Removals Lad Cum #4: Afternoon Tea

Darren’s mood steadily darkened. I guess I could understand why.

No straight lad likes having a finger stuck up his arse.

Or at least, every straight lad feels obliged to act like they don’t like a finger stuck up their arse.

We chuntled along the motorway at a merry old pace for around half an hour, before I pulled off at a junction. About ten minutes later, we were speeding down a countrified dual-carriageway, trees lining a grass verge on one side, a blackberry bush leading to a fallow farmer’s field on the other. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the heat had returned.

For me, the heat had returned in more ways than one; whilst I wanted my little goat to have a chance to refill his overworked balls, I wanted to play with him again, and there wasn’t anything he could do to stop me.

So as I drove, my hand slipped off the gearstick between us, and made the short journey to Darren’s lap. I ran my hand over the felted fleshy lump beneath his sweatpants, considering it a sign that my victory might be at hand, given that he no longer became erect within four seconds once so-much as a gentle breeze caressed his groin.

My caressing was getting pretty vigorous, and still nothing. His only comment was after a few minutes of my slow, methodical rummaging around the junction between his legs, when he replied sardonically, “I can see where this is going.”

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” both us knowing what that would really mean: no money for him.

Instead, he turned to look out the window at the passing trees.

I soon pulled off to the side of the road. “Take your sweats off.”

After a theatrical sigh, he complied, pulling his trousers down, revealing his clammy shorts once more.

“I said off.”

“What? Fuck’s sake.”

Slipping his trainers off, he pulled the grey sweatpants off entirely, looking cautiously around on the deserted road as he did so.

I looked at him for a minute.

“Why don’t you slip your polo shirt off, too?”

Rolling his eyes, he did so.

I spent another minute appraising him as he sat next to me in the car, trying to look unaffected by this turn of events.

Getting to my knees, I slid over into the tight confines of the well between his naturally domineering splayed legs. Without a word, I again reached for his soft cock.

Reaching through the slit in his colourful, if slightly grubby shorts, I gingerly brought him out into the cool air of the car, at which point my face descended to once more make love to him with my face.

My nostrils flared, overcome by the sensory assault advanced by his guttural stink, which coated his entire groin like an essential oil. His cock felt like a gelatinous, tacky love stick.

Of course, I liked that sort of thing, and merrily slithered my tongue right the way across the seemingly unresponsive shaft.

But whilst his sexual organs were down, they weren’t out. When my tongue eventually reached the tired, covered head of his cock, and gently nursed on him as if I were suckling a teat, I felt a flash of life; a beat of a pulse; a flexing of his inner core.

He remained slumped in his seat, eyes closed, but as I continued to provide mouth-to-cock resuscitation, I felt the beat quicken, and stiffen, and harden. Slowly, very slowly, through my sucking I was breathing life back into him.

Whilst one hand forcefully mashed and clawed at his still plump nuts through his aromatic boxers, my other squeezed and screwed each of the stiff little nubbins adorning his chest.

Once his cock was half-hard, Darren’s knob, by now an old acquaintance of mine, began to slide out from beyond his foreskin to say hello.

I continued my forceful assault on his body, wrapping my lips around the sour, acrid head, and licking up the congealed, jellified lad-ooze that had collected there since the episode in the Little Chef toilets.

When he was hard, I sat back, and made him lift up slightly so I could slip his boxers down and off his legs. He didn’t complain; he just sat back, no doubt settling down for a nice blowjob, and happy I couldn’t assault his arsehole this time.

But that wasn’t my plan at all.

“Right, get out the car.”

“What?”

“Get out the-“

“No fucking way.”

“No? Okay then. Shame, ‘cos I thought you had a pretty good chance of winning that money. But sure, whatever. I’ll just get us back on the road.”

He threw his hands up into the air. “This isn’t fair! Anyone could come along – we’re on a bloody ROAD! You can’t make me do this shit, and then if I say no, say I don’t get the money – IT’S NOT FAIR!”

