining back and
forth to catch it.  Jack couldn't help himself, he mewled like a
lovestruck tomcat caught behind a fence.  He wanted that warm,
strong drink; he craved to taste it, to swallow it, to bathe in
it.  Finally, unable to stand being teased any longer, Jack rose
up and put his mouth around Bruce's cockhead, chugging as much
piss as he could, his cheeks distended, his mouth leaking urine
all around.

"Goddamn, I love how you want that so bad," murmured Bruce, and
he grasped Jack's ears as the last few spurts went down his
lover's throat.  "You are such a nasty, nasty bitch, Jackie..."
Bruce moved his hips, fucking Jack's captive mouth as his cock
began to stiffen.  Soon he was fully hard and happily ramming
himself down Jack's throat.  It was usually a fifty-fifty deal
with Jack, as far as face-fucking went.  Sometimes he could
handle it, sometimes not.  And just then it was not.  

Jack convulsed, shoved himself away from Bruce's crotch, but not
quickly enough.  Before the tip of Bruce's cock even cleared
Jack's lips, he puked.  A giant froth of piss, beer, and seafood
exploded from Jack's mouth, splattering Bruce from waist-to-toes
and back-splashing all over Jack's own face, neck, and chest. 
Whimpering, beyond all control, Jack bent double and vomited
again; then again.  The sand was thick with the chunky, rancid
remnants of Jack's appetite.  His mouth was dripping as he
shuddered, bent over on his hands and knees, light-headed from
convulsing, his throat raw and sore.  

"Aw, fuck it all!" Bruce flicked a small piece of Jack's puke off
his abdomen.  Then he stroked his still-hard cock, cleaning off a
large blob of vomit in the process.  He examined his messy
fingers, then flicked wet little bits at Jack's sagging head. 
"You had too much to drink tonight, baby."  Bruce, barely
considerate - but trying - managed to keep his chuckling mostly
suppressed.  He did ask with complete sincerity, "Are you going
to be all right?"  And then he went back to stroking his engorged
penis, expecting only one answer from his lover.  

Jack nodded, still gasping for breath, and came back up to the
large, slick cock.  It smelled like rotted cheese, fermented
orange juice, dead fish.  Jack choked down another convulsion,
closed his eyes, and drove his mouth onto Bruce's throbbing dick.
 He couldn't breathe anymore, though, since vomit had backed up
into his sinuses, too, packing in the mucous and sending a sticky
mess out his nostrils as he tried to catch his breath.  He had to
pull off, once again, and went back down on all-fours.  

"Sorry!  Jesus, I'm sorry!" coughed Jack, waving a hand weakly a
few inches above the sand.  "Just gimme a minute, Bruce, just
hold on..." and Jack spasmed again as a new fit of coughing
nearly had him retching once more.  Bruce smoothed the back of
Jack's hair with his large, strong hand, bending down to him
tenderly.

"Hey, c'mon Jackie, let's just walk it off for a little bit.  I
don't mind."  He grabbed Jack beneath the arms and lifted him to
his feet, keeping a steadying arm around his lover's waist.  "You
need some air, that's all."  He kissed the top of Jack head, and
Jack, despite his puke-induced delirium, got yet another strong
jolt, deep in his heart, a pounding in his chest that marched him
even farther down the road of love than he'd already gone.  Bruce
was his true mate - his one, deep, lasting love.  Not Angela. 
Never Angela.  He thought she felt the same about him, in fact,
so it didn't really worry him.  Theirs had never been a marriage
for love.  It was something else.  For show, perhaps.  For fun,
maybe.  They were steadfast friends, after all.  Never fought,
laughed a lot, threw great parties.  But nothing electric,
nothing primal and terrifying and absolute - nothing like the way
Bruce made him feel.  

"Thanks, Bruce," Jack muttered, leaning into the larger man's
strong side, throwing both his arms around Bruce's still-naked
waist.  "I'll be OK in a little bit, I promise."  Jack's head
spun from alcohol and sickness and lust, and he felt nothing but
Bruce's warm, sticky body against his.  There was the constant
reminder, too, that Bruce's cock was still out and ready; its
semi-hard length slapped rhythmically against his thighs as they
walked, a sound that finally stirred Jack's own dick, once again.
 He turned his head, kissed Bruce's sweaty neck, and whispered,
"You don't happen to need to piss again, do you?  I'd like to
wash this nasty taste out of my mouth...."

