Page 47 of A Long Con

I was all for fucking that. I encircled both our meats in my two palms and jiggled them about, causing us both to gasp weakly. I withdrew. “Come on. I’ll jack you and you jack me. Whoever shoots first has to blow the other.”

It was childish but Berkeley leaped to agree. “I’ll bet you shoot first. You’re a cock virgin.” He rubbed his palm slickly all over our rods, worrying his thumb against my corona, the frenulum that ran the underside length of my dick. Was he looking to make me shoot first, so I’d have to suck him again? I was looking for something new, “switching it up” a bit as Berkeley had said, and his moist eyes told me his mouth was watering to hoover me.

I focused on his cock, on jacking first rapid then slow, because I sure as fuck wanted to be the one grabbing his shoulders and shooting my load deep against his tonsils.

He saw what I was doing, and was it my imagination? But he didn’t step up his ministrations to my cock. Could it be that he wanted to blow me? He just languidly stroked, as though he had all the time in the world.

Times like that I always wished I had a video camera focused on the scene. Now this is something I’d like to see over, and over. And over again.

I was an absolute fiend, jacking my friend’s dick. I’d never masturbated another man before and it was stimulating as fuck, pumping away with that long, fat meat in my grip. With his lower jaw hanging askew, Royal was almost cross-eyed watching me perform. I knew I was getting to him. His cock had ballooned beyond the size of mine, the glans with a faint shade of purple now as I pumped my fist around the shiny meat.

“I know you want this,” I growled, “because you’re drooling to taste my dick.”

He gasped. “I am,” he admitted darkly, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve only sucked one other penis in my life, and I think you should be next. I want to show you how much I worship at the core of you. Right now, we’re both equal ‘sides’ with no one more dominant than the other. We’re both versatile as you stroke the fuck out of my dick.”

I twitched my mouth to one side. “We’re not both equal. I’m loving the hell out of your big beautiful boner.”

“You’ve done this before,” he stated, not answering the question.

“I’ve done this before,” I affirmed. I thought of another WWE executive who’d come to my dressing room as I napped. I only woke up when he’d jacked me halfway to crisis. Only then did I sit up, try to protest, and was blackmailed into continuing. He had told me, “We’re going to put cutting back into your contract if you don’t jack me off.”

Cutting, outlawed in 2008, was the practice of a wrestler hiding a razor maybe in his wrist tape or trunks and cutting his own forehead just as his opponent slammed him with, say, a chair. I’d never been a fan, so I jacked this dude pretty much with disgust. It was one of the WWE incidents that left a bad taste in my mouth, so to speak.

“He wasn’t nearly as beautiful as you,” I said now. “I just did it mechanically, like milking a cow. I wasn’t dying to see seed spurt from his dick like I am now.”

His eyeballs were rolling back into his skull, and his glistening lower lip hung low. He’d pretty much stopped moving his hand on my meat, and I didn’t mind. His hefty rod was just as long as mine, and it jiggled against mine as I stroked.

“You’re a big, chiseled Apollo,” I murmured. “You look like a fucking Roman statue. But I’m dying to mouth-fuck you like you’ve done to me. I’m gonna win this contest. I’m gonna open my mouth to taste your jizz when you co—”

Mein Gott! With a giant shudder that wracked his entire body, Berkeley let loose with a big, beautiful load. The first glob landed on my collarbone. I kept wringing his dick, squeezing out the jizz. He gasped and squirmed and I bent down with open mouth to catch his next stream, right on my lips. Ah, tasty and sweet. My free hand massaged his balls, reached between his thighs to stroke his perineum and tickle his asshole, his cheeks clenched tight in orgasmic contractions.

Without thinking, I found myself saying, “Ah, that’s nice, boy. Cumon. Shoot your load. Shoot it all over me, son. I love jacking my sweet boy. I love watching you come in my fist. You’ve got a big, hefty cock, boy. When you’re done jizzing I’m gonna make you suck me.”

Before he even finished, seemed like, Berkeley’s eyes popped open. He looked at me afresh, as though he’d slipped on a new personality that had never seen me. The corners of his lush mouth turned up and within a flash he tossed his chair aside and was on his knees gulping me.

Aufgeilen! Hot! I was already halfway to blasting my load, and Berkeley’s warm, slick mouth brought me the rest of the way. It crossed my mind that he’s blowing me like he blew Waterman, but then again, I’d called him “boy” and we were scene-ing. So I kept it up.

“Ah, that’s good, boy. You really know how to suck a man. Ah! That’s it! Don’t fucking stop! Swallow every fucking drop!”

Yeah, I was already coming. Berkeley was sucking me sideways, there was no fucking question about it. His powerful throat muscles massaged the length of my cock as I shot deep, deep into his mouth. The mind-blowing eruptions of orgasm overwhelmed my brain for a second, as I soon found myself arching and shimmying my hips toward the ceiling, bringing Berkeley with me.

Poor guy had to kneel like he was slaking his thirst with a bucket of water, that’s how high my hips carried him as I gripped the chair arms, white-knuckled. He kept sucking like there was no tomorrow. I blew a hole through him with the strength of my crisis, but he held his own. It was a fucking admirable performance, especially from a guy who’d just jizzed himself and would probably prefer to kick back with a joint.

When my crisis ebbed and I lowered my hips, poor Berkeley detached himself with a giant smack of the lips. He sat back on his heels, looking at my throbbing cock with what I can only say was admiration, Adam’s apple bouncing as he gulped. He looked up at me but couldn’t seem to stop admiring my dick as I panted, clenched and unclenched my toes.

Finally, he dove in face-first, inhaling and munching my ballsac.

It was too much. It was my turn to press against his forehead. “Berkeley! Boy! You’re fucking killing me here!”

With my cock in his fist, he sat back again, grinning like a scolded schoolboy. “Too much for you, eh?”

I raised one eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

He shrugged innocently. That grin just would not let up. My heart actually surged with love for this outcast artist, this fugitive genius with a brain injury like me.

I had to swallow the love and stand. My cock waved at half-mast in his face as I wedged my hands on my hips. “Have you had too much to eat, young man? You threw our dinner against the wall.”

He wagged my half-plump cock. “You’re hung like a sperm whale. Way bigger than Split.”