Removals Lad Cum #1: The Early Morning Load
Friday July 28th 2006
The week leading up to my move dragged, for more reasons than one. Yes, I was busy packing – but unusually, I was also looking forward to move day!
When the three fellas turned up at 7.30am, Darren was dressed in a loose pair of grubby grey sweatpants and an old, thin, tight black polo shirt, the collar turned up, with the name of his Uncle’s company embroidered in gold stitching on the plateau of his sloping left pec.
He complemented this with the trainers he’d worn previously, and a pair of light grey socks.
I was pleased; his clothing would enable quick, easy access to his body, and he looked very fresh.
And more to the point, he looked hot as fuck, without even trying to.
Something Darren had handily forgotten to mention when we made the wager – his girlfriend came along; ‘to help’. She was unexpectedly heavily-set, and looked like she could handle herself very well.
I could now see why Darren was so pleased she worked at the weekend, but I was a little bit scared she’d beat me up if she cottoned on.
After showing them around the place, the first opportunity to milk my little sex-mad goat presented itself very easily.
Brian, the Uncle, asked Jennifer to start moving some of the lighter boxes out of the living room. Brian and Gary, the Dad, would start planning how to move the bigger items in the kitchen, whilst Darren was told to start moving stuff out of my bedroom.
We exchanged a brief, knowing look, with the return of Darren’s cockeyed grin telling me he knew the score.
Gary, observing my slight frame and thick glasses, derisively told me to just “take to stay out of the way” and “find something to do”. I nodded thinking, ‘don’t worry about that Gary; I’ve already planned to spend the day entertaining myself with your son’s cock’.
As Darren made his way to my bedroom, I yanked him into the small, utilitarian bathroom found along the way.
As soon as the door was locked, he said with a grin, “mate, I hope you’ve bin to the cashpoint ‘cos you don’t stand a fuckin’ chance. I ain’t jizzed since Tuesday!” he said proudly, gripping his prominent package through the loose fabric of his sweats.
So focussed was I that I didn’t say anything as I batted his hand away and knelt before him.
This was no time for chit-chat or idle foreplay.
Hooking my fingers in the waistband of his grey work-trousers, I effortlessly slid them down his smooth legs, revealing a crisp, tight pair of designer boxer-briefs, decorated in horizontal bands of bright colour like a rainbow, with ‘DIESEL’ printed in light grey on a black waistband.
Looking at him for the briefest of moments, I spied the hard hump of his thick seven and a half inch prick distending the fabric on the left-hand side, with a damp, dark syrupy stain offsetting the bright yellow band where the tip of his knob was located.
I looked up, testily running my index finger along the body of the thick shaft poking out at me as I said, “so I guess you are pretty horny, eh?”
“Jenny was a bitch on the way over. Teasin’ me an’ shit. She’s just pissed cos’ I ain’t fucked her all week.”
Knowing he was presently meant to be working and would be missed, I wasted no time, turning him around so I was face-to-face with his perky tight arse, which I briefly ran my two hands over – as you would run your hands over a pair of melons at the greengrocers – before standing up behind the boy.
He now stood before the mirror above my bathroom sink, watching me for a few seconds, before I set my eyes on his own baby-blues. He turned away; instead looking down at my busy hands.
Hands which were reaching around to pull the front of his multi-coloured boxers down. I gingerly anchored them behind the fat, swollen gemstones of his bollocks, which were ensconced within a rounded, crinkled sack.
This lewdly pushed the thick pale cock and furry ballsack to the fore.
In doing this, his chunky cock became momentarily trapped behind the waistband of his pants, the plump bellend acting as a flat hook for the stretched fabric.
His cock bounced back against his stomach like a wound-up catapult, flinging flecks of translucent lad-dew this way and that as it did so, a few drops splatting against the mirror before the two of us.
“Always gets like that when I ain’t cum in a while,” he said absent-mindedly.
Wrapping my hand firmly around his attention-starved, drippy teen poker, I said reassuringly, “don’t worry about it mate. Just means you wanna win, right?”
He chuckled as my fingertips slowly flittered along the shaft, tickling the juicy blue vein that pulsed along it; scratching the dark nest of pubes coating his entire groin.
He looked at the ground, all bashful-like.
“Yeah. I’m getting that two hundred quid man.”
He closed his eyes briefly as my hand pulled back on the shaft, the chunky nubbin of his foreskin sliding back to reveal the greasy purple domed head. My other hand rubbed his shoulder. “Good. I want you to want that money, man. ‘Cos you know something, pal? I want you to fuckin’ win. I want to still be here, after we reach the new house, wringing another load out of your nuts. I’ll be well pissed off if it comes to half three and you’ve had enough.”