Bruce, who'd been looking inland, laughed softly and steered them
both to a stop.  "As a matter of fact, I do."  He grinned down at
Jack with a wicked hunger, "And I think I'd like to do it with a
little audience this time!"  Bruce jerked his head inland, toward
a dark row of stilt-houses, and Jack strained to see something
that looked like people.  There was a whole lot of varying darks
against dark, shadows upon shadows, moonlight not doing much,
starlight even less.  But then he saw it: the cigarette.  Someone
was about halfway between them and the houses, smoking.  He
continued to stare, and finally he could make out the lean,
slouchy outline of a young man, casually puffing away and staring
straight up in the air, lost in his own private world.

--4--

Cory was halfway through his second joint when he finally gave up
on teasing himself.  His long hand slid underneath the front of
his diaper, down over the length of his cock, and onto his balls,
where the first thick clumps of shit could be felt.  Listening to
the exquisite squishing of his fingers as he flexed them against
one another and against his sack, the turds gone to paste and
squirting wherever the pressure sent them, Cory closed his eyes
and moaned.  He put the tip of his middle finger just inside his
asshole, which was still rather loose and easy from the large
turds it had just expelled.  Fucking just the tip of his finger
in and out, Cory's sphincter began to quiver, and his cock jumped
repeatedly, straining against the bonds of diaper that held it.

He soon pulled his hand back up to his cock, groaning, relishing
the sensation of his own slippery shit as he stroked it up and
down his gland, the stink wafting up to his face in wave after
wave, the filth of it all filling him with more lust than he knew
he could take.  It would only be maybe another half a minute,
then he'd come.  Cory leaned back, stroking with one soiled hand,
smoking with his joint in the clean one, his eyes squeezed tight
and his nose and nerves working overtime.

He had no clue that Bruce and Jack were walking up from the
water.  Cory hadn't noticed them at all.  Bruce waited to speak
until he was sure Cory wouldn't accidentally drop his joint and
burn himself, but he almost did anyway, he was so startled. 
"Mind if we join you?" Bruce calmly asked.  Cory yelped
involuntarily, just like a scolded puppy, and immediately held
his hand still inside the stinking disaster of his diaper.  His
cock throbbed in his grip, nearly ready to burst, but Cory
clamped off the urge with a mighty pincering of forefinger and
thumb.  "Oh fuck!" he gasped.  "Oh my fucking GOD!"

Bruce, of course, laughed.  Jack, holding onto his lover like he
was the last buoy in some threatening sea, just seemed to smile a
little in the darkness, but he said nothing.  Cory could see
Bruce's cock swinging between his legs, in silhouette against the
barely-lighter sand.  As usual, the sight of it made Cory catch
his breath.  "W-what, I mean - aw... Jesus Fuck!  Aw, man!"  Cory
was a stammering, embarrassed little kid; it was a nightmare. 
He'd been caught masturbating in his own shit, in a diaper no
less, by the only man in the entire world that he actually could
say he loved.  He'd wanted Bruce as his father and as his lover
for as long as he could remember, and now Cory'd be nothing but a
sad, sick little kid, and Bruce would never have anything to do
with him again.

"Relax, kid," Bruce quickly said, hearing Cory's strangled sobs
of embarrassment and frustration.  "I'm fucking naked on the
beach in front of you, OK?  I'm covered in this sick faggot's
puke, and I'm about to piss down his throat for a second time
tonight.  I think that makes us all equals here, right?"  Jack
laughed quietly and turned to chew on Bruce's closest nipple. 
Cory caught his breath and simply stared back at the two horny
men, his shitty hand still around his aching cock, his heart
still smashed to atoms and scattered with the wind.  He couldn't
think - or do - anything.  

"Hmm," Bruce pondered, one hand coming up to idly stroke the top
of Jack's head as he continued to suck and nibble at his chest. 
"Well, son, can I at least have a hit of that fine-smelling
stuff?"  He held out his hand for the joint, and Cory
automatically passed it up to him.  Bruce drew on it, long and
deep, then passed it to Jack, who did the same.  They shared it
around three more times before Bruce flicked the last pinch off
into the night, it's tiny flame arcing away like some hopeless
signal flare swallowed by the vastness of the night.  Cory
watched its progress through the void until it disappeared, and
then he swallowed hard, bolstered by the pot, and dared to voice
a thought.

"You got any idea what I've really been doing here?" he asked the
two older men, "I mean, besides smoking?  Besides just jacking
off?"  His heart roared its every beat, hot and loud up through
his chest and throat and into his ears, so that he could barely
hear anything else.  He was going to tell them.  He might as
well.  They were going to figure it out soon, anyway, if their
noses worked properly.