I cocked my head to one side. “Well, Darren. Really, this is the sort of thing you should’ve brought up in the initial negotiations, isn’t it? I mean…yes, you’re right. It isn’t fair. But that’s the deal. You were offered an unfair deal…and you agreed to it. So here we are. Now, you’ve got one more chance to get out the car, or we can end it here and get on our way. Which is it to be?”

He spent another minute looking around, breathing deeply.

With my hand wrapped around his stiff organ, I kept stroking him, slowly, to keep him hard.

Then he announced, “where’s me fuckin’ shoes. I ain’t going onto the road without me shoes.”

I smiled.

Once he was out of the car, he walked over to a treeline, where he stood, shielding his genitals from view.

As I got out of the car behind him, I had an opportunity to look at the lad, now wearing nought but his socks, trainers and a silver necklace; short in stature, but with compact, sinewy muscles and a nice, big, dangly cock, still erect and the head of which was now poking out from behind his protective wrist.

Splendid.

“So you ready to start fucking, then?”

“You ain’t fucking me,” he replied defensively.

“No, I’m not,” I said calmly.

“And I ain’t fucking you, either.”

“Ah. Well, you see…”

“I ain’t!”

I walked over so I was standing in front of him. “Darren. Listen. You are. Ok? You’re gonna do it, because if you don’t, you don’t get the money.”

“THIS WAS NOT IN THE AGREEMENT.”

“It didn’t need to be. Now, why don’t you be a peach and take off my trousers for me, ‘k?”

He looked down, his eyes becoming fixated on my crotch.

I ruffled his short, stylish hair. “Don’t worry kiddo, you’ll see it soon enough. Now come on, your Dad’ll be expecting us to get to the house before he does.”

I think the shame I sparked when invoking his father’s name sealed it for him. He leaned down, reaching for my zipper as he did so.

“You have to take my trousers right off, Darren…probably easier if you get down on your knees?”

Closing his eyes, he fell to his knees before me. I took a couple of steps forward, so he was about six inches from my crotch.

His dick was hard, but it looked like the endless well of pre-sap had finally run dry, with just the faintest dribble anointing the glans now.

I chuckled as his hands, moving blindly, slowly reached for my zipper, but veered off course, with his fingers delving into the supple skin of my hidden ballsack.

When he realised, his hand flew back as if electrocuted, and in so doing smacked himself in the mouth.

“Silly sausage. Consider this a bit of advice from an outrageous homosexual: if you really want to avoid the bits of my anatomy contained with my trousers, you should really have your eyes open when sticking your hand into my trousers. Ok?”

He opened his eyes, gulped, and gripped the metal clasp of my zip delicately.

He lowered it, his little fingers unintentionally applying delicious pressure as he traversed over the hump of my erect cock. Without instruction from me, he reached for the clasp, and my loose trousers slid down my legs.

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? Now just take off my boxers, there’s a good lad.”

Grabbing the waistband on either side of my hips, he quickly yanked down my shorts, my unrelenting, unabated hardon thwacking against my shirt as he did so.

He sat there, looking at my dick for a minute as I gave it a few playful tugs to get it in the mood.

“You can get up now Darren,” I finally said, breaking him from his reverie.

“Over to the car then,” I continued, directing him back to the road.

“Mate, please…”

“Just fucking do it. The sooner you get over there, the sooner it’s done.”

With his hands shielding his privates, he walked out from beyond the treeline, and over to my white, clapped out (but loyally reliable) Renault Clio.

As he moved, I slid my jeans and boxers off my feet, so I could again move properly. Looking over, I saw that he now stood to the side of my car, in an effort to further shield his body from the road.

I had to put a stop to that.

“Come on, over here,” I directed, pulling him by the arm to the front of the car, where I made him sit on the bonnet; his feet still on the ground, his elbows propping him up so he could still keep an eye on me.

He watched as I momentarily returned to the glove box of my car, where I retrieved a condom, and returned to him.

Kneeling between his thighs, he watched as I took the lad’s poor flagging cock in hand, and started to manfully tug and jack him, whilst my other hand cradled and gently yanked down on the slack, silky ballsack hanging between his slightly spread thighs.

Knowing what a horny little fucker he was, I knew it wouldn’t take me five minutes to pump him back up.