He shook his head, eyes now permanently closed, lost in his own sexual reverie as he replied “ain’t gonna happen, mate. I can…” he paused briefly as my hand moved from his shoulder, down his compact, developed flank, before reaching the hem of his shirt and cheekily sliding under it.
My persistent fingers stroked, scratched and otherwise molested the boy’s hairless tummy.
Unconciously stretching his delicious form like a cat in response to my scratching, arching his back and flexing the sinews of muscle plating his gut, he continued, “…I can jack off in the mornin’, and still fuck all night. You’ve lost man…”
I sped up the pace of my hand now, rapidly sliding up and down the straight boy’s stiff pecker, my own cock tenting my jeans and gently caressing his high boxered bottom as I swayed, this way and that.
“You talk a good game. Mate. But let’s see how you’re fairing when it comes for yer fourth milking of the day, eh? Oh, yeah, mate…make no mistake. I’ve got it all planned. I’m gonna spend the whole fuckin’ daymilking you. I mean, that’s our agreement, isn’t it? You knew the score, mate, and you agreed to it. You know I get to spend all day milking you dry, like you’re a mindless, bleating, horny little billy goat.”
At which point, he let lose, staring up at the low ceiling as he croaked in a quiet, husky voice, “Ah…AHH-HA, yes, FUCK yes…”
Pointing the nozzle of his heavy stiff hose into the white porcelain sink, I moved my hand from his flat stomach to lovingly scraping my nails across the hairy pronounced nutsack.
He stood on trainered tiptoes as he shot long, bright-white streams of spunk into my sink, white-knuckled fingers gripping the edge of the sink as he did so.
I kept slowly jacking him as three, four, five strong streams of viscous clotted lad cream were propelled out of his oh-so-proud straight granite love-muscle onto my sink. I chuckled. “Yeah, Darren the fuckin’ humpin’ goat. You liked that, didn’t you? Good lad. I’m very pleased; you’re already earning your money, mate.”
He kept spurting for another fifteen seconds or so; the dregs of his first load, pulsing out, again again and again, all over my hand, still maintaining the thick white character of his first shot.
Speaking with a little more composure, but still in a voice thick with need, he said, “Christ, mate, I fuckin’ needed that. Jesus Christ. Fort my bollocks were gonna pop for a second.”
After a brief couple of seconds afterglow, he broke free of my non-committal, but perhaps more intimate then he would like embrace-from-behind, and slid his cock back into his pants as he pulled up his sweats.
He chuckled nervously as he sauntered away from me. “You, err…you’ve definitely got a way with words, mate.”
I stood there, looking at my hand briefly before sliding each finger, heavy with the straight boy’s load, into my mouth. Sucking each one dry, revelling in the thick consistency and deeply spiced aroma of heavily concentrated, highly refined lad batter.
He frowned as he watched me, noisily licking up the cream that a few moments before had been desperately trying to evacuate his bursting balls.
“Yeah,” I replied, finally. “So I’ve been told.”
“You enjoying that, eh?”
I smiled, replying “you taste very nice, Darren,” just to see how he’d react.
I was pleased when he just returned my smile with the classic, “there’s more where that came from, sunshine,” squeezing his baby-makers as he did so.
Still licking the remnant of his sex explosion from my hand, I said, “you know, Darren, when they make milk on the farm, they keep the animal til it’s ready to burst with milk, and then the first bit – they skim that off and make cream from it. Because it’s not like ordinary milk; it’s extra thick and extra tasty.”
“This,” I waved my hand at him for emphasis, white globules shaking free from my fist and smacking him in the eye. ‘Bullseye’ I thought, but continued making my point, “this is my little billy goat’s first load of the day, see? After he’s been saving it all up in his nuts for days, so he’s fit to burst. That means it’s unusually tasty.”
He stood in silence for a minute, before replying “you’ve got some funny ideas about spunk and goats, you know.”
His cock was again tenting out the front of his sweatpants.
I desperately wanted to get in there once more; to beat the horniness out of his cock right then, right there – but with his girlfriend in the next room, it was too risky.
We opened the door and went to my bedroom, and began to carry stuff out to the van.
Darren was chatting to me amiably about the Arsenal game he’d watched the night before (he was an Arsenal fan), and about girls he fancied – as if everything was perfectly above board; as if there was nothing unusual going on at all.
You’d never guess that I’d just escorted him to the bathroom to administer some light relief to his blue balls.
7.45am: Darren the straight removals lad had been milked of his early morning load.
I was enjoying this day already.