But Jack already knew.  "You shit yourself, obviously," he said
calmly, "and you've been playing in it.  And in a diaper, no
less."  Cory heard Jack click his tongue emphatically, while
Bruce was straining to see what Jack apparently already could. 
"I was wondering what was so odd about your crotch when you were
in the backseat earlier..."

"Oh, you little cheating bitch!  Looking at some other guy's
junk!" Bruce declared, mock-outraged.  But Jack went on.

"...since it looked like the thickest underwear I'd ever seen.  I
should have put two-and-two together and just brought you
straight home with us."  Jack broke off then and chuckled.  Bruce
grunted, nodding his agreement.  Cory sat silently, still mostly
stunned, but no longer as scared.  What the hell were they trying
to say?  He was nothing but the weird skater kid down the beach,
right?  The one who spied on them and stole lighters and loose
cash from the glove compartments of their cars and who was gone
off to college and good riddance and all that, right?

Bruce had the answer, in the form of a command.  "Pull that hand
out of your pants, kid.  I want to see what it is I'm smelling."

Cory, shocked and reeling, could do nothing but obey.  He pulled
out his hand, smearing shit halfway up his stomach in the
process, and held it up for the two of them to see.  In the
dimness of the night there were but darker splotches and
irregular lumps and bumps upon his palm and fingers, but it was
proof enough.  The smell hit all three at the same time, the
ocean breeze merely a faint swirl at that moment, enshrouding
them in a heady cloud of stench that dizzied them for several
moments.  They were all still, all inhaling steadily, all staring
at that filthy, anxious hand.

Then, without warning, Bruce pushed Jack forward; the smaller man
fell to his knees beside Cory, grasped his wrist in both hands,
and stuck all four shit-covered fingers into his mouth.  The kid
snapped his head around to stare at Jack's mouth as it moved up
and down on his filthy digits, his head reeling, nothing but a
roar of blood and confusion.  All he could do was to stare and to
feel.

Bruce was talking then, directing Jack with a coolness and
certainty that hit Cory like a splash of frigid water.  Whatever
Bruce said, he realized, Jack would do.  Bruce had complete
control and not one smidge of doubt about anything.  Likewise,
Jack was relaxed and happy to be active, like a dog put to work
for a good master, sure of his reward, eager to please.  Cory
admired and envied them both; he couldn't decide -- even later
on, when he'd masturbate again and again to the memory of that
night -- which way he'd like best, the top or the bottom.  What
he did know, for sure, was that the middle was a truly wonderful
place to be.  That was where Bruce put him.  That was how Bruce
skewered him.

"Jackie, baby, pull him out of those jeans... let's see that
diaper on his scrawny little ass."  Jack immediately let go of
Cory's shit-and-slobber-sloppy hand to grasp at the kid's jeans,
tugging gently while Cory obligingly raised his ass a little and
reached down to hold onto the heavy, reeking Abena, to keep it
from sliding off as well.  The slight coolness of the breeze on
his naked thighs stood his hairs on end, and his cock hardened
more than ever.

Bruce towered over them both, leering down at Cory's exposed
infantile state while Jack lovingly ran a hand over the bulky
surface of the saturated synthetic.  Close up now, Cory could
make out the remnants of food or slobber or something around the
edges of Jack's mouth and on his chin.  There were flecks of the
same stuff on his chest and arms, too.  Dried and
indistinguishable, but evidence of something rancid, nonetheless.
 Intermingled with the powerful odor of his own turds, Cory now
caught a whiff something sharper, more spoiled, the closer Jack's
face got to his own.

Cory threw his head back, nearly gagging.  "Oh, God!" he moaned,
kicking his legs reflexively, swallowing hard, trying to breathe.
 The two older men laughed.

"Settle down, kid," chided Bruce, "or else you won't enjoy it." 
Then Cory felt hands moving his own away from the diaper.  Hands
were ripping open the Velcro, pulling down the front to expose
his rigid cock, slimed in shit, glistening in the dim midnight,
bouncing up and down rapidly as Cory panted for breath.  He
forgot all about puking.

Jack's mouth hungrily sank onto Cory's filthy dick, sucking and
licking and scraping at his length with more expertise than the
kid could've ever imagined.  It was the blowjob of the gods, the
best he'd ever have, the one he could never, ever forget.  Over
and over, Jack's face lowered until his nose was buried deep in
Cory's shit-clogged pubic hair, the entire length of his long
penis sliding perfectly down Jack's well-used throat.  

