Cock-Sucker: The Brief Boy

He came. He Went. And he took my briefs with him.

I'm sitting here in just my favourite frilly-pink cum-stained panty-briefs decorated in tired ribbon-bows.

Well no, that's not entirely true. They're not my favourite favourite panties. And thereby hangs my tale.

Some years ago now I was driving home on the motorway when I stop to pick up a late-teenage hitchhiker thumbing on the verge. It's hazardous for a vulnerable young guy, you gotta be careful, there's all manner of perverts and weirdos out there ready to prey on youthful flesh.

Naturally, as I drive we get into talking. His name is Brian. He says, quite openly, that he'd left home because his new stepfather was a creep who'd begun making predatory sexual moves on him. He looks casually out the window at the countryside curving away outside, says he's got an address in Liverpool and he wants to make his way as a male model, then he tells me 'although I like cock, I like it on my own terms. If you know what I mean?' I know only too well. Is it true, the story about the stepfather? It's entirely possible. That kind of thing does happen. Or is it just a ploy to get me onside, to get my sympathy, and also open possibilities? Whatever, it works.

Once we get into town I suggest he comes back to my apartment. He's road-gritty, his Hunger Games T-shirt and worn skinny-chinos are dusty, it makes sense that he should grab a shower and a coffee. His smile is angelic. So he showers while I microwave a couple of frozen pizzas for a quick meal. He comes out the shower naked towelling his hair quite nonchalantly. He has a lovely smooth body with sparse blonde hair, and a cute little cock with tight round balls. He notices escort şişli where my attention is fixed. Which is obviously the whole intention anyway. He sways his hips wistfully so that it jiggles hypnotically and he says 'I wish I was bigger down there.'

I say 'don't worry, it's adorable, it looks simply divine, and very kissable.'

He seems to come over all mock-coy and bashful, 'Gosh, do you really think so?'

So I make good on my words, and kiss it. So deliciously silky to the touch of my lips, and the more I kiss it the more it comes up to meet me, as my lips part slightly around the heat of the heart-shaped bulb, so what else can do? I suck him off as he just stands there, breathing heavily. At first I can take it all into my greedy mouth, clear down to those delectable balls, and I can take both those balls in my mouth at once and swish them in their scrotal sac with my tongue, but his cock does swell and expand impressively in response to my hungry urgency, no sound but moist sucking and quick sharp panting, until the muscles of his stomach begin undulating as he comes off in my mouth, spurt-spurt-spurt, pulse after pulse of such clean milky boy-spunk, as he groans out sweet sounds midway between a grunt and moan.

That evening I take him out to the bright lights of Canal Street which is Manchester's 'Gay Village' where there are bars and trattorias and a Drag Club called the 'Speke-Easy' which is one of my favourite hang-outs. We sip green glasses of Absinthe and I introduce him around to some of my fag friends and cross-dressing acquaintances there as we watch the Divas onstage. He watches it all, drinks it all in, mesmerised by the istanbul eskort cabaret. There's Lady Spunkelina