His Pussy Boy (part 3)

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It was the warmest of summers, the balmiest in a long time. It was as if the world was trying to avenge itself of the past long months of terrible winter cold - just remembering it made a shudder ran through my body. Which certainly looked strange, catching goosebumps in the utter warmth of the room.

The fan trailed on lazily, swirling a whimpering pattern on the bright ceiling. Added to the ceiling fan was a tiny USB powered mini fan which stood on the dressing table beside the bed. Once or twice the light ecru drapes sway invitingly in the dank wind, doing little to remove the humidity. 

John - Mr. Chen if you’re naughty - groaned lightly, releasing his cum deep inside my boy pussy for the umpteenth time. The live warmth of his turgid cock and the wet heat of his semen combined to make the most delicious feeling inside my ass - the cock pulsing quietly, burping life-giving cum like a milk-satisfied baby, while the man above me whispered sweet nothings and licked his way in my ear.

See, he loved my ears. They were tiny, pixie-like, like much of the things about me, including my tiny ass and my tight hole, for which he had come again and again. My ears looked like an exotic French chocolatier’s prized creations, with lovely whirls and curls -  a perfect pair of Guylians. Were they to be edible John might had his fill with them long ago, but as it were he contented himself by locking his lips and his tongue with them whenever we make love, which was plenty.

“Where’s Lisa?” I murmured gently against his nape. He was slightly spent from the sex - thank you, God - which had been fervent and quick but no less satisfying, and was now more than halfway towards sleep. 

“She’s off talking to Amanda. Again.” Amanda was the Chens’ next-door neighbor, a pretty redhead with a penchant for gossip. She liked me, but she must had liked Lisa better, what with their frequent teas and brunches together. Her husband Clark was a brooding type of guy who’s good with woods and carpentry - he helped John with his cupboard once, when he stared at me a little upon being introduced as the live-in male babysitter. Must had unnerved the guy.

“John. Can I go to the shower? I want to check on Kevin.”

“Umm. Sure.”

I left him on the bed lying naked in the breeze from the fans. I decided against covering his body - might get too warm. The shower felt glorious against my skin, where I bore down and released what must had been a quart of semen from my battered asshole. The concoction of semen and olive oil - our favorite lube, all-natural! - swirled and ran in the drain.

John came in not a second too late, just as I was finishing soaping up. He smiled that witheringly sarcastic grin of his as his hand ran up and down a reinvigorated erection. I smiled at him back, mine inviting. “I love that ring on your finger,” he whispered. “My PB. My Pussy Boy.”

“I love it too.” I knelt, and took his thick eight inches into my mouth.

Fifteen minutes later, a load safely warm in my tummy, I went to see Kevin. He was sleeping, the little angel, but his body felt slightly warm. His skin looked dry, his lips slightly parched. He had just had his milk an hour ago but he was displaying all the signs. Lisa came in the room. “Mrs. Chen. I think you better see this.” 

It was easy to recognize signs of dehydration once you saw them often enough, but it was not as easy to determine whether a child was going to have a heat stroke. The house was warm, and they only had fans as ventilation, not air-conditioners that would have been better equipped against the heat wave. Better safe than sorry, I thought, as I watched their car drive from the house to the hospital. 

A few hours later, I saw John drive up alone into the garage. “They’re going to stay for a night just to be sure.” John was working the next day so he had to return, and the doctor had said that Kevin was just likely sensitive to overheat. “He asked me to say thanks to you for recognizing the signs. I-I have no words, you literally saved my son.” He bent down, and gave me a kiss, right there with the open garage door. “Thank you.”

That night was one for the books. He sat on the bed - their bed, which was a rarity - in his white briefs, which did nothing to cover his enlarging erection, watching with this intense look in his eyes as I sauntered before their mirror in Lisa’s black garter belt and the sheerest of silk stockings. “She can’t fit in those anymore, after Kevin,” John murmured, more to himself than to me, watching my every movement with his black bespectacled eyes.

I knelt down, kissed his feet, slathered my spit on his toes and his smooth instep, climbing on his legs and crawling along his thick thighs, and pulled down his stretched briefs. “Let me ride you,” I implored him, the master and the lord of my pussy hole. I stretched my leg over his crotch, so that his rampant cock closed nearer and nearer to my receptive hole. The silk of his wife’s stockings felt divine on my skin, and I was sure on his skin too. Finally, finally, his cock head breached my hole, and I held my position so that only his glans was inside my warmth, breaching into my darkness, and in the greatest show of willpower yet I had in my 24 years I held myself from bending down and kissing him. 

Instead I contracted my anal muscles, the little fingers that he had so loved and complimented, all around his cock head. His face changed, an intense smile flowering on his handsome face, as if concentrating on the feel, the sensation of being utterly loved, so that even if no words of love would ever fly between us, at least our bodies would understand that there would be nothing separating a man and his pussy boy, ever. “Fuck baby, it’s like you’re kissing me down there, like you’re sucking me with your ass… with your pussy, heh.”

The willpower shoring me broke, and I bent down and kissed him, seared his lips, branded him mine. His cock continued its progress into my pussy, the silk of his skin against the silk of my anus, the veins full and warm with his blood, the spongy head firm against my depth, eventually reaching just beyond my prostate. I pushed him down, our fingers intertwined, his wedding ring against my ring, his churning balls against my taint. I pushed him down, even though my frame was smaller than his, so that the whole of my body was pressed up against him.

“Fuck me, fuck me John, like you mean it. Fuck me, give me a baby, give me a son.” I swallowed. “Give me a Kevin of my own.”

“Fuck baby, you want a baby from me? From my cock?”

“Yeah John, fuck me, fuck a son into me.”


“Ahh, fuck yeah.”

He watched my face, glorious as his cock sent up volleys of his semen up my anal chute, deep into my darkness, my pussy. He smiled, giggled and laughed outright at the ecstatic expression on my face, as if receiving divine communion, which in many ways was similar to being fucked by the one you love. He turned us around so that I was beneath him, and bent down and kissed me, tenderly this time. Time stopped.