Cory's shock overcame his primal need, and he couldn't come right
away -- a surprise to all three of them, but not a problem.  As
Jack realized that Cory was going to last, he began to run his
hands over the kid's filthy ass and over the insides of the
diaper he still sat on, which contained a seamless coating of
thick, brown shit-sludge.  The man's hands methodically came up,
over and again, to rub on Cory's exposed stomach and thighs; up
and down and around went the shit-slicked hands, pasting the kid
with his own stinking crap.  Cory's cock strained more than ever
as he tilted his head to watch himself get painted with shit. 
The stench was so strong, he could even seem to taste it now, the
sickness that roiled his stomach just a few moments earlier now
simply felt like butterflies, like the nervous, childish anxiety
of a first date.  A first fuck.  A first shit bath.

Bruce abruptly pulled off Cory's shirt, and soon the kid was
covered in shit up to his neck.  Jack pulled off his cock then,
and, with a sly nod from Bruce, he brought up both hands and slid
them all around over Cory's throat, and then his face.  Three,
four, five times Jack's hands went back down to scrape up more
shit, spackling his cheeks and forehead with blob after blob of
Cory's own nasty, reeking waste.  

Cory's eyes -- squeezed shut throughout Jack's work on his face
-- finally flew open as he felt the man's fingers spread shit
over his lips; then Jack sloughed some off a few fingers into
each nostril, and he sat back, glancing up at Bruce.  The large,
powerfully-built man had been slowly stroking his hardness,
standing just behind Jack as he'd knelt there on the sand.  Cory
could see vast evidence of puke-stuff all over Bruce's thighs,
but he thought nothing of it now.  That wasn't strange at all!

"You ever tasted it, kid?" Bruce asked, nodding at Jack, who held
up one thickly-coated shitty finger in front of Cory's face. 
Cory didn't do anything but stare.  He'd tasted his own shit a
lot in the past several months, but only a little lick or suck
here and there.  Only to clean a tiny smear of it off his finger
or off a dildo he'd ridden really well.  Only a few times off
Tyler's cock, his lover going to pains to pretend he didn't know
that his dick was slimed in shit and being cleaned by his
supposed one true love.  It all flashed through Corey's mind in
an instant, along with the thought that, no matter what he
answered, he was going to get a substantial taste of his own shit
right then and there.

So he simply opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue a little,
moaned with a lust he couldn't possibly contain.

With a catch in his breath, Jack wiped the first finger-full of
crap across Cory's tongue, then both men paused, still as stone,
to watch the kid close his mouth and slowly swallow.  Cory
managed to swill enough saliva in with it to get it down somewhat
easily, and he proudly opened his mouth and stuck his tongue back
out, not even close to choking.  Jack gave him another finger
covered thickly in shit, then another, then another.  Cory put
his filthy hand back on his cock and steadily stroked it as Jack
fed him the smashed-up turds.  

Eventually, Bruce said, "Let's do it now, gentlemen," and Jack
stood up and backed away from Corey in order to pull off his own
swim trunks.  Bruce took Jack by the shoulder and gently pushed
him down toward Corey.  "You lay on your back where Corey is,
Jackie, and raise your legs and ass like a good little bitch." 
Corey scrambled to get up without getting sand stuck all over his
shit-covered parts.  The world spun as he stood, trembling,
beside Bruce, trying to focus in the dim light on Jack's
sand-crusted feet rising toward him, his hands pulling apart his
ass-cheeks to hold open his loose, moist hole.

Then Bruce's rough, hard paw was pushing on Corey's shoulder. 
"Now, kid, you get down there and fuck my bitch.  Go on.  Put
your shitty self right on top of him and let him have it.  He
won't mind getting just as dirty as you, so don't worry about all
that.  Just fuck him."  Corey let himself get shoved steadily
down, until he was crouched, catcher-style over Jack's haunch.

Bruce was leaning down, his breath hot on Corey's neck.  "Now put
that long cock of yours in that hot ass, boy," Bruce whispered,
"and lean into it."  Corey brought his cockhead up against Jack's
willing sphincter, pushed steadily, and buried himself to the
balls inside the older man.  Jack let out an "ooof!" of approval,
then brought up his hands to clasp at Cory's neck, pulling him
down and nearly over-balancing him -- except that Jack's legs
were raised so that his calves rested on Cory's shoulders,
keeping him from falling completely off.  