Sure enough, after five minutes of industrious wanking, where I carefully utilised each little dribble of sap to further slicken his irritated cock, he was leaning back, looking up at the blue sky, sunlight glinting off the shiny purple glans adorning the tip of his erect cock.

With the straight boy tired of resting on his elbows and looking down at the gay guy going at his dick again for the fourth time that day, he leaned fully back against the bonnet of the car, leaving me to it.

I think he knew by now that he was in good hands, so to speak.

Opening the packet, I carefully slid the condom down his stiff, sweaty pole, with him openly groaning as I did so.

With the condom now securely ensconced over his towering organ, I nibbled and suckled for a few more minutes on the prodigious nut sack hanging beneath, thoroughly washing the dank bollock sweat and spicy lad juice from the rippled skin, and adding yet another saliva glaze to those I’d applied previously.

With his cock now pulsing beneath the latex wrapping, my face departed from the sweaty little crux of his sweaty little thighs. With him still lying back on the car, I vaulted onto the bonnet, standing above him.

Looking down at him looking up at my erect cock, I remarked, “let’s hope no Japanese tourist buses pass right about now, eh?”

“You ain’t fucking me,” he mumbled incoherently.

I just frowned, and fell to my knees.

Reaching behind, I gripped his wand and tentatively directed the fat fucker to my puckered asshole.

Felling the squishy warm head impact against my right cheek, I corrected and lined him up.

And then, I just did what came naturally, and fell back.

I was not particularly used to getting fucked. And I have to say, as I sat there trying to force this solid scimitar up past the thick ring of muscle of my rectum, I was beginning to wonder why people thought it was so great.

The head squeezed past the initial ring of muscle, resulting in the pair of us groaning in thanks. Letting go of him now, I remained with my two hands planted firmly on the bonnet of the car, as I intended to gently slide down backwards, so I could get acclimatised.

Well, that was the plan. But then my right hand slipped on the car bonnet, and about four inches of his cock slid into my bowels before I could find something to leverage myself against.

“ARGHHHHHH,” I screamed, whilst Darren grinned like a moron.

“That,” he began, “is karma. That’s what you get for sticking your finger up my arse earlier.”

I replied between my pained breathing, “yes Darren, except you’re forgetting one thing – as a gay, I don’t really mind having your dick up me. Whereas I think you probably had a bit of a problem with my finger wriggling around your insides.”

He kept on smiling. “Mate, to look at you right now, I’d say you mind having a dick up you.”

At which point he gripped my right hip, and thrust himself up off the car, adding another couple of inches to my discomfort.

“AGHH, you fucking fat fucker,” I replied, with genuine anger.

But I continued to slide down Darren’s big old cock, deciding if I was in for a penny, then I’d be in for a pound. And speaking of pounds; it wasn’t long until I had every pound of Darren’s lad-cock lodged firmly up my warm middle-class arse.

Now impaled, I placed one hand on his firm, rippled chest, running my hand across the hairless defined muscle, before latching on to one of his sensitive nips. It was soon joined by my other hand, twisting the other nipple in unison.

He grumbled deeply in response, leading back and closing his eyes.

I used my legs and arms to push myself off his cock, before sliding back down again; down, until I could feel his scratchy, smelly pubes rubbing against my ass-cheeks.

I quickly rose again, and fell again; each time I did so, the next time would be a little faster, a little smoother. Before long, the insistent fucker was jabbing my prostate with each upward swing, and I felt compelled to start jacking my cock as I looked down on his peaceful, straight little face.

Up and down, up and down I went, his tight, muscular little legs bent in supporting the weight of us both as we laid upon the smooth, gently sloping car bonnet. Whilst I was jacking my cock with one hand, the other one remained planted on his chest, moving up and down as his lungs took in deep gulpfuls of air to fuel the blood streaming through his body, servicing each of his own aching muscles – and none more so than the especially straight aching muscle currently wedged up my eager shitter.

About ten minutes in, I craned my neck around, and observed his fit legs pushing up, straining and flexing as he did so, making the most of each downward swing. Just like I thought, the randy little bugger was starting to get into it.