It took just a moment for Cory to get accustomed to the position.
 It took only slightly longer to adjust to smelling his shit even
more strongly, now that he was squishing it between himself and
Jack all along his entire front.  He was about a dozen good, deep
strokes into rutting when he felt what he should've been
expecting all along: Bruce's cock pushing steadily against his
asshole.

"Come on, kid," Bruce breathed into his hair, "give me your sweet
little hole."  The man's teeth were sliding across Cory's
shoulder, his tongue was licking at his earlobe, he sucked hard
on the kid's neck.  "I've let you spy on me and jack off for a
dozen years now, boy, and I know you've wanted my cock all
along....  And now you're off at college, coming back here like a
man, fucking yourself in your own shit right here on my beach. 
You know you're gonna goddamn get it now!"  Cory moaned at the
truth of Bruce's words, and he slowed his thrusts until he was
dead still, jammed fully inside Jack and arching his back, trying
to turn his face and kiss the man about to fuck him.  Bruce
leaned over and gave him his tongue; Cory sucked on it and
groaned, willing his anus to relax and give way to the dick
already nosing its way in.

"That's it, yeah..." Bruce murmured into Cory's mouth.  "Let your
pretty little whore ass open up for me, go on... relax and take
it... yeah... Feel how thick a man's cock is?  Feel how it splits
your little-boy ass in two?  ...You want it all the way in? 
...You do?  You little whore.... Well, here it is!"

Cory cried out with pain and fathomless need as Bruce finally
thrust his entire length and girth up the kid's rectum.  The
man's cock was a heavy, thick log inside him; bigger than the
biggest turd he'd ever had; it filled his ass completely,
impossibly, and rattled every nerve in the kid's body.  All he
could do was hold onto Jack as the man below him panted beneath
their combined weight.  Cory's prostate was absolutely crushed,
and as soon as Bruce began to pump his cock in and out, the kid's
dick let loose a torrent of semen inside Jack's ass, filling the
older man with his hot juice again and again.   

It was a seemingly endless agony of pleasures, for even after all
his semen was pumped out of Cory's cock, Bruce's thrusts were
nevertheless continuing to prime and launch the kid's prostate
into action.  It was the most torturous bliss Cory could've ever
imagined.  Certainly nothing in high school or college -- and
definitely nothing with Tyler -- had ever been half as intense as
this.  In the end, he simply buried his shit-covered face in
Jack's sweaty chest and sobbed, weeping, pitiful, while Bruce
stroked his way to completion.

And Jack, jism trickling out around the still-hard cock lodged
deeply in his ass, groaned lustfully and watched Bruce tower over
them, his face savage, triumphant.  His lover's brutal thrusts
echoed through Cory into his own ass, and his own gland was soon
overpowered and pumped rope after rope of semen over his
shit-streaked chest and face.  

Finally, when Bruce was done, in a growling, bruising mash of
orgasm that left Cory crushed down hard against Jack, there was
but one thing left for them to do.  As the kid continued to
whimper and cling reflexively to his lover below, Jack clasped
his ankles around the kid's neck to hold him steady; then he
winked up through the darkness at Bruce, hugely looming above,
his entire form shrouded in the shadows of the night.

His cock was obviously, and entirely, still held out and ready,
even if it was not quite so hard as before.  

As the first jets of piss thundered down across Cory's ass and
balls, the kid stiffened and gasped in shock.  But Jack held him
there strongly, ready for the struggle, so Cory quickly relented
and closed his eyes.  Soon, as the torrent of hot urine reached
his matted hair, soaking him utterly, the piss running down
around his face to mingle in the still-moist shit upon his cheeks
and lips, dripping into the open mouth of the ecstatic man below
him... Cory realized he was lost.  Finally, fully gone.  

Happily, crazily, laughing in great sobbing bursts, the kid
leaned down and kissed the pissy, shitty mouth that waited below
him.  Surprised, Jack hungrily kissed his new rival right back,
deciding to worry about love later and lust now.  Soon Cory was
thrusting in him again, and soon after that Bruce was back to it
inside Cory.  It was, after all, a beautiful, perfect Florida
night; and under the warm blanket of darkness they could risk a
few moments of raw truth with one another, and share their needs.
 They'd chalk up the consequences later.  

But first they'd careful clean up the mess.  Or, at least in
Bruce's case, he'd clean up the mess and pay off the witnesses. 
Because sound carries a long way across a beach in the soft
summer night.  And a sweaty knot of grown men smeared with puke,
piss, and shit does, truly, stink out loud.




by bluepervina,  2005


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