“You’re doing good Darren,” I said, “don’t be afraid to get into it though. You need to cum, remember, and we have a schedule to keep.”

He didn’t reply, but a look of pained concentration slowly came to dominate his face as I felt each of his thrusts slowly become less methodical, and more powerful.

I chuckled. “My little billy-goat’s doing a super job. We call this proactive milking. Ain’t long to go now…”

I’d spoken too soon, clearly. Thirty minutes later, and we were still going at it.

Well, I say ‘we’ – I’d decided a while ago that Darren was strong enough to keep going on his own, and that fucklust of his had returned in sufficient strength to mean he’d keep going without complaint, like a good little sex-trooper.

With his trainered feet planted firmly on the asphalt, he was thrusting up into me as hard as he could, throwing me this way and that as if I were a bucking bronco. I was jacking myself, but I had to pull myself back from the edge on more than one occasion.

“Are you ready to fucking cum yet?” I demanded.

“I’m…trying…” he replied, through gritted teeth.

“Nearly there,” he intoned a couple of minutes later and then immediately after, “AHGHAAAHAHAHA” he screamed, like an extremely animalistic goat, thrusting up into me as far as he could with the condom stuffed up my arse rapidly filling with the latest dregs from the his balls.

His eyes closed in bliss, he was in no fit state to complain as I leant forward, his dick sliding out of me as I did so. I jacked my cock once, twice, thrice, before my hot spunk, after so much teasing and frustration and stimulation throughout the day, literally erupted from my cockhead and made the centimetre or so journey to Darren’s puffy pink lips, quite safely.

His eyes blazed open as first one, and then a second jetstream of sperm plastered his fat rosy lips. He opened his mouth to complain, which was obviously a stupid thing to do: I rewarded his stupidity with a third white-hot ribbon, this time fired straight down his throat.

That made him cough, and splutter – and, more importantly, move his head. The result of this movement was the rest of my load going…well, of course.

Fourth hit his cheek.

Fifth hit his eye.

Sixth hit his hair.

Sliding my head behind his skull to keep him inplace now, I thrusted forward so the syrupy dregs of my load effortlessly flowed out of my cock and safely onto his red-hot little head.

There was enough to spend a quick few seconds rubbing it into his hair, giving his short buzzed hair a healthy glow.

I leaned back, and carefully got off the car. He sat there looking at me, stunned for a minute, before very slowly touching the trail of spunk deposited on his cheek, as if to check it was really there. When his index finger touched the slimy substance, his hand recoiled, as if in shock.

“Well,” I began, “I for one feel a LOT better after that. So, thanks.”

“What…did…did you just cum on me?”

If I tell him he imagined that, would he believe me?

I slowly nodded. “Now, don’t get angry, but at one point I think I may of jizzed into your mouth, too.”

His mouth opened in shock.

“Careful, you opening your mouth was what made me do it the last time!” I joked.

There was no laughter, so I stopped smiling. “No, but seriously Darren, it really was entirely your fault that I came down your throat. You went to speak-“

“To tell you to stop cumming on me.”

“-right, and that, well, that led us to where we are now, quite honestly.”

“So…this is MY fault, because when I went to ask you to stop cumming on me, that meant I had to open my mouth, and you shot spunk down it?”

I thought for a minute. “Now you’re making it sound like it’s my fault again. Listen, I don’t want to go into details – but, I didn’t mean for that to happen, ok? You shouldn’t, like, get all offended and shit, because I didn’t mean for it to happen – I didn’t mean to debase you, like you do every time you intentionally spunk down your girlfriends gob. Eh? See what I mean? Makes you think, doesn’t it? Role reversal and all that. But yeah, it did, and we are where we are. So let’s just get in the car, and get on our way, shall we?”

Before he could respond, I sidled up to him, where he was still sat on the bonnet of my car, and delighted in removing the slimy condom from his prick.

“And you’ve cum too! Good lad!”

He said nothing as we got into the car, put on our clothes, and went on our way.

2.45pm: Darren the straight removals lad had been milked of his afternoon load.